Blue Darker Than Black
Page 59
“Funny. You think that the suit techs could sew me some PJs out of Nomex?”
Carson heard a noise in the hall, nudged Ourecky’s shoulder and quietly announced, “Your lunch is on its way.”
Ourecky coughed several times and hoarsely muttered, “Oh, great. More Jell-O and cottage cheese. Yum.”
Glancing towards Russo, Carson said, “At least you’re awake and not getting your chow through a tube.”
Ourecky nodded weakly. “I am thankful for that.”
“I believe that Ed’s thankful for it also. I think that he’s also probably thankful that you weren’t willing to throw in the towel and abandon him upstairs. I would be, anyway.”
Carson looked towards a wheelchair parked against the wall. “Hey, Scott, do you want me to roll you downstairs to that payphone again today? You can try to call Bea again. Maybe you won’t miss her this time.”
“Maybe,” replied Ourecky glumly, looking towards the wall. “Thanks, but I’m wondering if Delta hasn’t changed her flight schedule again. Besides, I’m really not looking forward to explaining where I’ve been or why I’m coming home with another mystery medical condition.”
“Sorry.” Carson studied Ourecky’s suddenly circumspect face. They had worked together long enough that he knew when his friend was hiding something from him, and Ourecky’s abrupt change in expression telegraphed that something was worrying him, but he was obviously not yet ready to divulge his concern.
Carson decided to change the subject, in hopes that it might brighten the somber mood. “Hey, Scott, you know that nurse on the early morning shift?” he asked, grinning as he twisted the right end of his moustache. “The one that comes in around seven?”
“The really cute little redhead?” replied Ourecky. “Jeanne?”
“Yeah. That’s the one. Turns out that she shares a house with a couple of the other nurses, and they have their own washer and dryer. She said I could come over and wash my clothes, so I was thinking … If you don’t mind …”
Ourecky rolled his eyes, coughed, and said, “Some things just never change …”
31
NO GOOD DEED …
Simulator Facility
Aerospace Support Project, Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Ohio
11:25 p.m., Saturday, August 26, 1972
Even though Ourecky and Carson weren’t scheduled to arrive from Texas until nearly midnight, and even though it was the weekend, the entire Blue Gemini staff jammed into the simulator hangar to wait for their return. Like most of those present, Gunter Heydrich was very tired, almost to the extent of sheer exhaustion; the past three weeks had been an emotional roller coaster and had worn deeply on him.
Certainly, as the two men walked in, the air burst into echoing applause and heartfelt hurrahs, but compared to similar such gatherings in the past, this homecoming was a rather somber affair. The hastily conceived rescue mission was a resounding success, a momentous triumph, but most present were painfully aware that they had almost lost Ourecky—the quietly tenacious engineer beloved by all—in the effort.
More so than anything else, an underlying air of uncertainty drew a damper on their collective enthusiasm. Although the Project still had one more Titan II/Gemini-I combination waiting at the HAF, the dedicated PDF launch complex had been obliterated. Adding to the insecurity were the presidential elections looming in November. The nation was weary of the slogging war in Vietnam, and it looked as this collective discontent might yield the Democratic candidate—Senator George McGovern—a viable shot at occupying the White House. And that possibility didn’t bode well for Blue Gemini, since there was virtually no chance of a second phase if the Democrats won the Presidency. Depending on the timing, there was a very strong possibility that the twelfth and final mission of the first phase might not even fly.
Consequently, most of the people present—at least those civilians who worked under some form of contract—had little idea of what the future held. The only thing that was certain was that after achieving the goal of successfully landing men on the moon, NASA’s manned space program was being significantly curtailed. The last mission to the lunar surface—Apollo 17—was scheduled to fly in December. The remaining three missions had been cancelled, and except for a makeshift space station—Skylab, cobbled together of recycled Apollo parts, scheduled to launch next year—the future of spaceflight was vague and uncertain. Aerospace engineers, who had spent the past decade as commodities in high demand, were suddenly finding themselves part of an ever-expanding surplus of talent. For the first time in their professional lives, most of the brilliant men packed into this hangar were facing the specter of prolonged unemployment.
After the initial applause, the remainder of the reception ceremony was quiet and understated. Apparently in deference to Ourecky’s frail condition, Mark Tew decreed that there would be no elaborate celebration or lengthy speeches. Heydrich escorted the two returning heroes to the center of the hangar, to the base of the short platform that supported the Box, where they were seated to receive those waiting to greet their homecoming.
As the staff queued up, Heydrich glanced down and noticed some faint blotches on the painted concrete, and realized that the stains were Tim Agnew’s blood, marking the spot where he had collapsed to the floor during a break over three years ago.
As the crowd diminished and the well-wishers faded away to make their way home, Tew and Wolcott were among the very last to offer their congratulations.
“It looks like you took the long way home,” said Wolcott. “How are you feeling, hoss?”
Ourecky coughed, nodded his head, and replied, “Much better, sir.”
“Well, that’s good. I can’t say that I approve of all the risks you took, but there ain’t any arguing with the results. We’re beholden to you, son, as always.”
“We’ll catch up later,” said Tew, bending forward to weakly embrace Ourecky’s shoulders. “Go home now. Go see your wife and son.”
Heydrich noticed that tears were welling in Ourecky’s eyes and assumed that he was anxious to be home. Watching as Tew and Wolcott walked away, he said, “I’m so glad that you two gentlemen are home, safe and sound.”
“Thanks, Gunter,” replied Carson, pushing himself out of his chair and stretching. “We couldn’t have done it without you and your guys.”
“We owe you,” added Ourecky. “As always.”
“Ready to hit the road, Scott?” asked Carson. “Ready to put this trip behind us?”
“I am,” sighed Ourecky, allowing Heydrich to help him to his feet. “Very much so.”
Dayton, Ohio
1:07 a.m., Sunday, August 27, 1972
After being feted for their momentous accomplishment, riding home in Carson’s Corvette, Ourecky was absolutely wrung out. It was long past midnight as they pulled up to Ourecky’s house. His heart sank when he saw that the house was dark, definitely an ominous sign, but he didn’t want to alarm Carson.
“Here we are, home sweet home,” noted Carson, looking towards the house as the Corvette idled. “It’s late. I guess Bea’s already gone to bed.”
“Yeah. Probably,” replied Ourecky hoarsely. “Anyway, I appreciate the ride, Drew. Man, I feel like crap.”
“Get some sleep, Scott,” said Carson.
Dog-tired, Ourecky stiffly climbed out of the car and waved goodbye. Turning towards the front porch, he saw that the yard was long in need of mowing. As he heard Carson pull away, he hacked up a clump of mucus and spat it out in the shaggy grass. On wobbly legs that felt like old rubber bands, he slowly staggered up the concrete steps. He felt horrible; his throat was sore and his chest still ached.
He groped for the extra key under the welcome mat, found it, opened the door, and went in. After turning on the lights and walking around the house, it didn’t take long for him to painfully realize that Bea had made good on her promise.
Her pictures were gone from the walls and fireplace mantel. Her clothes were gone from the bedroom closet an
d her dresser. Andy’s room was cleaned out as well: no bed, no clothes, no toys, no son.
She left a tersely worded letter on the coffee table. It contained no anger or animosity, but was just a clear statement of facts. In it, she told him that she had gone to stay with her friend Jill, who had been tentatively diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She said that he was welcome to visit whenever he wanted, but that she would not return to him until his circumstances changed. Except for the short note, every vestige of his wife and his son was gone.
Famished, he went to the kitchen to forage in the cabinets. The cupboard wasn’t exactly bare, but the pickings were mighty slim. He slathered two slices of stale bread with peanut butter and honey, sat at the table, and slowly ate his sandwich.
He was almost surprised that he didn’t feel angry. He expected this, although he had hoped against hope that it wouldn’t come to this, but he also understood why she felt like she did. If anything, he was angry with himself and frustrated with his impossible circumstances.
He resolved himself to respect her wishes and grant her some time to think, but at this point, he was just too numb to contemplate the situation. He knew that it might not have been like this, but he made his choices and now he would have to live with the consequences. Slightly more than a week ago, he knew what it was like to be the loneliest man in the universe; now, he had to come to grips with being the loneliest man on Earth.