by Jay Barbree
Korolev’s brilliance had caused many to predict Russia would beat America to the lunar surface. They hadn’t counted on the equal brilliance of Dr. Wernher von Braun and succeeding explorers in the White House. America’s Saturn V had sent Apollo 8 in orbit around the moon, and now, it appeared the only chance Russia had left was a successful N-1 flight.
The Russians took their one shot. The familiar launch ritual came to life. Expected countdown delays at Baikonur came and went, and on February 21, 1969, they secretly lit the monster. Engineers, technicians, launch controllers, and cosmonaut Leonov held their collective breaths.
The thirty rocket engines clustered together for N-1’s first stage sent a river of rolling fire sweeping down the curving flame trenches, and Russia’s biggest rocket ever blasted free. It heaved itself from Earth as the select assemblage chosen to watch cheered.
Alexei Leonov gripped the railing in front of him and shouted at the top of his voice. If N-1’s launch were successful he had been selected to fly Russia’s LK one-man moon “bug” to a lunar touchdown. Alexei Leonov would be the first human to step onto a place other than Earth.
But success wasn’t to be.
What Leonov could not see was that as soon as N-1 was airborne its engines number 12 and 14 went “dark”—their fuel had been shut off by an internal computer that sensed something was wrong. Still with 28 engines running N-1 continued to accelerate, pushing its 34-story-tall structure into the area of maximum aerodynamic pressure. Right on schedule the remaining engines throttled back to reduce the shock waves of Max-Q. Then the monster was through the “shock barrier.” At 60 seconds from liftoff the engines throttled back up to full power.
They shouldn’t have. Instead of a smooth transition to its maximum energy, N-1’s cluster of 28 remaining engines kicked to full bore trying to compensate for the loss of engines 12 and 14. The result was a tremendous vibration from trying to keep each individual rocket in sync. N-1’s design was simply doomed. There was no way with 1969 computer technology to succeed in getting so many clustered rocket engines to work in sync and the effort shook N-1 violently. A liquid oxygen line came apart.
Fed by a shower of the best oxidizer known fires grew rapidly. Rockets overheated. Computers failed.
The flames spread faster and faster. Turbo-pumps tore themselves into blazing wreckage. Alexei Leonov was suddenly mute. He instantly knew he would not be going to the moon, knew he was witnessing the death knell of his country’s lunar landing program.
Helpless, Leonov could only watch as high above, the growing flames grew at explosive speed as the escape tower attached to the LK unmanned spacecraft snatched it from the devouring fireball. “At least there was one thing good in this nightmare,” Alexei quickly told himself as he witnessed a terrible conflagration of red flames replacing N-1 in the heavens, expanding instantly into a flowering rose filling the sky, burning all within its reach.
The blazing wreckage showered a waiting Earth. The white-hot debris left a footprint reaching 30 miles in all directions while in the stratosphere where N-1 had plowed into Max-Q pressures, flames billowed and grew, lofting upward in a mushroom cloud with a killer stem.
For Alexei Leonov it was obvious. It would now take a miracle for cosmonauts to reach the moon. He was overwhelmingly disappointed of course. But he was a devoted member of the family who dared to fly beyond the sky and he put his overwhelming disappointment in its appropriate box. From his heart he offered good wishes and good luck to his brother. “We ride with you, Neil Armstrong. Have a safe flight.”
And Alexei would have been pleased to know when Neil was briefed on N-1’s colossal failure, he, too, was saddened.
* * *
Ten days following N-1’s collapse, Apollo 9’s veteran astronauts Jim McDivitt and Dave Scott along with rookie Rusty Schweickart rode their Saturn V rocket into Earth orbit. They would not be going to the moon. They would only circle Earth fully checking out the only major piece of Apollo hardware not yet tested in space.
But when Jim McDivitt first saw the lunar module he was astonished. “Holy Moses, are we really going to fly that thing?” he asked, staring at the LM’s aluminum foil outer skin. “If we’re not careful, we could put a foot through it.”
Five days after entering orbit and thoroughly testing and retesting the LM’s parts and systems, McDivitt and Schweickart were feeling better about the ungainly spacecraft. The two astronauts opened hatches in the docking tunnel that linked their Apollo to the moon taxi and drifted weightlessly into the lunar module. They then sealed themselves off from Dave Scott who babysat the command ship while they orbit tested the LM’s flying abilities.
For the next six hours they lowered their orbit, changed their plane, climbed back to their original orbit, and then flew a smooth return and docked with their Apollo command ship. There hadn’t been the first hint of a showstopper.
The astronauts of Apollo 9 fell madly in love with the ungainly flying machine that had been so carefully built for them by the Grumman team. It obviously had been put together with care and Apollo 9’s crew was happy to announce another mile marker to the moon had been crossed.
For the crew of Apollo 11, the training continued.
Neil stood clad in his bulky white spacesuit equipped with its backpack. Before him was a lunar module mockup and he was most pleased with Apollo 9’s success. That left only Apollo 10 and Neil was acutely aware an accident like N-1’s could still ground America if Apollo 10’s mission failed.
But he smiled. It was hidden within his helmet. He had aces going for his crew. If anyone could knock down that last remaining wall so he and Mike and Buzz could attempt a landing on the moon it was the Apollo 10 crew.
Tom Stafford was simply the best. It was rumored he’d flown a cardboard box without wings. He had taught pilots to be test pilots and secretly had test-flown two versions of Russia’s MIG fighters at the Air Force’s secret base in Nevada known as Area 51. The U.S. had gotten the MIGs from Israel, and Neil wasn’t about to forget that even though Stafford was destined to be a three-star Air Force general, he was a graduate with honors from the Naval Academy; and Cernan? What the hell! Gene was not only Navy and a graduate of Purdue, he’d been right there with him flying those demanding LLTVs. And John Young? Forget about it! He was the first of the Gemini Nine group to fly and John, too, was Navy. So what was left to be said?
Neil shook his arms and torso to better fit his suit and gear around his body as technicians made final adjustments to his 200 pounds of gear. He then walked stiffly and with effort across the space vehicle mockup facility to the lunar module trainer. There he stopped and caught his breath at one of the lander’s bowl-shaped footpads. He then placed a gloved hand on the ladder leading up to the LM’s crew cabin.
Every day Apollo 11’s astronauts were training to reach the moon, and this day he and Buzz Aldrin were training to leave the LM for their walks on the lunar landscape.
“Okay, you read me?” he asked.
“Read you five-square, Neil,” answered the technician playing CapCom.
Neil then began moving through the EVA rehearsal with the technicians and training specialists while an already-suited Buzz waited to join him at the appointed time.
Neil struggled not only against the weight of his gear (it would weigh only one-sixth of Earth weight on the moon), but also against his suit’s stiffness. Pressurized, he was working in a rigid exoskeleton making movement an effort. His gloves? Hell, they were like wearing pressurized baseball mitts. When it came to the camera it was almost impossible to keep it in his hands. That’s why attaching it as part of his gear was a good move. He reached into a pocket on his suit’s thigh and pulled out a collapsible long-handled scoop.
“Beginning the contingency sample,” Neil said as Buzz waited and watched. The contingency sample would be his first duty during the EVA. He was to scoop up a sample of the moon right away so if he had to return quickly to the LM they’d at least have some lunar soil.
However long, it would be the highlight of their eight-day mission.
* * *
Two months later, following a successful launch and outbound flight, Apollo 10 astronauts Tom Stafford, John Young, and Gene Cernan had their two ships—command module Charlie Brown and their lunar module Snoopy—docked and linked together approaching lunar orbit.
They were flying in the shadow of the moon—upside down in total darkness knowing they were curving around the lunar surface. They felt the moon but couldn’t see it. In fact they hadn’t been able to see it all the way out, and then, finally, Gene Cernan caught a glimpse of the moon out his window. He watched as light bathed the lunar landscape and he called, “There it is! There it is!” and they were all suddenly startled.
Buzz Aldrin joins Neil to practice their assignments on the moon. (NASA)
They were finally seeing the moon they’d spent nearly three days climbing uphill from Earth to see—the moon John Young got into an argument with Mission Control about when he yelled, “We’re not on the right damn course. There ain’t no moon.”
“Oh, you’ll see it, John, just wait,” CapCom assured him. They had all been feeling it, and hoping they wouldn’t run into it, but just couldn’t see it. Now there it was and they had their faces plastered to Charlie Brown’s windows—gawking, in awe. Before them were the lifeless jagged mountains, the wide deep craters, the smooth plains showered with boulders—cliffs soaring so tall and so close it appeared they could reach down and touch them. And in their awe they recognized they were seeing a world without life, a desolate dead place they had all been so eager to see. They feasted on this ghost world until suddenly Commander Tom Stafford reminded his crew it was time to fire Charlie Brown’s big SPS rocket and enter lunar orbit.
Apollo 10’s crew flies out of the darkness for its first look at the moon. (NASA)
Each returned to his station, and their linked spaceships eased into orbit around the moon’s surface not only to further test the lunar module, but also to perfect navigating around the moon and to confirm a future landing site. The Sea of Tranquility, so named by ancient astronomers who thought it was a smooth sea of water, was Apollo 10’s main target. If one particularly level plain on that sea proved acceptable, then Apollo 11 would be aiming for it. But for now it was up to Charlie Brown and Snoopy’s astronauts to test-fly and scout.
* * *
When all was set Tom Stafford and Gene Cernan floated through the docking tunnel to enter and fire up Snoopy, while John Young stayed at his post as pilot of Charlie Brown.
Once undocked the two ships flew in formation for about 30 minutes with their astronauts becoming detailed observers. They were peering down through unfiltered sunlight at the craters and mountains, remembering how reporters dogged them with the question if they were going to ride Snoopy all the way down to 8.4 nautical miles, why not “go all the way?”
First, Snoopy was too heavy for its ascent rocket to lift it off the moon for a rerendezvous with its command ship, and equally important, there were still too many questions about the so-called “mascons,” areas beneath the visible lunar surface. They were believed to be rocks of greater density that exerted higher gravitational forces. These perturbations of lunar gravity could cause dips in the Apollo command ship and its lunar module’s orbits around the moon affecting the ships’ navigational equipment. It would be the job of Apollo 10 to measure this, to gather needed data to tie up the loose ends and bring them all together in a single tight package for Neil Armstrong and crew.
When it was time to separate John Young fired a burst from Charlie Brown’s maneuvering thrusters and pulled away, while inside Snoopy Tom Stafford and Gene Cernan saw their ride home shrink into the distance.
“Have a good time while we’re gone, babe,” Cernan called, adding tongue-in-cheek, “And don’t accept any TEI updates.”
TEI stood for Trans Earth Insertion—the firing of Charlie Brown’s big service propulsion rocket that would have the command ship leaving the moon for Earth. An update, a new TEI, would mean Young would be leaving without them.
“Don’t you worry,” John told him laughing.
It was the type of fighter pilot banter test pilots often used when their necks were on the line. The three were most aware Tom and Gene were flying a ship that could not get them home. If something went wrong, John would have to come get them.
The countdown to fire the descent engine that would send Snoopy barreling toward the lunar surface began when Stafford and Cernan were over the moon’s far side. Mission Control went through another bout of nail-biting as the astronauts punched through critical maneuvers out of sight and out of touch with mission monitors.
Then they heard the excited voice of John Young from Charlie Brown; he’d appeared first around the limb of the moon, and as he reestablished radio contact with Earth, he fired off the initial message of mission progress: “They are down there,” he confirmed, “among the rocks, rambling through the boulders.”
Moments later Snoopy appeared, and the exuberant voice of Tom Stafford followed Young’s report of boulder tripping. “There are enough boulders around here to fill up Galveston Bay. It’s a fascinating sight. Okay, we’re coming up over the landing site. There are plenty of holes there. The surface is actually very smooth, like a very wet clay—with the excavation of the big craters.”
Cernan’s voice, too, rang with unrestrained excitement. “We’re right there! We’re right over it!” he cried as Snoopy whipped moonward to within the planned 8.4 nautical miles of the Sea of Tranquility. “I’m telling you, we are low, we are close, babe!”
Stafford was suddenly back. “All you have to do is put your tail wheel down and we’re there!” Snoopy swooped low over the moon, actually four miles south of the intended Apollo 11 landing site because of the navigational errors planners had expected. Had this been the real thing here at the orbit’s low point, Snoopy’s descent engine would have been reignited for a final descent to the moon’s surface.
But this time Tom Stafford and Gene Cernan would simply stay where they were, soaring to a height of 215 miles, their orbit’s peak, before swooping down once more to 8.4 nautical where it would be time for the critical dismembering of Snoopy—separating the lunar craft so the legless upper portion would return them to Charlie Brown.
Astronauts Gene Cernan and Tom Stafford at the controls of the lunar module Snoopy, 8.4 miles above the moon. (NASA)
The two astronauts settled their lunar module into the needed attitude and flight for the separation. The larger descent stage and the smaller ascent stage were held together by four bolts that were to be blown apart by small explosives after which the ascent stage with its crew cabin would rocket away to find Charlie Brown some 300 miles ahead.
They were all buttoned up and ready to jettison Snoopy’s descent stage when Stafford saw a yaw rate gyro indicating an intermitting failure. He immediately began troubleshooting.
The lunar module was equipped with two guidance systems. The primary called the Pings was used for flying the lunar lander down to and from the moon for rerendezvous. The abort system called the Ags should always be shadowing the Pings so if a problem called for the use of the Ags, the crew could hit the Ags anytime down to and up from the moon to rejoin the command module.
As they had gone through their checklist for the separation of the two stages, Gene Cernan told me, “The plan was to test the abort guidance system to make sure it worked, and I reached over and switched navigational control from Pings to Ags.”
They had now set up Snoopy to find Charlie Brown by testing the abort guidance system. Moments later, during his troubleshooting of the yaw
rate gyro, Tom reached over and inadvertently hit the guidance switch, changing it back to Pings.
Thinking they were ready for separation they blew the bolts and hell broke loose. Snoopy wheeled around in wild gyrations in radar search of its mother ship. Its snub nose pitched up and instantly pitched down. It then yawed violently between left and right. As close as they were to the lunar landscape the violent moves were terrifying, on the thin edge of lethal, and Cernan saw the surface corkscrew toward them, and he yelled, “Sonofabitch!”
The curse from Cernan sent instant alarm through Mission Control, but before controllers could react to what could have been a moment of danger Tom Stafford immediately killed the abort guidance system switch and took control of the LM manually.
As he gripped the controls, Tom realized Snoopy’s thruster rockets had to stabilize the complete LM. He instantly jettisoned the descent stage 45 seconds early, getting rid of two-thirds of that weight. This gave him far less spacecraft to get under control and the veteran test pilot’s skilled fingers went to work. Within 15 to 20 seconds the LM had calmed itself and settled into the desired attitude. Snoopy was ready to go find Charlie Brown.
“Tom, God bless him,” Gene Cernan told me later. “He did a great job.”
* * *
With their nerves and wits restored, Snoopy’s crew fired its ascent rocket and charged ahead to find Charlie Brown. Tom and Gene were two of the best flying the lunar module and their docking with their command ship was smooooth.
A delighted Tom Stafford told Mission Control, “Snoopy and Charlie Brown are hugging each other.”
The three astronauts, back together in Apollo 10, made one more trip around the cratered landscape before beginning the journey homeward. John Young had a bit of information for schoolkids everywhere.
“About the man in the moon,” he said, “We didn’t see one here, but pretty soon there will be two.”
