Blue Gemini

by Mike Jenne

  Hundreds of pages outlined the intricate scheme for selectively removing Titan II ICBMs from their silos and retrofitting them to launch manned spacecraft instead of nuclear warheads. More paper was dedicated to explaining the elaborate movement plan in which the modified boosters would be transported by rail to the Horizontal Assembly Facility near San Diego, where they would be mated with the Gemini-I vehicles. Each completed assembly would be hermetically sealed in weatherproof transport container, which would then be loaded onto a modified Navy LST landing ship for the 3500-mile voyage to the Pacific Departure Facility launch site on remote Johnston Island.

  Besides the flight hardware, it was critical to ensure that all the other essential pieces—communications networks, tracking systems, rescue forces, and the like—were also ready.

  Of the roughly three thousand men and women who would be directly or indirectly involved with each mission, only a tiny minority—197, to be exact, including the two men uncomfortably seated in the nosecone—would be aware that a rocket was carrying men into space. Of those 197 insiders, only a third would actually be aware of why they were going into orbit.

  So to keep the remaining twenty-eight hundred workers in the dark concerning the full extent of the project, several of the binders described the labyrinth of cover stories, partial truths, and outright lies that collectively served as a Churchillian bodyguard of the truth.

  So much information! Rockets, spacecraft, launching sites, tracking systems, ships, airplanes, contingency landing strips, people, places and ideas. While a committee approach was effective for managing most of the issues associated with Blue Gemini, Tew felt that it was still crucial that at least one man maintain a tight grasp on all aspects of the entire scheme.

  Tew imagined that someday there would be massive computers—probably as big as this entire building—that could store all of the information in these binders. A huge thinking machine would eventually be able to house and correlate all of these assorted bits and pieces of information and perhaps make sense of it. But until such a machine became reality, the job fell to Tew. Or, at least, he took the labor upon himself.

  To Tew’s dismay, Wolcott had long ago abandoned the sleep discipline they had learned at AFSC. While Wolcott did labor long hours—he was usually in the office for at least fourteen hours a day—he had adopted the routine and trappings of a normal life, or at least something roughly akin to one. Sometimes Tew was irritated by his friend’s seeming lack of commitment, but the rangy cowboy consistently kept things moving forward. Continuing the relationship forged in decades of past projects, Tew focused on the more mundane aspects of organization and budgets, and Wolcott kept a steady eye on the machines and the men.

  In contrast to Wolcott, Tew rarely left the building. He perceived of himself like an ever-vigilant captain of a warship at sea, with a makeshift wardroom adjacent to the bridge, so he was always ready to return to the action at a moment’s notice. Of course, since his wife had retreated back to California, there was scarce reason for him to leave his post.

  Listening to his stomach grumble, he was also reminded that it had been weeks since he had sat down to a normal meal. His digestive woes had sentenced him to the blandest of diets, so he had little motivation to sup at a restaurant or the Officers’ Club. Although Wolcott constantly needled him to join him at the Club to throw back a few and bleed off a little steam, the notion of having a drink was far removed from his mind.

  If anything, his recent ascetic lifestyle compelled him to glimpse into the excesses of his past, making him realize just how quickly he could be lured to find solace in a bottle. In any event, there was much work yet to be done. With critical deadlines looming close over the horizon, Tew set aside distractions and stayed the course. Eventually, Blue Gemini might fail or run aground, but it damned sure would not be because he was asleep in the wheelhouse.

  Wright Arms Apartments, Dayton, Ohio

  5:00 a.m., Friday, September 13, 1968

  Like Tew, Ourecky had no need for an alarm clock; without any external stimulation, his mind instantly clicked into gear and he was wide awake. He opened his eyes to check the clock on the nightstand: its dim luminous hands confirmed it was five o’clock. He quietly slid out of the bed—trying not to wake Bea as she softly snored—and slipped into the bathroom.

  A few minutes later, after brushing his teeth and shaving, he tiptoed past the bed toward the living room. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he pulled on his gray sweat suit bottoms and put on his socks. He was lacing up his high top Converse sneakers when she appeared at the bedroom door, wearing her pink cotton nightgown. Untied, it was slightly open at the front, revealing a narrow sliver of her naked body in the dim light. He paused to admire her.

  “See something you like, sailor?” she said, grinning.

  “Well, I don’t see anything I don’t like,” he replied. “Just wish I could stay a little longer.” Carson would absolutely wear him out if he was just a minute late, and as much as he yearned to go back to bed with Bea, he didn’t want to face the wrath of the pugnacious pilot.

  “You’re up early,” she said, stretching and yawning. “Why the hurry, honey?”

  “I’m supposed to meet Major Carson at the gym. Just like last week and the week before.”

  “Why, Scott? Don’t they already get enough of your time?”

  “Carson’s helping me get in shape,” answered Ourecky. “He goes to the gym at six, so that’s when I have to go, if I’m going to work out with him.”

  She yawned again. “Well, I can see you’ve lost some weight and you’re obviously getting stronger. I’m sure not complaining, Scott, but are you doing this for some reason? And I’m not too comfortable with you hanging around with Drew Carson so much. Please, please tell me you’re not putting in for flight school.”

  Pulling his sweatshirt over his head, he laughed. “No, nothing like that. We’re just assigned to the same project. And he offered to let me work out with him, that’s all.”

  “If you say so,” she answered. “I’m headed back to bed. See you tonight?”

  “Sure. I’ll call when I leave there.” He stood up and kissed her. “Bye, Bea.”

  “Bye,” she mumbled sleepily. As he was almost out of the door, she called after him: “Hey, Scott Ourecky. I love you.”

  Surprised, he stopped in his tracks and turned towards her. She had never said that before, and he wasn’t sure how he should respond, only that he had to respond. He paused and then opted for the truth: “I love you too, Bea.”

  Simulator Facility, Aerospace Support Project

  7:30 a.m., Friday, September 13, 1968

  After a brisk five-mile run and a strenuous round of weight lifting, Carson and Ourecky showered and went immediately to the Simulator Facility.

  “Good news, gentlemen,” said Heydrich. “We’ve hammered out the bugs on the Paraglider Landing Simulator. You can go back into it this morning, if you see fit, Drew.”

  “It’s about time,” snapped Carson. “We’re doing live drops next month up at Eielson, and Ourecky here hasn’t even done a fair weather drop yet. Let’s get on with it.”

  The Paraglider Landing Simulator resembled an oversized child’s gyroscope, consisting of two massive rings that supported the reentry portion of a Gemini-I spacecraft. The interlocking rings allowed the mock-up capsule to move in all axes during a simulation, including the roll maneuvers used to achieve lift during reentry, so as to more precisely control the touchdown point, as well as the turns and banking of flying under the paraglider.

  Projectors were positioned in front of the mock-up’s two teardrop-shaped windows to provide the pilots with a realistic view of how events were unfolding outside. The projectors were linked to a camera suspended over a highly detailed model that accurately depicted the terrain in the vicinity of a planned recovery site. As the pilots “flew” the paraglider, its actions were replicated by the boom-mounted camera, which then “flew” the same course over the simulated terr
ain. The simulator allowed for different variables to be inserted into the problem: variations in wind, lighting conditions, and equipment failures, to name a few. The terrain mock-ups could be swapped out to replicate landings at sites around the world.

  “Climb up and buckle in,” said Carson, nudging Ourecky’s shoulder. “I’ll be up shortly.”

  “Drew, what’s the plan for the day?” asked Heydrich, adjusting his glasses. “Do you want my crew to run the whole sequence, from orbit to landing?”

  Carson shook his head. “Too time-consuming, Gunter. I just want to focus on the post-reentry profiles we’ll be flying up in Alaska. Start us at the 60K light and run it to landing. Ourecky’s not going to fly to orbit with us, but he’ll be sitting in that right seat next month, and I want to make absolutely sure he can put us safely on the ground if I’m incapacitated.”

  “That’s not what Virgil wants,” asserted Heydrich. “He wants the full orbit to landing profile.”

  “As much as I respect Virgil, it’s not going to be his ass on the line in Alaska. Gunter, just grant me this one day, and then we can transition to the full profiles tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Ja, Drew. As you wish.”

  “Thanks. Do me a favor, and make several runs without any glitches, so both of us can get used to the flow. Ourecky’s been studying these paraglider procedures, but he needs to make the leap from the books to reality. He absorbs this stuff quickly, but he also can become a little overconfident and complacent as the day draws on. When he starts getting lackadaisical, I’ll let you know, and you can lower the boom on him.”

  “We’ll do it, Drew. Have a good day in there. Break for lunch at twelve?”

  “Sounds fine by me,” answered Carson, spitting his gum into a wastebasket as he pulled his headset over his ears.

  The first series of landings went without incident. Ourecky was happy with himself, since he kept pace with the procedures without any undue difficulty. This paraglider landing business certainly seemed a lot less demanding than their intercept simulations, where he relentlessly worked calculations as Carson flew the requisite corrective maneuvers.

  Things changed drastically after lunch. With a large hamburger and French fries weighing heavily in his stomach, Ourecky felt groggy as he resumed his place in the simulator. After the technicians closed and latched the hatches, he heard the whir of motors as the simulated cabin was rotated to a vertical “nose-up” position to simulate reentry.

  He heard Heydrich’s voice over the intercom: “Clock is starting, gentlemen.”

  “Clock,” replied Carson. “Landing Arm is On. Altitude is sixty-five thousand.”

  The cabin rocked back and forth slightly. “60K telelight. Minor oscillations,” stated Carson, observing an instrument light that indicated that they were passing through sixty thousand feet. “Altimeter verifies 60K light. Standing by for drogue.”

  “60K light. Standing by for drogue,” confirmed Ourecky. The drogue parachute would slow the capsule slightly and ensure that it was oriented correctly and stabilized for deployment of the much larger paraglider. Looking out through his small window, Ourecky watched a film clip that showed the drogue chute streaming out and blossoming.

  “Drogue is out,” observed Carson. The cabin’s rocking motions slowed considerably. “Oscillations dampened by drogue. Switching to Rate Command.”

  “Drogue is deployed. Rate Command.”

  “Install D-Rings,” ordered Carson.

  “Installing D-Ring,” answered Ourecky. Keeping pace with Carson, he retrieved his ejection D-Ring from its stowage pocket and locked it into place with a pip pin. A swift tug on the D-Ring would activate a low-velocity ejection system; although the escape sequence wouldn’t be nearly as traumatic as one with the Weber ejection seats aboard a NASA Gemini capsule, it still wasn’t safe to install the D-Rings until the drogue was out.

  “Check your restraint straps again. Make sure they’re good and tight,” stated Carson, as he cinched snug his own shoulder straps.

  Ourecky obediently did the same, wondering why Carson always seemed so pre-occupied with this point, since it wasn’t explicitly stated on the descent checklist.

  “Descending through fifty thousand,” noted Carson. “Thirty seconds to main.”

  Watching the clock and altimeter, Carson manually deployed the paraglider. It took several moments for the bat-shaped paraglider to completely open. To simulate the delayed opening, the cabin rocked back and forth.

  “Paraglider is deployed,” stated Carson. “Stand by to rotate to two-point landing attitude.”

  “I confirm paraglider is out,” answered Ourecky. “Standing by for landing attitude.”

  Suddenly the cabin’s nose pitched down to simulate the change to the two-point suspension of the paraglider. Ourecky felt himself now sitting upright again.

  “Performing paraglider performance checks,” noted Carson, gradually pulling back on the hand controller mounted in the center console between the two men. “Stall check.”

  “Stall check,” confirmed Ourecky.

  “Stall check is good,” observed Carson, resetting the controller. “Executing port turn check.”

  “Port turn check.” Ourecky heard motors whir as the cabin tilted to the left to simulate the banking maneuver.

  Carson centered the hand controller, and the cabin followed suit, moving to an upright position. “Port turn and recovery are good,” he stated, subtly nudging the hand controller to the right. “Executing starboard turn check.”

  “Starboard turn check.” On cue, the cabin “banked” to the right. Ourecky noticed that Carson seemed to be holding them in the bank much longer than he usually did. He realized that Carson had re-indexed the hand controller to recover to level flight, but the simulated paraglider just wasn’t cooperating.

  Simulating the ever-increasing centrifugal force, the cabin progressively rotated sharper to the right until Ourecky was awkwardly pressed downwards against the right wall. Disconcerted, he realized that the simulation wasn’t exactly true to life; the centrifugal force actually would force him straight downwards in his seat, not against the wall.

  “Unable to recover from starboard turn,” stated Carson calmly. “Looks like we have a fouled control cable. Executing abort.”

  Pinned against the right wall, switches jammed into his flank, Ourecky suddenly realized that the next steps were his, since most of the controls and indicators for the paraglider were located on his side of the instrument panel.

  Several small items, not adequately secured, fell out of their stowage pockets and cascaded against him. Fighting against the distractions, struggling to remember the paraglider abort checklist, he groped for a toggle switch marked PARA JETT ARM, but Carson’s hand found the switch first.

  “Paraglider jettison pyro armed!” snapped Carson. He immediately threw a second switch, which also should have been Ourecky’s responsibility. “Paraglider jettison pyro fired! Are you conscious, Ourecky?!”

  In their earphones, the men heard a bang replicating the simultaneous detonation of four pyrotechnic charges that would shear the paraglider control cables and bridles from the spacecraft. At that point, free of the malfunctioning paraglider, the spacecraft would resume freefalling through the atmosphere.

  Like a carnival ride gone awry, the cabin abruptly snapped upright and then continued pitching over until it was pointed nose down. As simulated aerodynamics took over, the cabin gradually rotated back around to replicate the blunt end falling first to earth.

  ”I’m awake! I’m okay!” blurted Ourecky. He reached up to toggle a switch labeled STAB DROGUE ARM. “Stabilization drogue armed.” He threw a second switch. “Stabilization drogue fired.” The small parachute would barely slow their descent; its sole purpose was to ensure that the spacecraft was stably oriented for the next step in the abort procedure.

  Ourecky knew what was next in the simulated emergency; he made certain he was correctly centered in his seat, reached down and grabbed the
ejection D-ring between his legs.

  “Stab drogue deployed,” noted Carson. “Stand by to eject. Altimeter indicating twelve thousand feet. Eject, eject, eject!” Carson pulled the ring, and the men heard another two loud bangs in their earphones, simulating the pyrotechnic charges that blasted the hatches open and blew their seat pans clear of the spacecraft.

  “Simulation concluded,” stated Heydrich over the intercom. “A little slow, gentlemen, but the outcome was satisfactory.”

  Shaking his head, Carson stated, “Switching VOX off,” as he toggled the intercom switches. He turned his head to face Ourecky. “Let’s clear up something, Captain. Did you hear a knock-out tone?” To simulate a crewman being rendered unconscious, a loud tone would sound in his headset, at which time he was supposed to sit quietly through the remainder of the simulation.

  “No. Was I supposed to hear one?”

  “I don’t think so,” snarled Carson. As the cabin slowly rotated to the upright position, he jabbed Ourecky hard in the left shoulder. “You had better wake up. What’s gotten into you?”

  Embarrassed by his failure, Ourecky grimaced from the pain. It would be yet another bruised indentation that he would have to later explain to Bea.

  The next simulation proceeded smoothly, right up until the point the paraglider deployed. As the cabin transitioned to the landing attitude, Ourecky noticed that Carson was sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap. He had apparently heard the knock-out tone in his earphones, so he was sitting out the landing portion of this drill.

  Without the slightest hesitation, Ourecky clicked right into gear, smoothly executing the paraglider post-opening procedures. He verified that the paraglider was controllable and made sure that the computer was shut down. Using a “swizzle stick” tool to extend his reach, he threw switches and depressed circuit breakers on Carson’s side of the cockpit.

  Although Carson remained perfectly silent, true to his part, Ourecky could not help but notice his slight smile. Keeping pace with the landing checklist, Ourecky acquired the TACAN beacon for the simulated landing site and flew a course toward it. He opened the skid well doors, lowered the three skids, and then verified that they were locked into place.