Ocean of Storms: A Timeline of A Scientific America

Hello readers,
I try to have a post on Sunday nights, but I've had an unusual week, and the Saga of Apollo 13 is a somewhat larger storyline than I have tackled in earlier posts. I want to get this one right, so I'm going to delay for a few days in order to make sure I'm getting my detail work to the level that you've complimented me on previously.

By way of a consolation (and a teaser) I'd like to present a piece of concept art that I have been kicking around with Nixonshead (who has generously agreed to join this project). While this is a preliminary image and does not reflect a final concept, it is one of the many examples of Nixonshead's fine work.

It may be best to imagine this image tacked on a wall in Thomas Wheaton's office. A bit of concept art for something NASA may be working on in the near-future.
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Image Credit: Nixonshead
I assure you that progress is being made on part 3 of the Saga of Apollo 13. In the meantime, please keep your questions and comments coming. They are a great source of joy and encouragement for me.

All the best,
-BowOfOrion
 
...maybe? Nixonshead usually does a pretty good job of rendering, and they don't look all that similar. But you're right, it's not an X-24 either. This patent you linked...I've seen it, but only ever found like one or two articles. It wasn't a serious suggestion OTL, was it?

As far as I can tell it 'sort-of' was serious in a general way but not as designed specifically. Frankly it wouldn't work and it would be known at the time due to various aerodynamic and reentry issues. But to establish a 'prior-art' for future patents...

Nixonhead's render is probably MORE accurate to what an Apollo evolved spaceplane would look like and I'm actually surprised, (I had rush-posted as a joke but now that I look at it...) how little 'evolution' it would take from the patent to the render. The render actually solves the majority of the aerodynamic and reentry issues, though actually "glide-landing" with an aero-body that dense...

Still trying to find a plausible way to a Lenticular Reentry Vehicle for a timeline myself :) (http://www.astronautix.com/k/kehletlenticularvehicle.html)

Randy
 
The Saga of Apollo 13 - Part III
The Saga of Apollo 13 - Part III

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Image Credit: Ed Hengeveld

3 June 1970


Apollo 13

MET: T+ 127:50:35

Odyssey-Aquarius Rendezvous

Altitude: 60 Nautical Miles


Lovell’s voice was reassuring, “Ken, I know you’ve been waiting for a while now, but when we pull up, I wanna take a couple of passes to get some photography. See if we can find the source of your leak.”

“Roger, copy Jim. I want to know what’s up with this baby too.”

“Okay, looks like we’re coming in a little out of phase.”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose.”

“Yeah. I’ve got you on the COAS. Just stick with stationkeeping. We’ll do a flyby or two and then bring it around and in.”

“Have you got the RCS for that?” Mattingly asked.

Fred Haise checked the gauges, “Yeah, Ken, we’re all right on RCS.”

“I’ve still got the computer up. Not sure for how long, but maneuvering is still solid.”

“That’s fine, Ken, but we’ll take care of things. Conserve the RCS.”

“Copy that.”

Haise came back on, “Okay, Jim, TPF.”

“Burning at 10. And... there we go.”

“Ken, I’ve got you at 110 feet out here. What are you reading on your end?” Haise asked.

“110, 109… 110. Yeah, we’re stable at 110.”

Lovell came back, “Okay, not seeing anything yet, but give us a minute.”

Commander Lovell and LMP Haise peered out their respective triangular windows at the Odyssey. The pulsing lights from Aquarius weren’t great to take in Odyssey’s outer skin, but they wouldn’t be in sunlight for another few minutes.

“Have you got anything, Fred?”

“Negative. I don’t think we’re gonna get a good look with this light.”

“Copy. Okay, let’s just hold for a moment. We’ll be in it momentarily. Ken, while we wait, give me a couple of readouts over there.”

Lovell and Mattingly took a few minutes to transfer and record some navigational data from Odyssey. Lovell wrote down the numbers on the back cover to the LM Data Book. If Odyssey’s computers went down before they were hard docked, at least they could have the data ready when they got them back up and running.

As they finished transferring the last of the gimble angles, Odyssey and Aquarius came into the sunshine.

“Okay, there it is. Oh, God.” Haise was the first to see it.

Lovell craned over because Haise was holding the telephoto lens. “You’ve got it?”

“Yeah, above window 1.”

Mattingly had the resigned tone of a man who knew he was about to get bad news, “A strike?”

Haise spoke with a clipped voice, “Yeah, it’s small, couldn’t have been much of anything, but there’s a puncture, maybe the size of a fingernail.”

Lovell took a look through the lens. Odyssey had been marked. Whatever had hit it had come in from the side. Based on the nature of the telltale gray streak, it looked like a few inches off and the meteoroid (assuming that’s what it was) would have missed entirely.

Mattingly replied, “Get some good shots for me fellas. I want to show everyone this wasn’t my fault.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Ken,” Lovell said as he and Haise snapped pictures of the Odyssey’s scar.

“Hey, I want to come back here someday.”

“Looks like we’ve got some debris too. Are you seeing that?”

“How bad?” Mattingly asked.

Lovell took a shot of the debris, “A few flakes, probably bits of the hull.”

“Any other damage?”

“Negative, not that we’re seeing. High gain looks fine. Umbilical looks fine. Not seeing anything on the service module.”

“How far up is the impact from the heat shield?”

“Got at least a foot, probably more like a foot and a half. I don’t think we’re in trouble there.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Okay, I think we’ve got what we need. Let’s bring it in.”

“Roger that. Staying on stationkeeping. Let me know when you want me to go active.”

“Copy. Stand by, we’ll swing around.”

Aquarius maneuvered in front of Odyssey and pitched over. Mattingly relayed to them when he had the target in the reticle. Even with the suit on, the basic mechanics of docking weren’t too difficult to handle. Odyssey’s controls and wiring had survived being flash-frozen for the moment.

Lovell couldn’t see the Odyssey in the docking attitude, but Mattingly called out the closing distances, so there were no surprises. All three of them breathed a sigh of relief when the lurch and shudder of hard dock marked the safe rejoining of the two spacecraft.

“Welcome back fellas. The place has gotten a little drafty while you were gone.”

The three men were content to wait until AOS with Houston, which occurred less than 15 minutes after docking. In the MOCR, Control and Fido were eager to give the call of a successful docking as soon as Apollo 13 came around from the Moon’s eastern horizon.

Lovell heard the friendly voice of Joe Kerwin as soon as they came around, “Thirteen, this is Houston, how do you read me now?”

“Houston, this is thirteen, we read you Joe. We have a stable hard dock and we’ve given the Odyssey a once over.”

Over the next few minutes, Lovell and Haise did their best to describe, in detail, the scarring of the command module. The descriptions were clinical and cold. The tone familiar to any test pilot who had to explain an in-flight danger to an engineer after he had landed. Panic and dread were companions in any dangerous situation, but they had no place in an aviator’s demeanor in front of others.

After a few minutes, Krantz came on to the controller’s loop, “CAPCOM, let’s proceed with getting them the TEI burn data. I think we’ve gotten the idea down here and we can have them relay more later if needs be.”

Kerwin nodded and keyed his mike, “Thirteen, Houston. Thanks for that, Jim and Fred. We’re chewing on that data now. In the mean time, we’d like to get these figures to you for the TEI burn on your next orbit.”

“Copy, Houston. We’re ready when you are.”

“Have you got the TEI-PAD in front of you, Ken?”

“Affirmative, Houston. Go with those figures.”

“Okay, TEI-preliminary. SPS G&N; Noun 47 is 39057, Noun 48 is plus 0.84, plus 0.15; Noun 33 is 128:34:30…” Kerwin paused for a moment and Lovell interrupted.

“128, Houston? That’s less than an hour away. You want us to get this on our next pass?”

“Affirmative 13. EECOM and Fido both have concerns about the lifespan of the computer in vacuum. We’re gonna sort out everything else after the burn.”

Lovell bit his lip inside his helmet. He’d have preferred an extra orbit to sort out any other issues, but time was of the essence here.

“Roger, we copy. Continue with those numbers.”

Kerwin continued, “Noun 81, we want plus 3730, minus 623, minus 104. Triple zeros for your attitude at Tig. N/A, plus 24, Noun 81 total of 3450 fps. Burn time is 3:04, VC is 3004. We’re gonna use Sigma Sagittarii for the sextant reference. That’s 37 in the computer, mark trunnion angles are 224.3 and 30.5. NA on your boresight and your COAS angles are both NA. Splashdown point for Noun 61 is plus 28.17, minus 159. Then 1024.4, 35178, 188:55:06. GDC align is through Deneb and Vega. That’s 43 and 36, respectively in the computer. Your roll align angles are 98, 174 and 020.”

Another pause as Kerwin double checked the numbers from Fido and Guidance

Mattingly wanted to fill out the rest of his list, “Joe, the Ullage numbers?”

Kerwin came back, “Ullage, 4 quads, 12 seconds. That’ll get your propellants good and settled before you light up the SPS. Readback whenever you’re ready. Computer is all yours, Odyssey.”

Lovell had been taking down the numbers on the back of a flight manual in the Aquarius. He had the first question, “39057 for Noun 47, Houston? The extra weight is us dragging Aquarius back home. Are we sure about the Noun 48 angles? Yaw and pitch trim with the Aquarius on the nose. I’d love to have someone run it in a sim if you haven’t already.”

“They just got the run completed before AOS, Jim. It checks out down here. I know it’s not quite what we originally planned. They’re gonna run it again and I’ll have a TEI-final for you before you go around back again.”

Lovell nodded, “Very well, Houston.”

Kerwin asked, “Ken, how are you with what you’re seeing?”

Mattingly called back, “How sure are we for 188, well, almost 189, on the entry interface timing?”

“Again, they’re rerunning, but we’ll have other data for you after you break orbit. We’re looking into the possibility of a burn after pericynthion, just to get you here a little sooner.”

Lovell asked, “How much longer after?”

“It’s looking like 2 hours. Pericynthion plus 2 hours. PC+2. Assuming all goes well.”

Mattingly was satisfied with that answer. The guidance computer needed a number for the MET at entry interface after the burn, but that number could be altered a bit after the TEI burn without adversely affecting the guidance system.

“Copy that, Houston. And all axes at zero attitude for the burn, even with Aquarius?”

“Roger, thirteen. The guidance platform alignment should give you just what you need there.”

Lovell took command of the situation, “Okay, Houston. We’re going to do a readback now on the TEI prelim, then, while Ken is entering it into the computer, Fred and I are going to start transferring samples over. I want to get everything stowed away by the book before the burn. After that we can see about the oxygen. Confirm?”

A long moment passed as Houston conferred.

“Roger that, Jim. We think that’ll work just fine.

Ten minutes later, Lovell and Haise reentered the Odyssey.

Haise was surprised to find the CSM as bright and well-lit as it was when they’d left. Something about the situation had him imagining a cold and dark command module. Cold yes, dark no. The Odyssey’s service module hadn’t been damaged, and power was still flowing into the lights and displays. The vacuum that filled the cockpit would eventually shut down the computer; but, until that occurred, the Odyssey would maintain a somewhat normal appearance.

Lovell found his CMP entering numbers into the computer for the TEI burn. He tapped Mattingly on the leg as he floated into the cabin. Mattingly waved a gloved hand and indicated a couple of containers that he’d put aside during Aquarius’s ascent.

“Jim, I’ve gotten these ready. That’s the food from the locker.”

Lovell replied, “Roger. Thanks, Ken. We’ll get that moved over as soon as we get the rocks up here.”

“I can’t get any flow on the water lines. I think they’re already frozen up.”

Lovell nodded in his space suit. He caught himself and spoke over the suit radios, “Yeah, I was afraid of that. We’ll have to figure something out for the water.”

“I’m about halfway done here. After that, I’ll give you guys a hand moving this stuff into the LEM.”

Lovell interrupted, “No. Take down the nav data. After she freezes up, we’ll have to get the numbers into the LEM computers for the trip home.”

“Copy that. CO2 scrubbers are in the lower equipment bay.”

“Stay on it. Freddo and I will take care of this.”

Mattingly keyed in the last of the numbers and then started to take down the new navigational data.


In Houston, Sy Liebergot kept a close watch on his panel as Odyssey neared the last LOS in lunar orbit. His muscles were tense and, just after Apollo 13 went behind the lunar horizon, it dawned on him that he’d been in a full body clench for several minutes now.

After the screens of the MOCR lost the feeds from the orbiting spacecraft, Gene Krantz came onto the loop. “Okay, White Team, listen up. Starting now, I’m pulling White off of consoles. Everyone assemble in 210 in 5 minutes for new assignments. Hand your consoles over to the Black Team. Get a move on.”

Five minutes later, a collection of the most nervous men on Earth stood in an average sized conference room that could have been pulled from any small business in America. An abandoned coffee pot sat on a file cabinet in the back corner. Those with military experience unconsciously snapped to attention when Krantz entered the room.

Krantz wasted no words on introductions. “Consumables. Navigation. Control. Sy, Jack, and John,” he pointed at each in turn, “Each of you are gonna take your respective areas and get a new flightplan together for the return flight. I want two more groups, one for repair options, if any. One for reentry. Work the problems, one by one.”

He checked his watch. It took him a moment to register that it was now after midnight. “Wake up anyone you need. Get them in here. Grumman, North American, whoever. Everyone is on the clock now. We’ve never lost an American in space. We’re sure as hell not going to lose one on my watch. Failure is not an option.”


Twenty minutes later, Darren Yancey, a junior member of the Black Team EECOM SSR sat at the MOCR EECOM console. His boss was on his way in, but had not yet arrived. There was apparently an issue with a car that wouldn’t start. Yancey had dreamt of what it would be like to be in the main room and in control of a console during a flight, but this particular dream had become far too scary. Now that he sat in the big chair, there was a big part of him that wanted someone else to take over.

He checked the connection of his headset for the fifth time as the AOS clock counted down the last 20 seconds. Thirteen should have made its TEI burn about 20 minutes ago and should be emerging any moment on a new course heading for Earth. Darren took a deep breath and prepared himself for the incoming telemetry.

The AOS clock reached zero. He scanned his monitor. It seemed frozen. No new data. No new indicators or numbers.

A chill grabbed his chest. There were a few possibilities and all of them were bad. If he wasn’t getting data, that could mean that Odyssey still hadn’t emerged from the far side. In which case, it may be off course. Or worse still, there could have been a catastrophic failure of the Service Module Propulsion System. If the SPS had failed, the crew could be stranded, or lost entirely at this point.

He was about to speak his first words on the loop when he heard Lovell’s voice over his headset.

“Houston, this is Aquarius. We’ve got good news and bad news for you here. The good news is that Odyssey has fired the TEI burn on time and on target. We got through start up and shut down with no problems. About 5 minutes later, we lost the platform in Odyssey. Fred and Ken and I have all made our way into the LEM and we’re awaiting your instructions for pressurization procedures. We’d very much like to get out of these suits. Please advise.”


END OF PART THREE
 
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Really enjoying the drama - it'll make a hell of a good Tom Hanks movie :biggrin:

One question on this:

The vacuum that filled the cockpit would eventually shut down the computers and other systems from a lack of heat

Wouldn't the problem for the computers rather be overheating? I know this was an issue for Vostok and Voskhod (and indeed a lot of early Soviet unmanned probes) as their electronics were air cooled. The CM was designed to be depressurised, at least for short spells, so I guess it doesn't have that problem to the same extent, but if there's still power why would the electronics be getting colder?
 
Wouldn't the problem for the computers rather be overheating? I know this was an issue for Vostok and Voskhod (and indeed a lot of early Soviet unmanned probes) as their electronics were air cooled. The CM was designed to be depressurised, at least for short spells, so I guess it doesn't have that problem to the same extent, but if there's still power why would the electronics be getting colder?

Great question!

My understanding, (and it's more than possible that I've gotten something wrong) is that, with the CM in vacuum, every surface would essentially act as a radiator, much like OTL Shuttle's cargo bay doors. Radiation is surprisingly effective at shedding heat into space.

I had a chance to speak with the real Sy Liebergot before starting work on this timeline. He discussed the emergency procedures with me for this situation. (I have based this scenario off of a simulation of an Apollo 10 flight that was mentioned in Lovell's Lost Moon, as well as Liebergot's Apollo EECOM. My own artistic freedom has played no small part in the crafting of this story as well.) Liebergot explained to me that, without air around it, the computers would begin to lose heat rapidly into space. Apollo CSM's did have the capability of going into full vacuum for a time (this was done for spacewalks on the return flights of Apollo's 15-17). The sense that I got though was that a computer, exposed to long-term vacuum, would eventually lose so much heat that it would be compromised. Liebergot expressed the problem of trying to restart a computer without air around it.

It's more than possible that I misunderstood some of what he explained to me. This was a few minutes out of a 2-hour conversation from a couple of months ago. However, my studies of radiation in vacuum seem to confirm the scenario.

Whether through over or underheating, an Apollo computer would certainly be stressed by long-term vacuum and continued operations would be difficult.

If possible, I'll try to address this issue further in part IV, where we will go into power-up procedures for the Odyssey.
 
Wouldn't the problem for the computers rather be overheating?

My research on this issue led me to Raytheon's reports on the Apollo Guidance Computer, from 1969. There I found this passage:

"The Apollo Guidance Computer (AGC) is approximately 19 inches wide, 24 inches deep, and 7 inches high (a detailed sketch is shown in Figure 2-4). The AGC consists of three plugin tray assemblies and an end connector assembly which are mounted on a base coldplate. The base coldplate, which is part of the spacecraft, is an aluminum alloy, liquid cooled, honeycombed structure designed to dissipate the heat Emitted from the AGC. The end connector assembly is bolted to the base coldplate and provides support for the plugin tray assemblies. "

Having done some further research on this, I'm rethinking my earlier hypothesis. The general consensus from my research suggests that a computer such as Apollo's will cease function after a period of "soaking" in vacuum, but whether that failure comes from overheating or freezing isn't as clear.

In any event, hard vacuum will (eventually) cause the computer to stop operating. While I am confident in the overall outcome of Part III, I am unsure as to the cause. Therefore, at my next opportunity, I will edit the section accordingly to take a more ambiguous approach to the nature of the malfunction.

Thank you all for your patience and your interest as I put in this revision. I hope to have the conclusion of the Saga of Apollo 13 posted before the end of this week.
 
Another great installment.

On the computer issue, the computer was liquid cooled. I don't think a liquid cooling system will work in a vacuum, as there needs to be a coolant to air exchange somewhere in the cooling cycle in order to dissipate the heat drawn into the cooling system from the computer. Without an alternate means to draw off the heat building up in the liquid system, the whole thing will eventually overheat. I'm no expert, so don't take this as anything more than a (somewhat) educated guess, but I know that liquid cooling systems rely on some sort of air-based heat exchange to rid the system of excess heat; that is, in fact, the function of a radiator in a car. Oh, well, perhaps this is completely wrong, but I thought I'd toss it out there.
 
Without an alternate means to draw off the heat building up in the liquid system, the whole thing will eventually overheat.

As best I can tell, the question is, whether a AGC will radiate heat into vacuum (note: radiation is the only method of heat transfer into vacuum, e.g. The Sun), at a rate greater, less than, or equal to the rate that the standard on-board systems would cool it anyway.

If greater, then the computer would eventually lose too much heat to function (which was my original thought). If less, then the AGC will overheat and shut down anyway (essentially leading to the same on-board condition and problem). The only possibility that would ruin the narrative is if the rates were equal, and I consider that to be highly unlikely.

My thermodynamics courses, comprehensive though they were, have not given me enough of an instinct to say for sure.
 
As best I can tell, the question is, whether a AGC will radiate heat into vacuum (note: radiation is the only method of heat transfer into vacuum, e.g. The Sun), at a rate greater, less than, or equal to the rate that the standard on-board systems would cool it anyway.

If greater, then the computer would eventually lose too much heat to function (which was my original thought). If less, then the AGC will overheat and shut down anyway (essentially leading to the same on-board condition and problem). The only possibility that would ruin the narrative is if the rates were equal, and I consider that to be highly unlikely.

My thermodynamics courses, comprehensive though they were, have not given me enough of an instinct to say for sure.

A somewhat cursory examination of the subject revealed that the coldplates for the computer system were actually linked to the environmental control system of the CM using a coolant of glycol and water. https://ntrs.nasa.gov/archive/nasa/casi.ntrs.nasa.gov/19720012252.pdf I'm passing this along as something to look at, though I wouldn't be at all surprised if you've already read it. The technical detail you've mastered here is in likelihood far more than I could ever hope to have and I suspect you will have this figured out.

I'll wrap up here by simply saying this is one of the best things I've read here. It's a great story well-told with enough technical detail to satisfy even the biggest space nerd. It really is great work.
 
The Saga of Apollo 13 - Part IV
The Saga of Apollo 13 - Part IV

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4 June 1970


Apollo 13

MET: 130:15:22 (59 hours to Entry Interface)

Manned Spacecraft Center - MOCR

29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W


Krantz had shed his customary vest and his plain black tie was loosened. Kraft and Lunney gave him their full attention and he spoke quickly, but clearly. “I’ve got the White Team into separate Tiger Teams now. They’re each taking one issue that we’re going to face on the way back in. Guys from EECOM and TELMU are working on the CO2 scrubbers. They’re figuring something out with the suit hoses to filter Aquarius’s air. Recovery and Guidance are still figuring out if it’s worth it to do a burn. We lost the PC+2 opportunity, but there might be something we can do with what we have left in Aquarius.”

Kraft interjected, “That’s not much, considering what we had to use for the ascent and rendezvous.”

Krantz said, “Yeah, we’re low on fuel in the LEM. It may be worth it though, considering the water situation. John Aaron’s team is working on how to get a cold CM powered up again. That’s gonna be the worst of it, I think.”

Lunney nodded, “It’ll still be cold in the Odyssey four days from now.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. We may want to try to see if we can seal that hole and then feed O2 into the cabin. After we get the scrubbers sorted out, we’ll figure out how much air we can spare to feed into Odyssey to get the computers going before reentry.”

Kraft raised an eyebrow, “Let it leak intentionally?”

“Yeah, if we can keep air in the cabin for maybe an hour or two before entry, we can get the AGC going again and it’ll hold out through splashdown.”

Lunney asked, “We need to figure out if venting that much will affect the entry angle.”

Krantz nodded, “And what may happen if we’re still venting after entry interface.”

Kraft spoke up, “That’s pretty dicey, Gene.”

“We’ve got to have the AGC up and running before interface. The AGC needs air around it to function for any extended period. We can try to minimize the effects of everything else and I think we can get it down pretty good. We’ve got 2 days to figure that out.”

Kraft pondered for a moment. Technically, Krantz was in charge, but there was no one at NASA who wouldn’t be interested in the opinion of Christopher Columbus Kraft Jr. when it came to matters of crew safety. After a moment, he realized that Krantz and Lunney were waiting for him to speak, “What? That’s what we’ve got to do. Let’s get to it.”

---​

*Down the hall, in the GNC backroom, Gold Team’s Gary Coen was having a very unusual conversation with a rep from the subcontractor who had built the AGC.

“I need you to consult your manufacturing records and see what experience you have powering up an inertial maneuvering unit from a completely cold state to a fully operational state.”

“A completely cold state?” the engineer asked.

“Completely. No heaters.” Coen replied.

“That’s easy. We don’t have any experience with that.”

“None?” Coen asked.

“None. Why would we? That unit’s supposed to be heated. We already know that if you fly without the heaters, the thing’s not going to work.”

“So, you’ve got no data on this at all?” Coen asked.

“Well,” the engineer said, after a pause, “one of our people up in Boston did take a guidance unit home with him one night and accidentally left it in his station wagon ‘til morning. It got down to about 30 degrees, but the next day the thing started right up with no problem.”

“That’s it?” Coen asked, with a raised eyebrow.

The engineer shrugged, “Sorry.”*

---
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4 June 1970

Apollo 13

MET: T+ 148:20:09

Callsign: Aquarius

41 hours to Entry Interface

They’d let them sleep after pressurization was complete and stable. Lovell, Haise and Mattingly had managed to find comfortable spots in Aquarius, despite the cramped space. Mattingly had chosen to curl up over the ascent engine, behind Lovell and Haise, who more or less slept standing up, not that the term had any meaning in zero-G.

When they woke, Houston began a run down of the new flight plan. In an ordinary flight, the trip home was relatively uneventful. It was as close as an astronaut would get to a vacation in space. Sure, there were a few occasional observations to make, or a bit of housekeeping to take care of, but, for the most part, the return from the Moon had a fair bit of downtime.

Not for the crew of Apollo 13.

With Aquarius being designed to hold 2 men for 2 days, the first priority was to extend her consumables. In order of priority, these were power, water, and air.

In order to get more power into Aquarius, they would need to activate the Odyssey to back up the LEM’s power supply. This was a procedure which was only to be used for the flight out to the Moon, should a problem develop with the LEM’s batteries.

In order to initiate the power transfer sequence, Odyssey’s computers would have to be activated. In order to activate the computers, they’d have to be brought to a stable temperature; which meant repressurizing Odyssey. In order to repressurize Odyssey, it would need to be patched.

So, in a space that would be dwarfed by a walk-in closet, one by one, the men of Apollo 13 donned their space suits.

Haise grinned despite the situation. He said to Lovell as he sealed him up, “First you needed a screwdriver, now I’d give my right arm for a good caulking gun.”

Vance Brand was working CAPCOM today. He called back, “Roger that, Fred. I’m betting we’ll have all sorts of new additions to the in-flight tool kit on the next trip.”

Haise sheepishly shrugged, reminding himself that they were on VOX and Houston was copying their every word.

The EVA would have two objectives. First was to refresh the jerry-rigged oxygen tank from Aquarius, using Odyssey’s oxygen system. Ken Mattingly would handle that, sitting in the left-hand seat of the Odyssey. At the same time, Lovell would go through Odyssey’s hatch and, armed with duct tape and a few loose nuts and bolts, would attempt to patch the hole in Odyssey’s hull.

Truthfully, the engineers of the MOCR weren’t very confident in the repair plan, but, if successful, it would be very helpful. The greater purpose was to prepare the spacecraft for a pressurization and power-up, to look for potential difficulties in doing so before reentry. The idea being, if the fix held, all the better, if not, they’d have a test run for Saturday.

Lovell led the way through the tunnel between Odyssey and Aquarius, armed with a roll of duct tape, a couple of washers and screws and his Hasselblad 500EL surface camera. The plan was to diagnose the hole from up close. The tape would be his main tool. If he could jam a screw into the hole, that might be worth a try, but he was loathed to risk making it any worse. He carried along the Hasselblad so that Houston would be able to get a good look at the hole once they got back.

Houston had batted around the idea of using the surface video camera, but that idea was nixed as it would likely be in direct sunlight, and would risk frying the circuitry. Lovell had been against using it too, since the video camera was more cumbersome. He was fairly comfortable with the Hasselblad at this point. He’d taken a training model on several vacations with Marilyn and the kids.

Haise followed behind him, a bungee cord connected Haise’s hand to Lovell’s left foot. It wasn’t really necessary, but it was an extra layer of safety, on a flight where plenty of safety had leaked out with the oxygen.

Mattingly brought up the rear, cradling the Aquarius’s oxygen tank like a running back with a football. He assisted Lovell with opening the Odyssey’s hatch, then got to work on connecting the oxygen tank to the output.

“Okay, Houston. I am out the door. Let’s see what kind of hand we’ve been dealt here.” Lovell said.

“Roger, Jim. We’d love to get your descriptions on this before we start the repair.”

“Copy that, Houston. There’s not much to this hole. It looks a lot like someone shot the Odyssey with a big BB gun. It’s maybe twice the size of his thumbnail with some wrinkling around it. The hull itself appears to have been scorched, likely scoring from the heat generated by the high-speed of the impact.”

He managed to photograph the damage from all sides. “Houston, I think I can see a bit of the rock itself. It looks like a piece of it wedged in one of these tiny little ridges on the outer hull.”

Vance Brand’s voice was excited, “Roger that, Jim. We’re definitely gonna want you to bag that piece and bring it back.”

“Copy, Houston. Freddo, if you could please, disengage my line and get me a sample return bag.”

A few minutes later, Fred handed him a bag through the hatch. Lovell very carefully pried out the piece of stone and bagged it. Returning it to Fred’s outstretched hand with the gentleness one would usually reserve for an infant.

“Okay, Houston. That’s sample number 13290 for when we get back home. Now, let’s see about getting this hole fixed.” Lovell said.

He stretched out a piece of duct tape, about half a foot long. He placed it over the hole and pressed it home. In vacuum, no one was sure how well it would hold up. It laid flat and didn’t peel up, which was a good sign. He took a photo of the first strip laid down. The wrinkles were troubling. The ridges around the hole made ridges in the tape. It wasn’t ideal, but there was nothing to be done for it. He applied more strips to either side of the first, then another layer on top, then put two strips on each end, perpendicular, like the logs on a raft. It was all he could think of. He relayed as much to Houston. Time would tell if the patch was airtight, or if it would last even a minute with the 5 psi of Odyssey pushing against the vast nothingness of the entire universe.

It was best not to think about it.

Ten minutes later, he was back inside. They stayed in the suits, with the Aquarius sealed up behind them. If the seal failed after they reached full pressure, it was probably best to have Aquarius cut off from any of the issues that may result.

Mattingly, being the CMP, was given the left-hand seat for the test.

“Okay, Houston. Opening the valves now. Let me know how it reads down there.”

At the EECOM station, Liebergot monitored the console over the shoulder of Black Team’s EECOM. They had switched to a secondary channel for the telemetry, and were able to monitor the rising pressure within the spacecraft.

Back in Houston, Glynn Lunney was Flight for the moment. “EECOM, give us a rolling commentary if you will please.”

“Copy, Flight. Point five psi. One. One point five...”

Over the next few minutes, Odyssey refilled with pure oxygen from the service module. There was a collective sigh of relief when the spacecraft got back to 5 psi.

Lunney didn’t want to signal any relief, to his controllers, or the world listening in. “People, we’re not out of the woods by any stretch. We have no idea how long this’ll last. Let’s use this time to sort out as much as we can. GNC, let’s start in with the AGC initialization procedures.”

03_19_10_16-thumb.jpg

5 June 1970

Apollo 13

MET: T+ 158:32:12 (30 hours to Entry Interface)

Manned Spacecraft Center - MOCR

29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W


The seal had held for 108 minutes. That was better than expected. The crew had used the time to get the last of the Odyssey’s potable water into bags. That had helped immensely with replenishing Aquarius’s tank and keeping the LEM’s hardware cool. They had also managed to restart the AGC and get power transferred to the LEM batteries.

Liebergot had worked closely with a couple of the reps from Grumman and North American and they’d been able to relay a procedure that allowed the batteries to continuously draw from Odyssey. It would be nerve-wracking to monitor the power feeds for the trip home, but it was well within Houston’s capabilities.

The crew had stayed in suits for the entire time, and it came as no surprise when they had to move back to the Aquarius. They’d dutifully preserved as much air as they could from the Odyssey’s tanks, then took the AGC through a by-the-book shutdown, to avoid any further damage.

After a rest period, Vance Brand called up 13 to get a handle on the next situation before it became a crisis.

Aquarius, Houston.”

Houston, Aquarius.”

“Fred, we have some new instructions on your CO2 situation up there. Are you guys awake? Ready to start the day?”

“Roger that, Houston. We’re good to go. What have you got?”

Brand looked through the extensive wad of notes that he’d been handed by the engineers, “Okay. Just some info. We're working up a procedure for you to use to—to use command module LiOH canisters to connect to your hoses—the outlet hoses in the LM so that, as time passes in the mission, you can continue scrubbing the LM atmosphere. And this whole thing requires modifying a kit so that you can attach the hose modifying a LiOH canister, so you can attach the hose to it. Over.”

Haise replied, “Roger, Houston. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll start in. You guys just tell me what sort of material you had in mind to build this out of, and Ken and I will go to work on trying to construct that thing. Assume we'll use the space-age baling wire or the gray tape?”

“That's affirm. We have a lengthy procedure here; but, in short, you use plastic as a covering for the whole thing. You put some kind of a stiffener at the top so the plastic doesn't suck against the LOI—LiOH enter—entrance side. You'll—You need gray tape to stick the whole thing together, and you need something like a sock to put in the—the bottom so that the outlet side is plugged up. As it turns out, the flow is rather U-shaped through the cartridge, Fred. It, if you plug up the bottom, it comes in one side of the top and goes out the other.”

There was silence for a few minutes as materials were gathered. Lovell used the time to fine tune the PTC barbecue roll, which had given them trouble, with Aquarius carrying Odyssey’s bulk on her back.

Mattingly came on the line, “Okay, Vance. A couple of items we uncovered for that cartridge MOD. One is the special dust covering bag that we were going to use on the tote bags, that is pretty thick and nonporous; and we retrieved a fairly large—enclosed—enclosure made of plastic that those drink bags are in that I think we can scissor and also make do for a cover, taping it on, if that's appropriate.”

“Stand by, Aquarius. I want to get Joe Kerwin on comm. He was on the team that put this thing together. Let me put him on the line.”

Kerwin’s voice came over a moment later, “Okay; right. Okay. I'm ready to start into the procedure. When you answer me back, speak up—speak up into the microphone, because our downlink is pretty noisy. The first thing we want you to do, and we'll do this on one canister, and then let you go ahead and repeat it on the second. So take one of the LCGs and cut off the outer bag. By cutting along one the heat seals; do it carefully and close to the heat seal, because we may have to use the outer bag if we damage the inner bag. So go ahead and do that, and then we'll do the next step.”

“Take an LCG, cut the outer bag by the heat seal, but don’t damage the inner, right?”

“Right, just cut along one side.”

“Okay, we’ve done that.”

“Now, remove the inner bag from the outer, cut the inner bag, also along one of the heat seals, down one side.”

Over the next half hour, Kerwin walked Haise and Mattingly through the construction of the “mailbox” device that filtered Aquarius’s air.


6 June 1970

Apollo 13

MET: T+ 180:17:06

Callsign: Aquarius

8 hours to Entry Interface

Jim Lovell woke up from a fitful sleep with Ken Mattingly’s hand on his shoulder. He reached for it instinctively and Mattingly held him steady.

Mattingly nodded towards the still sleeping Fred Haise, floating in his corner of the cramped Aquarius cockpit. Mattingly put a finger to his lips and Lovell nodded and checked that the microphones were off of VOX.

Lovell whispered, “What’s up, Ken?”

“I’ve been thinking about entry interface.”

“You and me both.”

“Jim, there’s something I want to recommend, but… it’s not something I want to talk about.”

Lovell tilted his head. Mattingly looked very troubled. “What’s on your mind, Ken?”

“Mission rules call for us to go to VOX before interface. Hot mikes all the way down.”

Lovell nodded, “Yeah, it’s just one less thing to worry about.”

“I think we should go to manual transmission.”

“Oookay, but why does it matter.”

“In case it doesn’t go according to plan.”

“What do you mean?”

“The blackout should last for 3 minutes, but there’s no guarantee when it’ll lift. It’s a little bit different for every flight.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t see…”

“If we have a burn through, there’s no way to know when…”

“We’re not gonna have a burn through.”

“With the impact, and we may be venting… There’s no way that tape will hold up. And we don’t know if it’ll get hot in the Odyssey with that exposure… or how hot it might get. And we don’t know how any of this may have affected the chutes.”

Lovell nodded. He’d been trying not to think about that as there was nothing to do for it. The parachutes could be heated after power-up of the Odyssey, but, like the computer, they weren’t designed to be flash-frozen either.

He could see where Ken was going with this, but it was worth saying, “What does this have to do with the comms?”

“If we come in ballistic… or not at all… I think it’d be better if we did it silently, as far as the air-to-ground loop.”

Lovell nodded, “Bad for the program.”

“It’ll be bad anyway, but it’s one less thing to put on the news.”

“We’re a public records agency.”

“Yeah, and I really don’t want my parents to hear anything like that, if the worst happens.”

Lovell agreed with that. The idea of Marilyn or the kids hearing something like that was too terrible to contemplate.

“Ken, it’s gonna be fine.”

“I know. I’m just saying…”

A beat passed between them.

“Yeah… yeah, okay. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Haise grumbled through a snore and woke up slowly, “Morning fellas. I didn’t hear the rooster crow.”

Lovell left the grim nature of the conversation behind, “Homecoming day. Let’s get some breakfast before we head back into the office.”

spaceship-apollo-12.jpg

Image Credit: NASA​

6 June 1970

Apollo 13

MET: T+ 188:50:06

Callsign: Aquarius

10 minutes to Entry Interface


The new seal was in place, Odyssey was pressurized and powered up. They’d gotten it all done with less than half an hour to spare.

Aquarius had departed like an old friend. They silently watched her tumble away, awaiting her fiery fate over the Pacific.

If the 108 minutes of the first patch was a guide, they could expect air pressure to stay constant through entry interface, but no one believed that a duct tape patch job would hold up against the plasma. The crew had stayed on suit oxygen since leaving Aquarius.

Mattingly had the left-hand seat. Lovell had complete trust in his CMP. Jim had said a few thank you’s to the various technicians and engineers in Houston, as well as those in dozens of other sites around the country. Before switching off the VOX feed, he allowed himself one final word to the two men that he was closest to.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a privilege flying with you.”

The heat of reentry from a lunar flight is such that, if one were to put a diamond on the heat shield of the command module, there was a decent chance that it would literally melt during the descent. The energy generated was enough to lift every living person one foot off the ground, or to light up a major city.

So, 8 strips of duct tape were reduced to a cinder in approximately 12 seconds. The crew was spared the knowledge of exactly when the patch failed. Reentry was like flying through a neon tube. The man-made aurora they flew through would have been beautiful, if it didn’t come with the knowledge of the dangers it created.

With the patch gone and Odyssey leaking her precious oxygen, the ship began a slow shudder. The leaking air quickly caught fire and began to melt the weakened metal around the puncture. Later analysis would indicate that if the hole had managed to reach 5cm, it would have been enough to put the Odyssey into a tilt that would have doomed the spacecraft.

In later years, visitors to the Air and Space Museum in Washington D.C. would often have their pictures taken with the Odyssey’s puncture prominently displayed. Docents at the museum eventually added a ruler to the display, showing that the hole itself was 1.5 inches across. About 3.8cm for those who used the metric system.

Mattingly heard the call for Noun 67 from Houston. Neither he nor Lovell could understand at first why Houston wasn’t hearing their calls after the drogue chutes opened.

Lovell laughed as he finally remembered to key the mike switch. He tapped Mattingly on the shoulder and pointed. Around 9000 feet of altitude, just as the mains were deploying, Lovell replied to the hails, “Houston, this is Odyssey. It’s good to see you again.”




*The section with Gary Coen's conversation has been taken, largely verbatim, from Jim Lovell's book, Apollo 13.

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