Launch on Need

by Daniel Guiteras

  “Some voices there from NASA as we listen in to launch control,” Stangley said, looking down at his notes, then back up at the camera. “The launch of Atlantis is now very close. I have to say, this gives me the chills. Of all the launches I’ve seen live here at the Kennedy Space Center, this one is by far the most special. This launch signifies a lot. This rescue mission may not be pushing us ahead in science, but it certainly speaks to what we are capable of. How the human spirit joins together for something greater. The hours and hours of effort to get Atlantis ready for a rescue. And here we are now just a few minutes away from liftoff. Let’s just listen in…”

  Stangley’s voice dropped off suddenly, prompting a look of concern from his producer. His eyes were welling now and he did not think he could speak. He was caught up in the emotion of the launch, the culmination of more than three weeks of work, and the ongoing drama surrounding the launch. The biggest launch of his career was moments away. NASA was poised to overcome its biggest hurdle ever.

  NASA Announcer: T-minus-four minutes and counting. Orbiter surfaces such as rudder and speed brakes are now moving through a preprogrammed pattern to verify they’re ready for launch.

  Launch Control: Initiate main engine gimbal profile checks.

  Gaseous vapors vented steadily from Atlantis’s main engines, puffing and spewing into the night air like a stationed steam-powered locomotive anxious for departure.

  NASA Announcer: T-minus-three-minutes-ten-seconds and counting. The gaseous oxygen vent hood, or “beanie cap,” is now being lifted from the External Fuel Tank.

  NASA Announcer: T-minus-two minutes and counting, less than two minutes now from the launch of Atlantis and her crew of four. Atlantis now running on its onboard reactants.

  Launch Control: Atlantis, for the crew, close and lock your visors and initiate O2 flux.

  Chapter 47

  On Atlantis, Flight Deck

  AVERY, RIVAS, GARRETT AND MULLEN simultaneously reach for the upper lip of their helmet visors, pulling pristine tinted fishbowls down over their faces. Visor locks click. Cool flowing oxygen at 10.2 pounds per square inch seeps in with a steady hiss, imparting a far-off odor of plastic and greased metal parts. A breath in and a breath out counting off the seconds. Three liquid-fueled main engines beneath them, ready to devour 500,000 gallons of fuel in just over two minutes.

  What kind of person agrees to this?

  Two long hours of waiting. Instrument checks, countdown holds. Their moment now coming. Windshields tipped skyward. Legs elevated and numbing, shoulder harnesses and lap restraints cinched tight, biting. Lying atop neatly packed parachutes, launch position. Hot spots over skin and muscle, blood diverted by pressure and gravity, lumbar spines aching like backwoods toes in city shoes.

  Suddenly a shudder tears through the cabin and it creaks and moans like an albacore charter in 20-foot seas. Not liftoff yet, but merely the final test of Atlantis’s main-engine steering mechanism. The huge engine bells gimbal beneath the crew, moving in all directions before finding their neutral position for launch.

  Control is transferred to Atlantis’s onboard computers.

  “We’re go for auto sequence start.”

  The ground launch sequencer is activated. Thousands of sensors twinkle with data. Instrument displays hustle to keep up.

  T-minus-30 seconds.

  Review checklists from tethered cards. Ready abort procedures. The range safety officer reports the weather forecast for Spain and Morocco is within launch-criteria limits; the two critical downrange landing sites are ready if an abort is needed. Final communications with launch control crackle loudly in helmet speakers.

  The release switch at the water tower is triggered, sending 300,000 gallons of water down into the empty flame trench that lies beneath the launch platform—an absolute necessity for providing acoustic-shock protection to the shuttle during launch.

  T-minus-15 seconds. Spouses and family nervously assemble on the roof of KSC’s Launch Complex Center. Their loved ones are on a mission.

  In space, Columbia’s seven gather in stunned silence at the mid-deck and join hands, forming a circle of despair and hope. A live audio feed of Atlantis’s launch plays from a miniature pair of speakers, words fashioned from their collective language into a final promise of hope.

  Fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven. Heart rates up to speed. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six. The main engines awake violently from slumber. Lots of creaking and shaking, bigger movements. One-million-plus pounds of thrust struggle against hold-down posts. Four, three, two, one. The hold-down bolts blow, the boosters light and 6-million more pounds of thrust join the fight against gravity.

  Sharp acceleration, g-loads building, arms and legs so very heavy.

  External tank foam insulation heats, blisters, loosens, falls.

  Chapter 48

  ATLANTIS ROARED UP, clearing the launch tower in an instant, seemingly pushed skyward by a growing, billowing, brilliant white cotton plume.

  NASA Announcer: Houston now controlling the flight of Atlantis, everything looking good as she clears the tower…

  “Don’t you shed you son of a bitch,” Brown yelled into the crowded room, apparently unable or unwilling to edit his sentiment. He stood in front of a large viewing screen intently watching the image of the external tank.

  His whole team was watching.

  Three different camera angles of the launch played on the various monitors: long range, short range and a view looking down from the external tank. Regardless of the view, all eyes were focused on the external fuel tank. Atlantis was flying with essentially the same type of tank Columbia had used—same foam type, same foam application process and same potential foam problems.

  The various NASA engineering departments and managers still had not finished debating the logic of launching Atlantis and exposing her and her crew to the possibility of the same problems experienced by Columbia.

  The photo guys said nothing to each other as they watched the live launch video. The room was silent except for the voice of Mike Sinter, NASA’s launch announcer, piped in on the overhead speakers.

  Brown’s engineers knew the first two to three minutes were most critical in terms of foam loss. Along the lower edge of their monitors, time code numbers raced, counting elapsed time in hundredths of a second, but no one in the room dared look down at them. No one dared look away from the external tank. Their attention would have to stay focused on the external tank until after solid rocket booster separation, which was expected at just over two minutes mission elapsed time (MET).

  Instead, they waited anxiously for Sinter’s announcements of launch milestones. Everyone was keenly aware that Challenger’s problems began less than a second after launch, and that Columbia’s came at launch-plus-eighty-one-point-nine seconds.

  Mission Control: Atlantis, Houston, you’re go for roll program.

  Avery: Roger, roll.

  NASA Announcer: Atlantis now rolling over for a thirty-nine-degree inclination to orbit in order to match Columbia’s position in space. The shuttle is now positioned heads-down wings level for the eight-and-a-half minutes needed to reach orbit.

  Brown struggled to keep his mouth shut. His vision was not as acute as it once was, but he was certain he saw streaks, wayward pieces of foam looking for trouble. He desperately wanted a status report from his engineers. He wanted to know if they’d seen anything, any signs of falling debris—but he knew they needed to concentrate. He began pacing, watching the monitor and listening to Sinter.

  NASA Announcer: Thirty-one seconds into the flight. The three main engines now being throttled back to seventy-two percent of available thrust, reducing the aerodynamic load on the shuttle as it breaks through the sound barrier.

  Atlantis two-and-a-half nautical miles downrange and five miles high. The three main engines are now being throttled back up to one-hundred-four percent of available thrust.

  Cap Com: Atlantis, Houston you’re go at throttle up.

 
Avery: Roger, go at throttle up.

  NASA Announcer: The throttle-up call confirmed by Commander Dana Avery, who’s joined on the flight deck by Pilot Edward Rivas, Mission Specialist Shane Garrett and Mission Specialist Terry Mullen. Down on the mid-deck, seven empty seats await the Columbia crew. One-minute-thirty-five seconds into the flight, Atlantis is now eleven nautical miles downrange, fourteen miles high, traveling at a velocity of nineteen hundred miles per hour. About forty seconds away from Solid Rocket Booster separation—three good main engines, three good fuel cells, three good auxiliary power units. Velocity nearly twenty-five-hundred miles per hour. Twenty-five seconds from solid rocket booster separation.

  The solid rocket boosters were nearly spent. Each SRB had three pressure transducers located in the solid-rocket motor chamber. The transducers would not activate until the head-end pressure of both SRBs dropped to 50 psi, when they would automatically initiate the separation sequence. Computers onboard Atlantis held yaw attitude constant for four seconds while SRB thrust dropped below 60,000 pounds.

  Then came the ordinance firing command.

  At the forward SRB attachment, a single bolt with a detonator at each end connected the SRB to the external tank. The aft end of the SRB was connected to the external tank by three struts, all containing similar bolts with detonators at each end. Four small booster-separation solid-rocket motors were fitted to each end of the SRB. When detonated, they would move the SRB safely away from the external tank.

  In a coordinated fashion, the SRB mounting bolts blew and the booster-separation motors ignited by firing pressure cartridges into confined-detonation fuse manifolds.

  The whole process executed in less than 30 milliseconds.

  Following detonation, each SRB gracefully veered away from Atlantis, rapidly falling behind, while Atlantis and the external fuel tank roared on to orbit. Shortly thereafter, a drogue chute located in the forward end of each booster opened, stabilizing SRB descent. Main chute deployment followed, slowing the SRBs to a rate of 75 feet per second. SRB splashdown occurred in the Atlantic Ocean 124 miles downrange from the Kennedy Space Center.

  Chapter 49

  Kennedy Space Center, Florida

  CNN Mobile Studio

  THE CNN CAMERA in front of Stangley came on before he was ready. His eyes were noticeably red from crying, and he was still wiping away tears as he began to recap what was happening with the flight of Atlantis.

  “Truly a magnificent sight! Atlantis and her crew are well on their way now. In fact, they will be in orbit in less than five minutes. Really amazing.” Stangley wiped his right eye once more. “Joining us now is veteran shuttle astronaut Randy Abrams, ah, Commander Randy Abrams I should say, excuse me.” Abrams was now on the split screen looking directly into the camera. He smiled in a somewhat reserved manner, and his eyes also were bloodshot and wet around the corners.

  “Thank you for joining us here on CNN at this late hour.”

  “It’s great to be here, John.”

  “Commander, can that launch be described as anything less than fantastic, awe-inspiring, spectacular?”

  “No, John, it was certainly all of that and more.”

  “And the setting of a night launch.”

  “You’re right, a night launch is always very dramatic. And watching this launch, knowing that Atlantis and her crew are on their way to rescue the crew of Columbia, was incredible. Understand that these astronauts are personal friends of mine. I almost couldn’t make it on camera in time. I was weeping like a baby as I watched Atlantis climb.”

  “Well, I can certainly relate to the weeping,” Stangley paused briefly. “Now Randy, tell us what the astronauts are doing right now, what they’re feeling. Put us onboard Atlantis.”

  “Right, well the astronauts are no doubt thinking about getting ready for the rendezvous with Columbia and what their specific roles will be with the rescue mission. The commander and pilot, Avery and Rivas, will be concerned with the approach to Columbia and maintaining the proper distance from Columbia. Mission specialists Mullen and Garrett will be rehearsing procedures for the transfer of Columbia’s crew to Atlantis.”

  “And the whole transfer process, the space walk, as I understand it, is expected to take hours, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, it will take about six hours to get all seven Columbia astronauts onboard Atlantis.”

  “Six hours seems like a long time.”

  “It is, but remember that walking in space is very slow, exacting work. And with all the hard work that’s been done on the ground getting Atlantis ready, the astronauts certainly don’t want to make mistakes up in space.”

  “I can’t wait to see the live images of the spacewalk,” Stangley said with obvious relish. “And so as we look at Atlantis again now and see where they are in terms of reaching orbit—their next launch milestone is MECO?”

  “That’s right John. Main engine cutoff; or MECO as we like to call it, is when the three main engines are cut off completely, suddenly, really, at the exact point where we want to be in orbit. And this is one of the most amazing sensations. It always leaves the biggest impression on me, more so than even the launch itself. Before MECO, the astronauts are being pushed down into their seats—remember the astronauts are on their backs during launch—and the thrust of the engines vibrates through their spines.”

  “With a force of several g’s isn’t that right?”

  “Right, it’s about two-and-a-half times the force of gravity. It’s a very strange sensation. If you’ve ever ridden a roller coaster that accelerates hard from a standing start, and have felt your back and head being pushed into the seat, then you’ve experienced some of what we feel on liftoff. But on a roller coaster, when the acceleration slows, you typically return to one g, the normal force of gravity. During a shuttle launch, you’re pushed back into your seat at two-and-a-half times normal gravity. And when you reach MECO, the point where the shuttle engines turn off, you don’t return to one g like you would on Earth. Instead, you become instantly weightless—it’s a very strange transition.”

  “I can only imagine, commander. My stomach is turning right now just thinking about it.”

  Chapter 50

  “NOT SO FAST, got a few pictures to look at first,” Ken Brown said as he watched Stangley’s CNN interview of Commander Randy Abrams from his office TV. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Jesus.” Then he pushed himself up from his chair, grimaced from a spike of back pain, and walked semi-stooped into the media room to meet with his staff.

  The photo engineers were pouring over Atlantis’s launch films, and focusing specifically on L-plus-32 seconds, the exact point in Atlantis’s launch where Brown thought he’d seen something. They used all their familiar review techniques: normal speed, slow-mo, twice normal speed, then slow-mo in reverse. They examined the video images like they always had—carefully, thoroughly. But something was different, something was wrong.

  As the engineers watched the video images, they could see nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that stood out. It was the same falling ice and foam insulation they had looked at hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. All of a sudden the engineers could not differentiate between foam and ice debris, or discern how the fall characteristics of the debris might represent a problem for Atlantis. All they could see was images of Columbia. It was as if their databases of experience had been wiped clean, the key search words changed in some way that kept them from relating what they saw now to any potential hazard.

  The photo engineers could not get the image of Columbia’s debris strike out of their minds—how much damage it had produced to the leading edge of the wing, and how they had not even seen the strike on the preliminary films.

  They simply did not trust themselves to draw any conclusions about this launch.

  Brown had been right; there were several flashes of debris that were easily seen in slow-motion runs, debris that crept down along the external tank and disappeared out of sight. More bi-pod ram
p foam? Had it caused any damage to their rescue ship?

  “So what’ve we got?” Brown asked as he entered the room.

  “Well, we’re just not sure,” the senior engineer Steve Metzer said, feeling like all his years working for NASA had counted for nothing. “I mean it looks like a clean…”

  Brown cut him off before he could finish.

  “No such thing as a clean launch when you work in my department. Remember how nice everyone thought Columbia’s launch was. I think the term our own public affairs office used was ‘uneventful’—uneventful compared to Challenger yes, but the whole world knows Columbia’s launch has turned out to be anything but uneventful.”

  “We saw debris at L-plus-thirty-two seconds, but I would hate to quantify it or speculate on its damage potential,” Metzer said, getting back to Atlantis.

  “You know it seems like they still don’t get it,” Brown said in a complaining tone.

  “Who? What?” Metzer asked.

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure who,” Brown replied, “but the what is this foam loss problem—how big it is. For one thing, the whole shuttle program is grounded as soon as Atlantis gets home—expect one to two years before we get flying again.” Brown shook his head in disgust and paused.

  Metzer looked at the others in the room. Their faces all held the same expression; they knew a short sermon from Brown was coming.

  “You know,” Brown continued, “we’re not doing great work here today. NASA isn’t showing the world some new discovery. We’re not landing on the moon for the first time, or visiting some far-off land. No, instead we’re rescuing seven marooned astronauts today, not because of some surprise glitch, or some frickin’ alien encounter. No, we had to go get ’em because we weren’t paying attention, the clues were missed or ignored, the right people got complacent.”

  Metzer and the rest of the team simply listened to Brown. Brown wasn’t complaining as much as he was disappointed, disappointed in what his beloved organization had become.