Riding Rockets Part 8

"Screw you, Tarzan."

How different from reality were all those science fiction movies of my youth. As Lloyd Bridges (Colonel Floyd Graham ) and Osa Ma.s.sen (Dr. Lisa Van Horn) boarded theirRocketship X-M in the 1950 Hollywood cla.s.sic of the same t.i.tle, I don't recall them commenting on the condoms and diapers they were wearing. in the 1950 Hollywood cla.s.sic of the same t.i.tle, I don't recall them commenting on the condoms and diapers they were wearing.

A group of NASA employees welcomed us with applause on our exit from the crew quarters. I wanted to embrace them and say, "Thank you for giving me this moment." They were the best in the world.

We stepped into the elevator and two heavyset men wearing tool belts followed us. I was shocked. We were on our way to fly the s.p.a.ce shuttle and two blue-collar workers had decided to hitch a ride with us. When the elevator opened and the photographers got this picture, it was going to be a hoot. A bewildered Hank had to ask, "What are you guys doing?"

"We're elevator repairmen. There've been reports this elevator is giving you guys problems. We didn't want you to get stuck on your way to your rocket." We all laughed. NASA thinks of everything. A comforting thought at this moment.

But the workers were not needed. We creaked to ground level without a problem and exited the building to cheers and more applause from a larger group of the NASA team.

Outside, I immediately looked to the sky hoping to see stars, hoping for proof the weather was good. But the lights of the cameras filming our departure had ruined my night vision.

We climbed into the astro-van and began the drive to Pad 39A, the same pad from which Neil Armstrong had embarked on his historic journey to the moon fifteen years earlier. I wondered what his drive had been like. The van air-conditioning was making ours frigid. My skin was clammy and I was shivering. Nervous small talk occupied us. I hoped n.o.body could hear my heart. Each pulse seemed like a detonation.

We pa.s.sed successive security checkpoints where the guards saluted or waved or flashed a thumbs-up. They had trucks parked nearby for their own evacuation to more remote points. Closer to the pad we pa.s.sed several fire trucks and ambulances. Their crews were clad in silver firefighting suits and hovered near their vehicles. When the launchpad closeout crew departed, these men and women would remain in a nearby bunker, ready to race to our rescue if there was a problem. I couldn't imagine any problem involving 4 million pounds of propellant leaving anything to rescue. There were certainly six body bags in those ambulances.

I was as scared as I had ever been in my life. But at that moment, if G.o.d had appeared and told me there was a 90 percent probability I wasn't going to return from this mission alive and had given me an opportunity to jump from that crew van, I would have shouted, "No!" For this rookie flight, I would take a one in ten chance. I had dreamed of this moment since childhood. I had to go. Even if G.o.d had given me a vision of what the other nine chances meant, a vision of my charred remains being zipped into one of those body bags, I still would have declined His offer to exit the van. I had to make this flight.

I would later look back on my desperate need for this first mission and think how perverted it was. What type of a person puts their wife, their children,their own life second behind a need to ride a rocket? I believed that surely I was unique in this sick prioritization. But I discovered otherwise. In the weeks after STS-41D, Hank Hartsfield described to me his feelings before his first mission (STS-4). I was stunned to hear his admission of the exact feelings I was now experiencing. He recounted how he would rather have died on his first mission than never to have flown in s.p.a.ce. We were like the Mount Everest climbers stepping over frozen corpses from prior climbing disasters in our quest for the summit. Like those climbers, we were motivated by a fear far greater than death-the fear of not reaching the top. second behind a need to ride a rocket? I believed that surely I was unique in this sick prioritization. But I discovered otherwise. In the weeks after STS-41D, Hank Hartsfield described to me his feelings before his first mission (STS-4). I was stunned to hear his admission of the exact feelings I was now experiencing. He recounted how he would rather have died on his first mission than never to have flown in s.p.a.ce. We were like the Mount Everest climbers stepping over frozen corpses from prior climbing disasters in our quest for the summit. Like those climbers, we were motivated by a fear far greater than death-the fear of not reaching the top.

What a fraud astronauts practice on our fellow citizens. Most Americans see us as selfless heroes, laying our lives on the line for our country, the advancement of mankind, and other lofty ideals. In reality no astronaut has ever screamed, "For G.o.d and Country!" when the hold-down bolts blew...at least not on their rookie mission. We were all stepping into harm's way because we knew otherwise we would die as incomplete humans. There was room in our souls for n.o.ble motivations only after our pins were gold.

AsDiscovery came into view we leaned into the aisle to watch. A crisscross of xenon lights bathed her. Against the backdrop of early morning blackness she appeared as a newly risen morning star. If my heart had been in overdrive before, it now accelerated to warp speed. came into view we leaned into the aisle to watch. A crisscross of xenon lights bathed her. Against the backdrop of early morning blackness she appeared as a newly risen morning star. If my heart had been in overdrive before, it now accelerated to warp speed.

At the pad we stepped from the van and looked up at our ship. In spite of my faith in physics, it didn't seem possible anything so gargantuan could rise from the Earth, much less achieve a 17,300-miles-per-hour speed at 200 miles alt.i.tude. The stack towered 200 feet above the Mobile Launch Platform (MLP), which, itself, loomed several stories above us. The 4-million-pound ma.s.s was held in place by eight hold-down bolts, four at each SRB skirt. The SRBs were separated by nearly 30 feet to accommodate the blimpish diameter of the ET. The gray acreage of the MLP's underside formed a steel overcast. Three cavernous openings were cut through it to allow the flames from the two SRBs and the SSMEs to descend into the flame bucket and be diverted outward. During engine ignition a nearby water tower would be emptied into that bucket to protect it from heat damage. Giant plastic sausages of water were also slung in the two SRB cavities. That water would attenuate the acoustic shock waves the boosters developed, which could reflect upward to damage cargo in the payload bay.

The pad was eerily deserted. A vapor of oxygen swirled around the SSME nozzles. A flag of more vapor whipped from the top of the ET beanie cap. Shadows played upon that fog, creating a scene right out of a creepy science fiction movie. Loudspeakers boomed the prelaunch checklist milestones, a noise that competed with the deafening hiss of the engine purge. The few remaining workers, appearing Lilliputian next to the machine they serviced, performed their duties with quiet urgency. In the shadows the glowing yellow safety light-sticks Velcroed to their arms and legs made them appear skeletal.

We climbed into the pad elevator and shot to the 195-foot level. Hank and Mike walked immediately to the white room, a boxlike anteroom up againstDiscovery 's side hatch, where technicians waited to help us into the c.o.c.kpit. Hank and Mike would be first inside. I had time to kill and walked to an edge to get a better view of the vehicle. 's side hatch, where technicians waited to help us into the c.o.c.kpit. Hank and Mike would be first inside. I had time to kill and walked to an edge to get a better view of the vehicle.Discovery 's belly of black heat tiles gave her a scaly, reptilian look. They contrasted sharply with the white thermal blankets glued on her top and sides. 's belly of black heat tiles gave her a scaly, reptilian look. They contrasted sharply with the white thermal blankets glued on her top and sides.

I looked out at the Launch Control Center (LCC), three miles away. Donna and the kids would be inside. At T-9 minutes the family escorts would lead them to the roof to watch the launch. I wondered how Donna was handling the stress. I knew the kids would be okay, but she would be at her emotional limits.

"Hey, Tarzan, don't fall." Judy came to my side. The wind had whipped her hair into a black aura. She had an ear-to-ear grin.

I made the observation that it was scary looking over the railing from two hundred feet up. "I've got a fear of heights, JR. I can't get any closer."

She laughed. "Well, Tarzan, you're screwed. We're headed to two hundred miles."

We continued with small talk, each of us trying to distract ourselves from our pounding hearts. Then the two-minute warning call came for my strap-in.

I embraced her. "Good luck, JR. I'll see you in s.p.a.ce." Since she would be in a mid-deck seat, I wouldn't see her until after MECO. It was the first time I had ever held her and I was struck by how pet.i.te she was.

"Roger that, Tarzan." She returned my squeeze and we parted.

I detoured to the pad toilet for a last go at urinating. The bowl was a pond of unflushed filth and toilet paper. The plumbing had been turned off hours earlier as part of the checklist for launchpad closeout. The workers had no option but to use this facility. I added my urine to the mess, reattached my UCD, then walked to the white room.

The closeout crew quickly harnessed me. We shook hands and I dropped to my knees and crawled through the side hatch. The c.o.c.kpit was as cold as a meat locker. It occurred to me the chill was going to shrink a critical part of my body even further. If my UCD condom stayed attached, it would be a miracle.

I stood on the temporary panels covering the back instrument panel and struggled to put myself in the chair behind Mike Coats. Once in, Jeannie Alexander, another of the closeout crew, helped me with the five-point harness. As she worked at my crotch to make the buckle connections, I teased, "I'll give you all day to stop that." She had probably heard the same joke a hundred times. She connected my communication cord and emergency breathing pack, then clipped my checklist to a tether. Everything had to be secured. Anything that dropped during launch would be slammed into the back instrument panel by the G-forces, irretrievable until MECO. Finally she gave me a big smile and a pat on the shoulder and turned to help Steve Hawley.

I looked around the c.o.c.kpit. Everything appeared as it had in the countless simulations except for the sparkling newness.Discovery even smelled new. Every piece of gla.s.s gleamed. There were no wear marks on the floors or on the most frequently used computer keys. There were no vacant panels or panels with somebody else's payload controls as we had frequently encountered in the JSC simulators. This was our bird. It was our mission software humming in her brain. We would be driving a brand-new vehicle from the showroom floor. even smelled new. Every piece of gla.s.s gleamed. There were no wear marks on the floors or on the most frequently used computer keys. There were no vacant panels or panels with somebody else's payload controls as we had frequently encountered in the JSC simulators. This was our bird. It was our mission software humming in her brain. We would be driving a brand-new vehicle from the showroom floor.

About ninety minutes to go. With each vanishing second my heart shifted into yet a higher gear. Thank G.o.d we weren't wired for bio-data. That had ended back in the Apollo days. I would have been embarra.s.sed for anybody to have seen my vital signs. I envisioned Dr. Jim Logan looking at them and saying, "It must be a bad sensor. n.o.body's heart can achieve those rates without exploding."

Jeannie finished with Hawley's strap-in. Judy and Charlie Walker were belted in downstairs. The closeout crew wished us good luck, unplugged from the intercom, and was gone. We heard the hatch close. A moment later our ears popped as the c.o.c.kpit was pressurized. The wait began.

It quickly became an agony, physical and mental. I wiggled under my harness to restore some circulation to various pressure points. In spite of my dehydration efforts and earlier toilet visits my bladder quickly neared the rupture point. What were the chances my UCD condom was still attached? It had been on too long for my body to still feel it and I was convinced all the crawling and wiggling I had done, not to mention the effects of fear and cold, had caused my p.e.n.i.s to disengage. If so, I would be urinating into my flight suit. And I was certain there would be a lot of urine. I could imagine it soaking my coveralls, dripping from the seat onto the back instruments, and shorting out an electrical circuit. My "accident" would be a gossip topic for decades. "Remember that Mullane guy? He p.i.s.sed his pants on the launchpad. They had to delay the launch to dry out the instruments." G.o.d, I'd rather blow up. I tried to hold on, but soon realized that would be impossible. Praying for a miracle that I was still safely ensconced in latex, I decided to give it a shot. But I quickly discovered it was impossible to urinate on my back. Even though the urge was overwhelming, painful, even, I strained but nothing happened. There are some things even the world's best training program can't prepare you for. In desperation I loosened my harness and struggled to roll slightly to my side. In that new position I was finally able to open the floodgates. After a moment I tried to put on the brakes to determine if I was leaking, but I would have had better luck damming the Atlantic. Urine poured from me like water into the flame bucket. I felt no spreading wetness so my miracle had been granted. The condom was still attached. I collapsed in glorious relief. You would have thought I had already reached MECO.

There was little to do in the c.o.c.kpit. After some radio checks with the Launch Control Center, they moved on with their prelaunch activities. We were left alone. Others complained about the state of their bladders. Judy and Charlie joined in from downstairs. I didn't envy them their position. They had no instrument displays or windows. They would be riding an elevator with no idea of what floor they were pa.s.sing. Judy reminded us she did not want to hear any sentences ending in the wordthat, as in, "Did you see as in, "Did you seethat !" or "What was !" or "What wasthat !" We all laughed. When you are blind to the !" We all laughed. When you are blind to thethat being referenced, it would be very disconcerting to hear any such exclamations. being referenced, it would be very disconcerting to hear any such exclamations.

We fell silent and just listened to the LCC dialogue. When the Range Safety Officer's (RSO) call sign was heard there were some joking comments on the intercom to cover the fear his grim function generated. The RSO would blowDiscovery from the sky if she strayed off course. If the RSO ever transmitted the Flight Termination System ARM command, a red light on Hank's instrument panel would illuminate as a warning. I wondered what sick engineer had thought that would be helpful. from the sky if she strayed off course. If the RSO ever transmitted the Flight Termination System ARM command, a red light on Hank's instrument panel would illuminate as a warning. I wondered what sick engineer had thought that would be helpful.

With each pa.s.sing minute the mood in the c.o.c.kpit grew more intense. Then we heard the dreaded wordproblem. At T-32 minutes a problem was noted with the Backup Flight System (BFS) computer. The launch director informed us he would stop the countdown at the planned T-20 minute hold point while the experts sorted it out. There was a communal groan on the intercom. The flight rules would never let us launch without the backup computer working properly. After all the emotional capital we had invested to this point, the thought of getting out of the c.o.c.kpit and repeating that investment tomorrow was enough to make us physically ill. We all prayed that the offending circuit would fix itself. But G.o.d didn't hear us. Following several minutes of troubleshooting, the LCC called, " At T-32 minutes a problem was noted with the Backup Flight System (BFS) computer. The launch director informed us he would stop the countdown at the planned T-20 minute hold point while the experts sorted it out. There was a communal groan on the intercom. The flight rules would never let us launch without the backup computer working properly. After all the emotional capital we had invested to this point, the thought of getting out of the c.o.c.kpit and repeating that investment tomorrow was enough to make us physically ill. We all prayed that the offending circuit would fix itself. But G.o.d didn't hear us. Following several minutes of troubleshooting, the LCC called, "Discovery,we're going to have to pull you out and try again tomorrow."

I was crushed, totally spent. We all were. Our nerves had been in constant tension for four hours and we had nothing to show for it. I looked forward to a repeat of this tomorrow like I looked forward to a root ca.n.a.l.

Within the hour we had been extracted from the c.o.c.kpit and were on our way back to the crew quarters. The spouses were driven out for lunch. Donna put on a brave face but it couldn't mask her exhaustion. The other spouses looked similarly beaten.

Then, the script was replayed. The tearful good-byes. Another review of checklists. Hank's political commentary. A fitful sleep. The nauseating smell of cooking bacon. The wake-up knock on the door. Olan's mumbles.

Once again we entered the elevator to be joined by the same two maintenance men. Another couple of launch scrubs and we'd be old friends. We exited the building into the same camera lights, heard the same enthusiastic applause from our friends, and boarded the same chilly astro-van. Even the extreme fear of death that had accompanied me yesterday was back again. The first launch attempt had done nothing to mitigate it. And so was the greater fear...that I would never make this flight, that at the last second something would happen to steal my chance. I would be forever d.a.m.ned as an astronaut in name only. My astronaut pin would remain silver.

As Jeannie Alexander worked at my crotch to fasten the seat harness I joked, "I'm getting tired of this foreplay." She didn't have time to do more than just smile.

The hatch was closed and we were back into the wait. After yesterday's urinary challenges, I had been even more aggressive at dehydrating myself. But it didn't help. With my legs elevated there was a whole lake of fluid heading downhill into my bladder. Within an hour I felt as if I were going to burst.

The intercom fell silent earlier than it had yesterday. We were all too exhausted to continue our lame jokes. The whooshing of the cabin fan was the only sound. I watched the sky grow lighter and seagulls soar past the windows. I could tell by the way Hank's head lolled to the side that he had fallen asleep. How some astronauts could do that amazed me. I could no more have nodded off than could a man strapped to an electric chair. I was scared. But at that moment there was nothing in the world, including celebrity, wealth, power, and s.e.x, that could have motivated me to give up that seat. Sitting in it, being an hour from orbit, I was the richest man on earth.

T-32 minutes came and went. Yesterday's comment about a glitch in the BFS computer was not repeated.

Hank woke up. "Did I miss anything?"

I thought of telling him he had slept for four years and Ted Kennedy was now president, but decided otherwise. If he had a stroke, it would surely delay the flight.

We entered the T-20 minute hold. This was as far as we had gotten yesterday.Please, dear G.o.d, let the count continue. Each of us had our ears hypertuned to the LCC dialogue, praying we would hear nothing about an off-nominal condition. We didn't. Right on time, we came out of the hold. Each of us had our ears hypertuned to the LCC dialogue, praying we would hear nothing about an off-nominal condition. We didn't. Right on time, we came out of the hold.

At T-9 minutes we entered our last planned hold. Again, there were no discrepancies and the LCC released the clock. I thought of Donna and the kids. They would now be walking the stairs to the roof of the LCC.G.o.d help them, was my prayer. was my prayer.

T-5 minutes. "Go for APU start." Mike acknowledged LCC's call and flipped switches to startDiscovery 's three hydraulic pumps. The meters showed good pressure. 's three hydraulic pumps. The meters showed good pressure.Discovery now had muscle. The pumps tickled our backs with their slight vibrations. The movement was the first indication the vehicle was anything but a fixed monument. now had muscle. The pumps tickled our backs with their slight vibrations. The movement was the first indication the vehicle was anything but a fixed monument.

The computers ordered a test of the flight control system andDiscovery shuddered as her SSME nozzles and elevons were moved through their limits. shuddered as her SSME nozzles and elevons were moved through their limits.

T-2 minutes. We closed our helmet visors. Hank reached across the c.o.c.kpit to shake Mike Coats's hand. "Good luck, everybody. This is it. Let's do it like we've trained. Eyes on the instruments."

T-1 minute.Please, G.o.d, if something bad is to happen on this flight, let it be above fifty miles. My prayer was specific for a reason. By NASA's definition you had to fly higher than fifty miles alt.i.tude to be awarded a gold astronaut pin. If I died below that alt.i.tude, Donna and the kids would only have my silver pin for a memorial shadowbox. My prayer was specific for a reason. By NASA's definition you had to fly higher than fifty miles alt.i.tude to be awarded a gold astronaut pin. If I died below that alt.i.tude, Donna and the kids would only have my silver pin for a memorial shadowbox.

T-31 seconds. "Go for auto-sequence start."Discovery 's computers a.s.sumed control of the countdown from LCC's computers. She now commanded herself. The c.o.c.kpit was a scene of intense, silent focus. Again, I was glad my vital signs weren't on public display. My heart was now a low hum. 's computers a.s.sumed control of the countdown from LCC's computers. She now commanded herself. The c.o.c.kpit was a scene of intense, silent focus. Again, I was glad my vital signs weren't on public display. My heart was now a low hum.

T-10 seconds. "Go for main engine start." The engine manifold pressure gauges shot up as valves opened and fuel and oxidizer flooded into the pipes. The turbo-pumps came to life and began to ram 1,000 pounds of propellant per second into each of the three combustion chambers.

At T-6 seconds the c.o.c.kpit shook violently. Engine start.This is it, I thought. In spite of my fear, I smiled. I was headed into s.p.a.ce. It was really going to happen. I thought. In spite of my fear, I smiled. I was headed into s.p.a.ce. It was really going to happen.

5...4...The vibrations intensified as the SSMEs sequentially came on line.

Then, the warble of the master caution system grabbed us. "We've had engine shutdown." I don't know who said it, but they were stating the obvious. The vibrations were gone. The c.o.c.kpit was as quiet as a crypt. Shadows waved across our seats asDiscovery rocked back and forth on her hold-down bolts. rocked back and forth on her hold-down bolts.

We were all seized with aWhat the h.e.l.l? wonderment. Something was seriously wrong. Hank punched off the master caution light and tone. The left and right SSME shutdown lights stabbed us with their red glare, meaning they were off. But the light for the center SSME remained dark. Surely it couldn't still be running? There was no noise or vibration. But if it was still running, we wanted it off. Whatever was happening, we wanted everything off. Mike repeatedly jabbed his finger onto the shutdown b.u.t.ton. But there was no change in the light status. wonderment. Something was seriously wrong. Hank punched off the master caution light and tone. The left and right SSME shutdown lights stabbed us with their red glare, meaning they were off. But the light for the center SSME remained dark. Surely it couldn't still be running? There was no noise or vibration. But if it was still running, we wanted it off. Whatever was happening, we wanted everything off. Mike repeatedly jabbed his finger onto the shutdown b.u.t.ton. But there was no change in the light status.

Paramount on everybody's mind was the status of the SRBs. We had gotten to within a few seconds of their start. If they ignited now, we were dead. Generating more than 6 million pounds of thrust, they certainly had the muscle to rip out the hold-down bolts and destroy the vehicle in the process.

The diagnosis quickly came from LCC. "We've had an RSLS abort."Discovery 's computers had detected something wrong and stopped the launch-a Redundant Set Launch Sequencer (RSLS) abort. But what had gone wrong? Had a turbo-pump disintegrated? Had an engine exploded? Had hot shrapnel been hurled around our engine compartment? We were strapped to 4 million pounds of explosives and didn't have a clue what was happening a hundred feet below us. 's computers had detected something wrong and stopped the launch-a Redundant Set Launch Sequencer (RSLS) abort. But what had gone wrong? Had a turbo-pump disintegrated? Had an engine exploded? Had hot shrapnel been hurled around our engine compartment? We were strapped to 4 million pounds of explosives and didn't have a clue what was happening a hundred feet below us.

And neither did the families. I would later learn how the abort had played out on the LCC roof. A thick summer haze had obscured the launchpad. When the engines had ignited, a bright flash had momentarily penetrated that haze, strongly suggesting an explosion. As that fear had been rising in the minds of the families, the engine start sound had finally hit...a brief roar. It had echoed off the sides of the Vertical a.s.sembly Building (VAB) and then...silence. Donna had been convinced she was seeing and hearing an explosion. Fortunately the astronaut escorts had been there to ease her fear with an explanation of a shuttle-pad abort. No doubt they had done so with some private reservations. There had never been a shuttle engine-start abort.

Donna had crumpled into a chair and cried. Amy, our oldest daughter, had followed suit. They were crushed by the thought that it would all have to be repeated another day. Amy snapped, "Why don't they just put more gas in it and launch it now!" The thought of having to climb the LCC roof and endure another countdown torture made her wild with anger.

Back in the c.o.c.kpit, things took a turn for the worse. Launch Control reported a fire on the launchpad and activated the fire suppression system. Water began to spray across the c.o.c.kpit windows. What was going on down there?

In the midst of these terrifying moments I looked at Steve Hawley. He stared at me with eyes as big as plates. I knew that was my face-I was staring into a mirror. Then he commented, "I thought we'd be higher when the engines quit." I wanted to hit the SOB. I wanted to scream, "This isn't funny, Hawley!" And to think, six years earlier I had harbored doubts about the post-docs' mettle. Some of them, Hawley included, had steel b.a.l.l.s.

Hank ordered all of us to unstrap from our seats and prepare for an emergency egress from the c.o.c.kpit. If we chose to leave we'd have to run across the access arm to the other side of the gantry and jump in escape baskets. In just thirty seconds those would slide us a quarter mile away. We'd be able to wait out the problem in an underground bunker, a.s.suming we could get there before the rocket exploded.

Judy crawled to the side hatch window and reported the access arm had been swung back into place and the fire suppression system was spraying water over it. She didn't see any fire. "Henry, do you want me to open the hatch?"

Judy's question elicited several exchanges of do we or don't we make a run for it. How bad was the fire? LCC's conversations seemed unpanicked and that gave us some rea.s.surance that everything was under control. But LCC and MCC always seemed in control. That was their job, to calmly look at their computer screens of data and make robotic, emotionless decisions. Could they remain calm even as their creation was de-creating? I had no doubt. "We've had an RSLS abort" could well be engineer-speak for "Holy s.h.i.t! Run for your lives! She's gonna blow!" No, I was not comforted by the calm of the LCC.

"Negative on opening the hatch, Judy." Hank decided we'd sit tight. It was a decision that might have saved our lives. The post-abort a.n.a.lysis determined the fire had been caused by some residual hydrogen escaping from the engines and igniting combustible material on the MLP. The gas flame may have been as high as the c.o.c.kpit but since hydrogen burns clean we would not have seen it. We could have thrown open the hatch and run into a fire.

As time pa.s.sed it became more evident we were in no immediate danger. We waited for the closeout crew to open the hatch. My thoughts turned as dark as s.p.a.ce. My worst nightmare had been realized. I was still an astronaut in name only. For how long? It was obvious there would be no launch attempt any time soon. In my quiet h.e.l.l I catastrophized. I built a scenario in which the engine problem was severe. The vehicle would be grounded for many months, maybe years, while the engines were redesigned and tested. Launch schedules would change. Our crew would be pushed backward in line, maybe even disbanded. I had gotten to within three seconds of a lifelong dream only to have it s.n.a.t.c.hed away. For how long? Weeks? Months? Forever?

We exited the vehicle into the residual rain of the fire suppression system. It had soaked the gantry and now water was dripping from every platform, pipe, and cross brace. We were quickly drenched. Judy's hair took a big hit. She looked like a sodden cat.

In the astro-van we sat in our soaked flight suits shivering from the chill of the air-conditioning. That system seemed to have only two positions, cold and freakin' cold. Our physical misery was a perfect fit to the cloud of depression enveloping us. I wasn't the only one doing mental gymnastics and wondering how badly screwed we were.

The wives and kids were waiting for us at the crew quarters and there were a lot of tearful hugs. "Dad, we thought you had blown up!" Pat was quick to fill me in on the momentary horror they had lived on the LCC roof.

At a press conference we all lied about the tension in the c.o.c.kpit following the abort and fire. Hank took most of the questions and did the Right Stuff routine of, "Aaawh shucks, ma'am. T'weren't nothing." He explained how we train for these things, how confident we had been in the LCC's reactions to the abort, how we had never doubted our safety. Meanwhile, I was wondering if I had s.h.i.t in my flight suit.

We were released from our health quarantine to join our families. As expected, there would be no more launch attempts until the engine problem was identified and fixed. The shuttle program had just come to a screeching stop for an indefinite period.

Donna, the kids, and I returned to their condo to a boisterous party. While my aunts and uncles and cousins were b.u.mmed out the launch had been aborted, they were still having a great time. The sun was shining. The booze was flowing. It was a Florida family reunion. They were all on vacation and having a blast. And now my abort had made the reunion complete. If I had launched, the family would never have seen me. So they overwhelmed me with questions and requests for photos and autographs. Their enthusiasm was understandable. Most of them had not seen me since I had been selected as an astronaut.

"Mike, let me get a photo of you standing next to your little cousins."

"Mike, why don't you sit here with Grandma and tell her what it's like to be an astronaut."

"Mike, can I get twenty autographed photos for my neighbors back home?"

I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. After a couple hours I finally escaped to the beach and collapsed. I had been so close, three freakin' seconds, and now I might be at the back of a long, long line. I couldn't get that dismal thought out of my head. I closed my eyes and prayed for blissful unconsciousness. It was a prayer immediately answered. The exhaustion of the past few days had finally caught up with me and I fell into a deep sleep. Minutes later I was awakened by a gentle kick in my side. I squinted upward to see my eighty-seven-year-old grandmother. "Mike, get inside. Bobby wants to take some more pictures. You'll get sunburned out here."

G.o.d, take me.My new prayer was that a meteor would hit and put me out of my misery.

Chapter 20.

MECO.

A few days later our crew was back in Houston and facing the grim possibility our mission was going to be canceled. Payloads were stacking up. Every day a communication satellite wasn't in s.p.a.ce meant the loss of millions of dollars of revenue to its operators. NASA HQ searched for a way to minimize the impact ofDiscovery 's delay to their downstream customers. They focused on combining the payloads of two missions and deleting one from the schedule. Everyone in the astronaut office knew a deleted mission meant a deleted crew. 's delay to their downstream customers. They focused on combining the payloads of two missions and deleting one from the schedule. Everyone in the astronaut office knew a deleted mission meant a deleted crew.

It was a miserable two weeks as HQ debated the best adjustment to the flight manifest. Every imaginable rumor twittered up and down the astronaut grapevine. Who was going to get screwed? There was a general feeling among the other mission-a.s.signed crews that we had had our chance. It was just our tough luckDiscovery had misfired. It should be our crew who suffered the consequences. I couldn't blame them. I would have felt the same way in their shoes. had misfired. It should be our crew who suffered the consequences. I couldn't blame them. I would have felt the same way in their shoes.

To make matters worse, there were no firsts a.s.sociated with our crew to give us some HQ PR cover. White males on a s.p.a.ce shuttle were as newsworthy as white males on a hockey team, and there were five of us palefaces on the crew. Judy was merely Sally Ride's runner-up. We had nothing in the way of a celebrity first to protect us from the ax, whereas other downstream missions included the first s.p.a.cewalk by a woman and the first satellite retrieval mission. HQ was going to ensure those high-visibility missions flew as planned. I told Hank he should get a s.e.x-change operation so we'd have the first transgender astronaut aboard to protect us. He declined.

Astronaut office politics were also a significant cause for worry. There wasn't an air force astronaut who didn't think George Abbey was navy-biased in his flight a.s.signments. Nine of the first eleven shuttle missions had been commanded by active duty or retired navy astronauts. Hank Hartsfield was only the second astronaut with air force roots to command a mission. And a glance downstream showed crews commanded by Crippen, Hauck, and Mattingly-all navy. If anybody was going to get screwed because ofDiscovery 's delay, it wasn't going to be them. They had G.o.dfather Abbey's protection. I felt as if the entire STS-41D crew were walking around with a sign pinned to our backs: "Cancel This Mission." 's delay, it wasn't going to be them. They had G.o.dfather Abbey's protection. I felt as if the entire STS-41D crew were walking around with a sign pinned to our backs: "Cancel This Mission."

But it didn't happen. Instead, the ax fell on STS-41F, Bo Bobko's mission. His payload would be added to ours, while he and his crew would be cut adrift to find something else downstream. Bo was retired air force. The USAF astronaut contingent cursed Abbey...again. I felt bad for Bo and company, but not for long. We were Lazarus back from the dead or, in this case, back in the front of the line.

Our major payloads would now include three communication satellites and Judy's solar panel experiment. We would also have a new center engine. Ground tests had been unable to duplicate the problem with the original SSME. Engineers could only a.s.sume there had been some minute contamination in the hydraulic system, which had caused a fuel value to malfunction. As a precaution, the engine was replaced.

August 29, 1984, found us once again in the c.o.c.kpit ofDiscovery. By now we were old hands at strapping in and waiting. But it didn't get any easier. My bladder continued to torture me. My heart continued to race away in fear. And it didn't get any easier for By now we were old hands at strapping in and waiting. But it didn't get any easier. My bladder continued to torture me. My heart continued to race away in fear. And it didn't get any easier forDiscovery. At T-9 minutes our third launch attempt was scrubbed for a Master Events Controller (MEC) malfunction. I was going to vomit before I got into s.p.a.ce. At T-9 minutes our third launch attempt was scrubbed for a Master Events Controller (MEC) malfunction. I was going to vomit before I got into s.p.a.ce.

August 30. Another day. Another launch attempt. While awaiting our turns to enter the c.o.c.kpit Judy and I slapped mosquitoes off each other's back. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds could drill right through our flight suits. Judy observed that the insects seemed worse than yesterday. I told her it was because our launch scrubs had trained them. "They knew we'd be standing here this morning. And they know we'll be standing here at this exact time tomorrow, the next day, and every day afterward. We're on their menu every day."

Judy brushed away my pessimism. "We'll do it today, Tarzan. I've got good vibes."

I didn't share her enthusiasm. I was emotionally exhausted. Clinical depression was on the horizon, suicide to follow.

A call came from the white room that it was my turn to be harnessed up. For the fourth time I embraced Judy. "This is the only thing fun about these scrubs. I get to hug you every morning."

Judy smiled. "That's s.e.xual hara.s.sment, Tarzan."

"I hope so."

I wished her good luck and walked toward the c.o.c.kpit.

She called after me. "See you in s.p.a.ce, Tarzan."

As the hours ticked by, I began to believe Judy's vibes were right. The count proceeded smoothly. Milestone after milestone came and went without a negative word being spoken. The weather was great in Florida and at our abort sites. A little sunshine began to melt my black pessimism.

Then it happened again. We were notified the T-9 minute hold would be extended. This time the problem was with the Ground Launch Sequencer (GLS). I guessed we'd never get off the ground until everything broke at least one time. I ached for Donna and the kids, back on the LCC roof. It had to be killing them.