Jake grimaced. The issue of her going on this mission had come up in every conversation they’d had in the past two days, since NASA settled on a recovery strategy. Jake had volunteered to go in her place, and that comment had resulted in their first fight ending with Jake’s quick withdrawal of his suggestion plus a dozen roses. But as charming and intelligent as Jake Cohen was, he was also a hardheaded bastard who would not give up until Endeavour left the launchpad. Trouble was, Diane’s head was as thick as his.
“Jake, I don’t question your professional decisions, so, please, don’t question mine. Besides, you’ll be with me on the radio every step of the way.”
Jake regarded her with a peculiar grin, at once agreeable and frustrated. “You’re some strange piece of work, Diane Williams. But at least you’re my kind of strange.”
“I warned you about getting involved with me. I’m not an airhead in a bikini walking down Cocoa Beach.”
Jake laughed, “But you sure look great in one … or out of one.”
Diane slapped his shoulder.
“Say, speaking of strange, what do you think of your passengers?”
She shrugged. “We both have a mission, but up there I’m Mission Commander, meaning it is my pond and up to the point that he leaves the orbiter he will follow my orders. I think we understand each other. I am annoyed, however, that NASA won’t allow me to inspect the gear they’re bringing aboard my ship.”
“Look, you and I know that this mission is a bit different from what we’re used to flying. In the past at least we were told we were carrying classified cargo, and we were even given some level of detail about it, but absolute secrecy on this one is top priority directly from the top. I know it makes you and Gary mad as hell not knowing much about this new boarding vehicle or the stuff that they are hauling inside the crew module, but the reality of things is that you two don’t have a need to know. That’s Colonel Ward’s job. Think of him as a mission specialist. Your job is just to get him and his team close enough to the station and then get the hell out of the range of that laser as fast as possible, and stay out of sight until Ward and his men get the situation under control.”
“I’ll do my part, Jake. I was in the Marines. I know how to follow orders. When is your plane leaving for Houston?” she asked.
“In three hours. Do you want to grab a bite at the cafeteria?”
Diane Williams nodded and leaned forward, kissing him on the cheek before they walked side by side toward the door.
Four
The waiting never got any easier, decided Diane Williams as the digital display of Endeavour’s mission timer showed T minus three minutes. No matter how many times she’d done it before, sitting on top of enough chemicals to create a blast as powerful as the BLU-85 warheads aboard the GPATS module in the ISS made her question whether she had chosen the right career after leaving the Marine Corps.
But the reason why she felt even more concerned at that moment than on any of her previous flights was not the fact that Endeavour could become the target in an orbital shooting alley for the terrorist manning the GPATS laser. After all, Diane had been a Marine aviator. She had dodged more than her fair share of antiaircraft fire during the Gulf War. The woman in the astronaut knew there was another reason for her abnormally high heartbeat, for her dried mouth, for her sweaty palms. She had never before felt this nervous about a launch, not even during her first time, shortly after completing her astronaut training.
There was another reason, but it was one the astronaut in her refused to admit, for it made her feel weak in the eyes of her professional mind. For the first time since joining NASA Diane was truly afraid of dying. She had not realized her fear until she’d reached the Operations and Checkout building before dawn that morning to eat the classic steak and eggs breakfast, prior to suiting up and heading for the launchpad. The realization of the danger involved, not only in a routine orbiter flight, but in this particular mission had slowly begun to sink in with every bite she had taken of that medium-well sirloin steak and scrambled eggs. And the reason for the uncharacteristic fear was Jake Cohen. For the first time in her life Diane had fallen in love, and that gave her something that she feared losing.
Jake Cohen filled Diane’s life more than anyone or anything else, even flying. She never thought it could happen, but somewhere during the past six months her priorities in life had changed, and the possibility of a life with Jake had superseded all her other ambitions. Perhaps it was the fact that she was forty-five. Or maybe that the pilot in her had seen enough action to last forty-five lifetimes. Or the fact that Jake loved her the way she was. She wasn’t sure why it had happened, only that it had. And it had been a revelation she had kept all to herself, refusing to share it even with the man she loved. The fear of lowering her wall of pride and exposing her innermost feelings to Jake Cohen was just as intense as the fear that ran through her body at that moment, while her pale green eyes gazed at a dawning sky through the 1.3-inch-thick windowpane directly in front of her.
Breathing in the oxygen and nitrogen air mixture inside the flight deck while forcing her mind to put her fears aside, Diane checked the timer and gave Gary McGregor a thumbs-up. The Mission Pilot winked and returned the gesture.
The NASA Launch Room controller’s voice crackled through the orbiter’s speakers.
“T minus two minutes fifty-two seconds. Endeavour: the liquid oxygen valve on the External Tank has been closed and pressurization has begun.”
The colossal rust-colored External Tank, carrying over 1.3 million pounds of liquid oxygen and 227,641 pounds of liquid hydrogen, and measuring nearly 158 feet in length, began to pressurize the liquid oxygen housed inside its aluminum-monocoque-structured tank to a pressure of twenty-one pounds per square inch—the pressure necessary to force the oxidizer to the three Space Shuttle Main Engines and achieve combustion with the volatile liquid-hydrogen propellant.
“T minus two minutes fifteen seconds: the main engines have been gimbaled to their start position and the pressure on the liquid oxygen tank is at flight pressure. T minus two minutes and counting: the liquid oxygen vent valve has been closed and flight pressurization is under way.”
She glanced at CRT#1, one of three CRTs on the control panel between McGregor and her, displaying the status of the main engines. She also glanced at an array of warning lights between CRTs #2 and #3. Nothing seemed abnormal.
“Coming up on the one-minute point on the countdown, everything is going smoothly. The firing system for the ground suppression water is armed.”
Diane battled her rocketing heartbeat. Just like in the Marines, Diane. she told herself. Relax and do what you do best!
“T minus thirty-seven seconds and counting; switching control of the launch to the computer sequence.”
Launch countdown control switched from KSC’s Launch Processing System to Endeavour’s five General Purpose Computers, four working in parallel, the fifth checking the output from the other four.
“T minus twenty seconds: SRB hydraulic power unit started, the SRB nozzles have been moved to the start position. Coming up on fifteen. Switching to redundant start sequence. T minus twelve … eleven … ten … nine.”
Diane closed her eyes and visualized the sound-suppression water system nozzles popping up from the Mobile Launch Platform base, like lawn sprinklers, and beginning to spray water onto the base of the MLP at the rate of 900,000 gallons per minute in anticipation of main engine start.
“Seven … six … we’re going for main engine start!”
The GPCs ordered the opening of the liquid-hydrogen and liquid-oxygen feed valves of the huge External Tank, channeling both propellant and oxidizer to the Space Shuttle Main Engines through seventeen-inch-diameter feed lines, at the rate of 47,365 and 17,592 gallons per minute respectively. The highly cooled chemicals reached each of the SSMEs, where two sets of turbopumps boosted the chemicals to pressures of 6,500 PSI for the propellant and 7,400 PSI for the oxidizer. The chemicals reached the c
ombustion chambers at fulminating speeds before exploding in a hypergolic reaction that created a colossal outburst of highly pressurized steam.
The soul-numbing rumble that followed reverberated through the entire orbiter as each of the three SSMEs, capable of unleashing 375,000 pounds of thrust, kicked into life at 120-millisecond intervals, and automatically throttled up to the ninety percent level.
“We’ve got main engine start … three … two!”
The GPCs verified that all three engines had maintained the required thrust level before firing the pyrotechnic device in each of the two Solid Rocket Boosters, and the resulting blast echoed through Diane’s soul as the astounding uproar of 7.5 million pounds of thrust thundered against the cushion of water above the Mobile Launch Platform. The acoustic shock wave pounded the ground on this warm and humid dawn as the brightness from Endeavour’s engines illuminated the indigo sky, casting a yellowish glow for miles around.
The GPCs verified proper SRB ignition and, a fraction of a second later, initiated the eight explosive hold-down bolts—twenty—eight inches long and 3.5 inches thick—anchoring the shuttle to the Mobile Launch Platform. All three SSMEs throttled up to 104 percent, and the computers started the mission timer. Diane sensed upward motion.
“Liftoff! We have achieved liftoff!”
The 4.5-million-pound shuttle rose vertically in attitude hold until the SRBs’ nozzles cleared the tower by forty feet.
“Houston, Endeavour. Starting roll maneuver,” commented Diane in a monotone and controlled voice, shoving away all of her fears.
Endeavour began a combined roll, pitch, and yaw maneuver to position it head down, with the wings leveled and aligned with the launchpad.
“Roll maneuver completed.”
“Endeavour, Houston. Got a visual from the ground. You’re looking good. Mark twenty seconds,” Jake Cohen said from JSC.
“Roger, Houston,” responded Diane.
Diane glanced at CRT#1, where an ascent-trajectory graph showed the desired ascent route and Endeavour’s current position as the GPCs issued millions of commands every second to the gimbal-mounted SSMEs and the SRBs to keep the orbiter on track. With this part of the mission totally automated, Diane and McGregor limited themselves to monitoring equipment and instruments as the shuttle rose higher and higher, leaving behind a billowing trail of steam and smoke.
“Houston, Endeavour. Mark thirty seconds. Throttling down for Max Q.”
“Roger, Endeavour. Throttling down.”
Endeavour’s main engines throttled down to reduce the aerodynamic stress on the 21,000 thermal protection tiles glued to the orbiter’s all-aluminum skin as the vehicle approached the speed of sound.
“Passed Max Q. Engines back up to 104 percent,” reported Diane, as ice broke off from the External Tank and crashed against the front windowpanes. Diane saw their minute explosions before they disintegrated and washed away in the slipstream. One point three Mach. They had gone supersonic.
“Houston, Endeavour. Mark one minute ten seconds,” reported McGregor. “Five nautical miles high, three nautical miles downrange, velocity reads at 2,300 feet per second.”
Diane’s eyes drifted to CRT#1. Right on track, she thought. The GPCs and their complex ascent phase algorithms performed beautifully. Right next to CRT#1 were the master alarm warning lights. All looked normal. Below it she saw the mission timer.
“Mark one minute twenty seconds, Houston,” Diane read out. “Nine nautical miles high, six nautical miles downrange. Three thousand feet per second. Mark one minute thirty-five seconds.”
“Roger, Endeavour. We copy you at one minute forty-five seconds. You are now negative seats. Repeat. Negative seats.”
“Roger, negative seats,” responded Diane as Endeavour soared above the maximum altitude for safe use of ejection seats.
Diane checked the chamber pressure of both Solid Rocket Boosters. It had dropped to 55 PSI down from 400 PSI at liftoff. At 50 PSI both SRBs automatically shut off and the GPCs’ SRB separation sequence software automatically fired the bolts holding the SRBs to the External Tank.
Diane watched the pyrotechnic display as Endeavour, still mated to the ET, rocketed at nearly five thousand feet per second while both SRBs arced down toward the Atlantic almost ten miles below.
“Endeavour, Houston. Confirm SRB sep.”
“Smooth, Houston. Very smooth,” responded Diane. “Mark two minutes twenty-five seconds.”
“Roger, Endeavour.”
Diane and McGregor monitored the readings from the CRTs for the next five minutes as Endeavour gathered speed and altitude while depleting the propellant and heavy oxidizer in the External Tank. This made the shuttle progressively lighter without a change in upward thrust, allowing Endeavour to accelerate to 24,000 feet per second—the speed necessary to break away from the Earth’s gravitational pull and achieve an orbital flight.
“Houston, Endeavour. Mark eight minutes twenty seconds, altitude sixty-three nautical miles, 645 nautical miles downrange. Standing by for MECO.”
“Roger. Endeavour.”
Diane watched the GPCs initiating the Main Engine Cut Off sequence. All three SSMEs shut off the moment the feed-line valves connected to the umbilical cords coming out of the External Tank were closed. Eighteen seconds later, the computers jettisoned the ET by firing the explosive bolts anchoring it to the orbiter. Suddenly engulfed by the silence of space, Diane watched the ET separating with a velocity of four feet per second. The tank would continue on a suborbital trajectory, which would take whatever survived the reentry breakup to an impact location in the Indian Ocean.
“Houston, Endeavour. We have ET sep,” said McGregor.
“Roger, Endeavour. Eight minutes fifty-eight seconds, confirmed External Tank separation.”
“Roger, Houston. Stand by for first OMS burn,” said Diane as she armed both Orbital Maneuvering System engines, vital to perform orbital insertion. With its current altitude of eighty nautical miles and inertial velocity of 24,300 feet per second, Endeavour flew a very unstable suborbital trajectory, which would bring the orbiter directly within the range of the ISS’s laser. In order to boost the orbiter to a safe orbit fast, one long OMS thrusting burn would be made instead of the usual two. The OMS engines consisted of two pods, one on each side of the upper aft fuselage on either side of Endeavour’s vertical stabilizer.
“OMS burn in five … four … three … two … one … now!”
In each OMS engine, highly pressurized helium forced both hydrazine propellant and liquid oxygen down to the reaction chamber at great speed. The chemicals clashed in a hyperbolic reaction, creating the necessary outburst of thrust. The temporary silence gave way to yet another roaring blast. Diane felt a mild pressure forcing her against her flight seat as the OMS engines, providing a combined thrust of twelve thousand pounds, began to accelerate Endeavour.
“Mark fifteen seconds, Houston. All systems nominal. Helium pressure’s 3700 PSI on both tanks. Propellant and oxidizer pressure looks good,” reported McGregor.
“We copy, Endeavour.”
Three minutes and twenty seconds later the OMS engines shut off, and Diane nodded approvingly. Orbital insertion had been as accurate as anyone could have hoped. Endeavour flew a stable orbit 180 degrees out of phase with the ISS, and on an intercept course with the Titan payload, which Endeavour would reach in another five hours.
“Good job, Endeavour.”
“Thanks.”
In reality, besides initiating the single OMS burn, her contribution to the mission had been next to none.
But that changes now, she reflected as she unstrapped her safety harness and watched McGregor do the same.
“What do you think so far?” she asked.
“Well,” he responded as they floated side by side behind the seats, “I just hope we can attach that mirror to the RMS arms.”
“One thing at a time.”
She removed her helmet, and her shoulder-length hair floated above her he
ad. She wore a pair of small diamond earrings.
Diane used a single arm motion to push herself gently to the aft flight-deck station to open the payload bay doors and expose the vital heat radiators to space. The radiators, used by Endeavour’s environmental-control system, dissipated the heat generated by the orbiter’s equipment and also the heat accumulated on Endeavour’s skin during the ascent phase.
That accomplished, Diane dived through one of two interdeck hatches on the flight deck’s floor down to the crew compartment, where Colonel Frank Ward and his three warriors, dressed in matching all-black uniforms, had already unstrapped themselves from their seats and were going over a diagram of the space station.
Three of the lockers on the forward section of the crew module, opposite the airlock, were already open, exposing a number of black boxes marked with bright yellow codes.
Colonel Ward raised his head and briefly made eye contact with Diane Williams before motioning one of his men to close the lockers.
Since their brief chat at the firing room a couple of days before, the colonel had kept conversation with the former Marine colonel to a minimum, and that suited Diane just fine. The less interaction she had with him or his men, the happier she felt. Jake was right. All she had to do was get Ward and his team close to the ISS, and then move out until it was safe to return. The rest was up to them.
“Everything okay, Commander?” asked Ward.
“No problems, Colonel. You and your men made it fine?”
“Yes. Smooth ascent.”
“Good. I know you and your men are taking all the necessary precautions with your special payload, including whatever it is you have stored in those lockers. I’m sure you realize the danger involved if the air inside the crew module is contaminated. You do remember Apollo 7, right? The fire inside the capsule that incinerated three astronauts?”
Ward gave her a long stern look before saying, “All of my equipment was approved by NASA, Commander. Why don’t you stick to your job and I’ll stick to mine?”
“Fair enough,” she responded, as Ward lowered his gaze back to the large blueprint floating in between the four Space Marines. Diane checked her watch and looked over to McGregor making his way through a hatch from the flight deck. “Start prebreathing in two hours, Gary.”
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