by Jay Barbree
The Saturn V’s first stage was alive, but it was anchored to its launchpad by huge hold-down arms, chained to Earth until computers judged it ready to fly.
“Six, five, four,”
Neil heard their Saturn V howling, heard chunks and sheets and flakes of ice falling steadily from coatings formed by the super-cold oxidizers and propellants. Apollo 11’s rocket was ready to leave. Neil knew it wanted to go, but the computers were still saying wait, wait another three seconds, wait until we can be sure.
“Three, two, one, zero, all engines are running.”
Then, Neil felt it.
The most powerful machine ever built by man was suddenly free. Its hold-down arms released their gripped and Saturn V screamed get the hell out of my way.
“Liftoff, we have liftoff, 32 minutes past the hour, liftoff of Apollo 11. Tower cleared.”
Neil felt the Earth shake. Felt his crew’s 36-story-tall stack of rocket and spaceships claw itself out of Earth’s gravity well.
Birds flew for safety, wildlife fled for shelter, and the mighty rocket’s shock waves slammed into the chests of the million-plus, rattling their bones and fluttering their skin and clothes. They were forced to lean into the powering wave of oncoming energy as Apollo 11’s Saturn V created its own earthquake, bellowing primeval thunder. Neil could hear and feel it all even through his helmet and earphones. Seven-and-a-half million pounds of thrust was slamming into the ground, bouncing back to his ears, but he keyed his microphone anyway and from his din of tumultuous sound told CapCom Bruce McCandless, “Roger, clock. We got a roll program.”
Mission Control heard the report. Knew the clock was running and Apollo 11 was rolling onto its proper heading. On the personal side, Neil knew only a few miles south of their ride to orbit—on a boat on the Banana River estuary were Janet, Rick, and Mark.
They had heard Jack King on the NASA squawk box announce liftoff but they couldn’t yet see the Saturn V. They could not yet hear. They could only hold their hearts in their throats until Apollo 11 came into view, and suddenly it did and their smiles grew as everyone on the boat screamed and shouted and bounced up and down in celebration. Before her new color television in Wapakoneta Neil’s mother saw the ignition, saw the liftoff, and squeezed her hands in prayer.
But none of them knew the ponderous slow-motion rough and rocky ride Neil was feeling. The roar had been overwhelming but it was beginning to fade. He could now hear the slamming and banging and sloshing of millions of gallons of fuel and Neil reported to Mission Control, “Roll’s complete and the pitch is programmed,” adding, “One Bravo.”
Neil felt the launchpad shake as the rocket clawed itself out of Earth’s gravity well. (NASA)
Neil, Mike, and Buzz were on their desired flight path. One Bravo was now their abort mode. They were high enough and moving fast enough to leave most of the noise behind and Neil felt he could now hear Mission Control despite the herky, jerky thunderous ride. It seemed all of Saturn V’s stages were vibrating simultaneously as they flew through feathery white ice-crystal clouds—growing in weight. Their G load was building and they were slamming into the area of maximum aerodynamic pressure that would try to rip the Saturn V/Apollo 11 apart.
Those in Launch Control take to the windows. (NASA)
But Max-Q’s uncomfortable shaking would only be momentary, while back on the Cape the record-setting crowd saw a fire river eight hundred feet long trailing the Apollo 11 train. They watched it pass the large flag standing before them with a ghostly ring of contrail dancing around the joints of Saturn V’s stages.
They were at an altitude of 12 miles moving about 2,800 miles per hour, and CapCom told them, “Stand by for mode one Charlie.”
Mode one Charlie meant flight controllers were checking the status of the upcoming first-stage burnout and its separation from the second stage.
“One Charlie,” Neil confirmed.
“This is Houston, you are Go for staging.”
“Inboard cutoff,” Neil reported.
“We confirm inboard cutoff.”
Neil, Mike, and Buzz braced for the “train wreck.” Their G loads had them weighing four times what they did at launch and their first stage’s five big rocket engines had compressed the Saturn’s three stages like an accordion.
Apollo 11 waves good-bye to the flag. (NASA)
The moment those engines stopped burning, Apollo 11’s train lost its push and the astronauts were thrown back and forth against their straps. Neil wasn’t at all sure they hadn’t been thrown into the command module’s bulkhead as he told CapCom, “Staging.” The astronauts then heard metallic bangs and a mixture of clunks and clangs as explosive bolts blew away the now empty stage.
Apollo 11’s Saturn V leaving on flames two-and-a-half times its length. (NASA)
They were 40 miles high and 60 miles downrange, climbing faster than 6,000 miles per hour, and they heard more bangs and clangs from the second stage below as ullage rockets fired to settle the propellants. Then, the second stage lit off, kicking the astronauts back in their seats with renewed acceleration, and Neil sensed immediately the flight was much smoother and quieter—no more vibration with all sound left in their wake.
“11, Houston. Thrust is Go, all engines. You’re looking good.”
“Roger. You’re loud and clear, Houston,” Neil told CapCom, quickly adding, “We’ve got skirt SEP.”
Apollo 11 losing one-half of its rocket train. We see the first stage burning out as the second stage ignites to push Neil and his crew toward Earth orbit. (NASA)
“Roger, we confirm skirt SEP.”
The engine skirt was gone and a new sound slammed through the crew cabin. The escape tower’s rocket had ignited automatically snatching away the no-longer-needed tower and the protective shield, uncovering their windows for the first time.
“Houston, be advised the visual is Go today,” Neil reported.
“This is Houston, Roger. Out,” said CapCom.
“Yes, we finally have windows to look out.”
Neil was aware he was being ignored. The pleasure of having the ability to see beyond their spacecraft even though they could only see the black sky of space was not a priority for the busy team on the ground and he and Mike and Buzz were now enjoying the ride. Saturn V’s upper stages had turned into gentle giants. They were now beyond the last particles of atmosphere and their ride was quiet and serene as smooth as glass and just a short distance away Neil suddenly saw tongues of flame lash briefly. Solid rockets on the Saturn V–discarded first stage were igniting to push away the stage from Apollo. No one wanted a “highway in the sky” collision at this point.
“Your guidance has converged; you’re looking good,” CapCom told Neil.
“Roger.”
“11, Houston. You are Go at four minutes.”
“Roger.”
Apollo 11 parked in Earth orbit over a cloud-laden eastern Atlantic. (NASA)
Apollo 11 was now 190 miles downrange, 72 miles high, moving at 7,400 miles per hour and Neil told McCandless, “You sure sound clear down there, Bruce. Sounds like you’re sitting in your living room.”
Bruce came back. “You all are coming through beautifully, too.”
“We’re doing six minutes—starting to gimbal motors,” said Neil.
“Roger, 11,” CapCom acknowledged. “You are Go from the ground at six minutes.”
The second stage continued to burn and the Apollo 11 train climbed faster and faster for another three minutes until it had emptied its tanks. Again the astronauts were snapped forward in their harnesses; again they were pushed back as the third stage lit off. They were moving along at 15,500 miles per hour, not quite Earth orbital speed, but the third stage would take care of that.
“Staging, and ignition,” Neil told the ground.
“Ignition confirmed, thrust is Go, 11. At ten minutes, you are Go.”
Neil smiled. “Roger, 11 is Go.”
Still heavily loaded with fuel needed to boost Apollo 11 to the moon foll
owing an S4B (third-stage) burn to push them into Earth orbit Apollo 11 was suddenly circling its home planet at a speed of 17,400 miles per hour.
This was the beginning of their planned holding orbit and Neil knew its purpose was twofold. First it gave the launch team a longer launch window and second it gave Mission Control and the crew two-and-a-half hours orbiting Earth to make sure astronaut and machine were ready to function far, far away.
They were entering orbit over the Canary Islands tracking station off the coast of Africa and Neil exchanged broad grins with Mike and Buzz. He released his harness and floated freely as if he were a feather with invisible wings. It was the feel-good feeling of weightlessness he had learned to love aboard Gemini 8 and the treat alone made the trip worthwhile.
From Earth orbit, the astronauts’ destination looms before them. (NASA)
EIGHTEEN
OUTBOUND
Apollo 11 sped around Earth for nearly two full orbits. Mission Control checked and rechecked its hardware. Flight controllers had to be absolutely sure the command ship and lunar module could carry the astronauts safely to the moon and back. Then CapCom told them, “Apollo 11, this is Houston. You are Go for TLI.”
Neil Armstrong held up a gloved fist. “We thank you.”
TLI (Trans Lunar Insertion) was the second major flight maneuver needed for Apollo 11’s crew to reach the lunar surface. Neil locked eyes with Mike and Buzz. They were smiling. No question they were ready. Each rechecked their seat harness, shifted and settled their weight, and waited.
“Apollo 11, this is Houston, stand by!”
“Roger,” Neil acknowledged and the crew braced itself.
WHOMP!
“Ignition,” he told Mission Control.
The powerful S4B third stage pinned them deep into their seats as every ounce of the big rocket’s quarter-of-a-million pounds of thrust was burning. It was needed. They were reaching for the speed that would break them free of Earth’s gravity. They were moving over the Pacific at 17,300 miles per hour. Their rocket would need to burn without stop, without even a hiccup for almost six minutes to reach 24,500 miles per hour—escape velocity.
They took comfort knowing what they needed was locked in their computers by Apollo 8 and Apollo 10. Both previous flights were saying to Apollo 11 follow us. They were, and Neil heard Houston telling him their Saturn V’s third stage had been burning for one minute, “Trajectory and guidance looks good. The stage is good.”
“Roger.” Neil welcomed the news.
In the vacuum leading from Earth, the S4B’s J-2 hydrogen fuel engine was burning a magnificent plume of pink and violet flame. Neil and crew felt its continuing power, felt its smooth and powerful ride. Their job was to monitor their instruments. CapCom told them, “Thrust is good. Everything’s is good.”
Neil returned a pleased “Roger.”
They sat and rode and waited. They sensed they were leaving their home planet. Time seemed to have slowed and Neil wanted to pinch himself to be sure he was where he was—doing what he had so long dreamed of doing. Then there were only seconds to go in the long rocket burn, and CapCom was back: “Apollo 11, this is Houston. You’re still looking good. Your predicted cutoff is right on the nominal.”
Nominal—engineering lingo for normal, and Neil assured flight controllers, “Apollo 11’s crew is Go.” They were speeding away from Earth faster than a bullet and when they reached the end of their ride, they were moving across every single seven-mile stretch in only a second. The sudden loss of rocket power slid them into a free coast to the moon. With the exception of the hums of their Apollo’s electronics and the fluids moving through its systems, they were left in a world of silence with little sensation of movement and the exhilarating freedom of floating weightless.
Speed: 24,500 mph
Earth Distance: 588 miles
Mission Elapsed Time: 2 hours, 54 minutes
Once again Neil could take a breath. He told Mission Control, “Hey, Houston, the Saturn V gave us a magnificent ride.”
“Roger, 11. We’ll pass that on. And it certainly looks like you are well on your way.”
“We have no complaints with any of the three stages on that ride,” Neil assured them. “It was beautiful.”
“Roger. We copy. No transients at staging of any significance.”
“That’s right,” Neil told them. “It was all, all a good ride,” he concluded as he and Mike Collins prepared for the next job: separating Apollo and the lunar module from the S4B stage.
“Apollo 11, you’re Go for separation.”
“Houston,” Neil came back. “We’re ready. We’re about to Sep.”
“This is Houston. We copy.”
Neil felt explosive bolts fire, and heard metal clanging as he sensed his spacecraft was now smaller. “Sep complete, Houston,” he reported.
They were leaving the final stage of their Saturn V behind and Mike Collins was now at the controls. The crew felt and heard Columbia’s thruster rockets fire. Saw their ship turning around bringing them face to face with the Eagle. They were staring at their lunar module that had been riding atop the rocket secured inside its strong container. Columbia must have appeared as if it were a thick-bodied insect about to devour the helpless Eagle—but no matter. Mike Collins triggered more blasts from Columbia’s thrusters and transparent flame streaked back. The tip of its docking probe entered the lunar module’s docking port. One more blast of the thrusters and both ships rocked from impact. The astronauts felt it and heard metallic snaps as the docking hooks latched; suddenly staring back at them was the capture light. Their two spacecraft were now one.
Neil told the ground, “We are docked.”
Speed: 19,180 mph
Earth Distance: 7,646 miles
Mission Elapsed Time: 3 hours, 29 minutes
For the first time since leaving Earth orbit and heading for the moon Neil could relax—only for a moment. “Houston,” he began telling Mission Control, “you might be interested that out my left-hand window now, I can observe the entire continent of North America, Alaska, and over the Pole, down to the Yucatán Peninsula, Cuba, northern part of South America, and then I run out of window.”
“Roger, we copy.”
Neil’s view of a quickly disappearing Earth. (NASA)
Neil had to laugh out loud. He knew those in Mission Control had little time for sightseeing as they were getting ready for an evasive maneuver—one that would keep Apollo 11 away from any contact again with its Saturn V’s S4B third stage. The firing would slingshot the rocket past the trailing edge of the moon and into a solar orbit. But few—only the crews of Apollo 8 and Apollo 10—ever had such a view of Earth. The small-town boy from Ohio was impressed.
“11, Houston,” CapCom called. “Whenever you’re possessed of a free moment there, we’ve got this maneuver PAD.”
“Okay,” Buzz answered.
CapCom read off all the letters and numbers needed for S4B’s slingshot, and Buzz copied them while Neil and Mike began getting out of their sweaty spacesuits. They’d been wearing the heavy, pressurized garments since leaving their crew quarters six hours earlier. They quickly traded their exoskeletons for their comfortable, lightweight Teflon jumpsuits, but undressing and dressing in their newly acquired spacecraft was akin to performing the task in your family car.
As soon as Neil began feeling sorry for himself he remembered his friend and the mission’s backup commander Jim Lovell who had actually lived two weeks in space in a phone booth—lived in one of Gemini 7’s two seats with Frank Borman. Neil quickly renewed his thanks for his spacious Apollo. It wasn’t yet like living in a men’s restroom.
Neil was most aware in weightlessness that for every action there’s an opposite reaction. He would push against something and his body would take off in the opposite direction. Then he would have to muscle his way back all the while not really sensing how fast they were speeding away from Earth. When riding in a car, on a train, or in an airplane at night the moon and
stars seem to stay in place—moving along with you as road signs and buildings and trees whiz by. These near objects tell you how fast you are going. In space you are too far away from other bodies of the universe to get a feeling of how fast you are moving.
Neil often pointed out that our Earth is moving around our sun at 67,062 miles per hour, and we pay little notice. We’re only reminded by the change in the seasons.
* * *
Once he was comfortably in his jumpsuit, Neil was back at the window. The slowly changing panorama of Earth became a sphere and he was thankful he had kept his nose in the geography books in school.
He got a kick out of being able to pinpoint locations on Earth and he told Mission Control, “We didn’t have much time, Houston, to talk to you about our views out the window. We had the entire northern part of the lighted hemisphere visible including North America, North Atlantic, and Europe and Northern Africa. We could see that the weather was good just about everywhere. There was one cyclonic depression in Northern Canada, in the Athabaska—probably east of Athabaska area.”
Neil cleared his throat and continued, “Greenland was clear, and it appeared to be we were seeing just the icecap in Greenland. All North Atlantic was pretty good; and Europe and Northern Africa seemed to be clear. Most of the United States was clear. There was a low—looked like a front stretching from the center of the country up across north of the Great Lakes into Newfoundland.”
Mission Control had been listening intently to the geography and weather report, and CapCom told Neil, “Roger. We copy.”
Mission Control receives a weather report from the Apollo 11 crew with this view of Earth. (NASA)
“I didn’t have much to look at,” Mike Collins added to the transmission, “but I sure did like it.”
“We’ll get you into the PTC soon and you can take turns looking,” Mission Control told Mike.
PTC was the acronym for Passive Thermal Control. To make sure the astronauts and their ship weren’t freezing on one side while roasting on the other they would slowly rotate Apollo 11 to evenly absorb solar rays. This imitation of a rotisserie would give each astronaut equal opportunities to look out their window and admire the planet they were leaving and the lunar landscapes they were approaching. Flight operations had given the astronauts a simple tool in which to increase their view. It was a monocular—half of a set of binoculars—and with it the crew was taken with the fact that Earth appeared to be so fragile.
