Taking in a deep puff, Anne instantly felt a calming effect come over her as she put her head back. She savored the feeling for a moment before blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. “So you were a wreck? You seemed so calm.”
Joan lit her cigarette and put the lighter down. “No, I wasn’t calm. In fact, I was the complete opposite, just as I know you are now. You looked like you needed a quiet moment away from everything.”
Anne took in another deep drag. “Thanks for saving me. I did.”
Joan put her hand on top of Anne’s. “Listen, I know you’re scared, just like I was. I can give you some BS that everything will be all right, but you and I both know the risks involved. I just want you to know I will be there for you, no matter what happens. You are my best friend and I love you.”
Anne turned her hand over and squeezed. “That means a lot. Thanks.” Anne looked at the light blue curtains covering her window. “It’s tough when there is nothing you can do. I like listening to the squawk box, but sometimes I’m afraid of what I might hear, like fear in Tom’s voice.”
“Nothing scares that husband of yours.”
Anne smiled. “I guess, but I keep thinking of our friends who became widows. I don’t want that to happen to me. I don’t want Peter to grow up without a father.”
Joan returned the squeeze. “I know.”
THE PURE OXYGEN flowing into Tom’s helmet dried out his tongue, making it difficult to moisten his chapped lips. He and Dusty stood in the Lunar Module in their spacesuits, anchored to the floor by harness straps. Having already separated the LM from the Command Module, Tom was now gearing up for the ultimate test for any pilot, landing on the moon. Once given the Go from mission control, he would arm the descent engine and give Dusty the order to ignite the rocket, sending their ship into a controlled fall toward the moon. Once the engine fired, there would be no turning back, no second chance. Everything had to go right, or they would be forced to abandon the attempt and return to the command module for home. The LM flew face down in a horizontal position, parallel to the moon’s surface, with the engine aimed in the direction of flight. Tom’s body was in that same horizontal alignment with his feet leading the way. He looked down through one of the two small, triangular windows at the barren scene passing by. You don’t intimidate me. We’re on our way.
Months earlier, Tom had made the decision he would take control from the computer at the 500-foot level. Though no one at NASA knew his plan, his copilot did. Both agreed not to leave their fate in the hands of a “blind” machine. It wasn’t that he didn’t think the computer could land their spacecraft, he just felt he was the better pilot. The way he saw it, he was in his position because of his flying skills, so why waste those God-given human talents here, over 200,000 miles away from home? Below his feet was the world’s first throttleable rocket engine that even allowed for hovering. No way was some computer going to have all the fun.
“Explorer, Houston. You are Go for PDI.”
Being cleared for Power Descent Initiation, Tom switched from the push-to-talk mode to the voice-activated mode, allowing mission control to hear everything he and Dusty said. “Roger, Houston. Go for PDI.” Tom flipped switches to arm the descent engine before giving Dusty the signal. The LMP nodded as he pushed in the proceed button.
Due to the initial low thrust, there was no obvious sign that the engine had ignited. Only the control panel in front of Tom confirmed the startup. “Ignition,” he said, adrenaline flowing.
It took less than forty seconds for the engine to ramp up to full power. At that point the cabin vibrated from the rumbling engine, and the LM started to slow, allowing the moon’s gravity to grab the ship and pull it down.
Dusty called out, “H-dot about 15 high.”
Dusty was reporting that their trajectory was a little high. Through years of training in the simulator together, both men had agreed everything inside the cockpit was for Dusty. He was to feed Tom all the necessary data observed from the instrument panel so Tom could keep his hands on the controls and make any adjustments needed without looking away from the window. Though this wasn’t critical at this juncture of the flight, it would be paramount during the last 5,000-foot drop. “Roger.”
Soon the engine automatically throttled down as they continued the braking. At the 40,000-foot level, Tom flipped the spacecraft completely over, windows up, pointing the landing radar down toward the lunar surface. The astronaut’s backs were now to the moon. All they saw out their windows was the darkness of space. This maneuver allowed the radar to determine their attitude. Once Dusty keyed in the appropriate codes, the computer started to accept the radar readings. Small thrusters stationed all around the ship came to life as the computer activated them to adjust the ship’s trajectory per the information it received from the radar. The ship shuddered from these corrective jet bursts, causing a bumpy ride.
Tom gripped a handhold, studying the instrument panel, confirming the computer was doing its job. All looked good. “Houston, Explorer. Altitude light out, velocity light out.” Tom informed mission control that the radar was on and working. A burst of color began to slowly creep into his window. The only color in deep space was Earth, which caught him by surprise. The fact that his home planet would be visible at this point of the descent was never discussed in any preflight meeting. He took it as a good omen, blowing a quick kiss in its direction.
THE GUESTS WERE crammed in both the living room and the adjoining dining room of the Novak home. With no television network breaking into their regularly scheduled programming to cover the Apollo 16 landing, Anne had the TV volume turned down low. Instead, the squawk box kept everyone abreast of exactly what was happening. Anne listened intently, especially whenever her husband spoke, trying to get any indication that something could be going wrong.
With the minute-by-minute flight plan spread out all over the dining room table, Anne relied on David to answer any of her questions. She stood next to the former moonwalker, pleased he wasn’t needed at mission control until Tom ventured out of the spacecraft.
David pointed to a timeline on the flight plan. “They’re approaching the point of Pitch-over.”
Leaning over the table, David picked up the silver and gold Lunar Module model. “Let me show you what Tom is preparing to do.”
David pretended the table was the lunar surface and lifted the model a few feet up, positioning it on its side. He then slowly moved it across the table. “He is flying the LM like this and will gradually pitch it up like so.” He rotated the ship slightly up so the four legs angled down toward the table with the windows facing in the direction they were going. “The LM will be in this slanted position so the engine can control their horizontal speed and ensure they don’t drop too fast.”
Anne stared at the spidery-looking model, still astounded such a weird-looking spacecraft could actually fly. She stared at the small window, imagining Tom peering out with determination on his face.
David looked at those who were listening. “This is the moment where Tom will show us his pilot skills.”
Anne took that to mean her husband was approaching a dangerous part of the descent. She felt an arm drape around her shoulder. She turned and saw Tom’s dad, Hank, wearing a fearless grin.
“Don’t worry, dear. Tom can fly anything. I betcha he does a pinpoint landing. The best one yet on the moon.”
25
SHOWTIME
There was a rush of activity taking place within the cockpit of Explorer as the spacecraft raced toward the unforgiving lunar surface at more than a hundred feet per second. Tom and Dusty were preparing for Pitch-over, the moment of truth for the commander. In anticipation of the maneuver, Tom took a second to loosen his grip on the hand controllers. He wiggled his fingers like a gunslinger getting ready for battle. This was why he signed up for the program. He was about to join one of the most exclusive clubs in the universe.
During private meetings with past Apollo commanders in preparation for the lan
ding, Tom found many had an air of arrogance regarding another commander joining their group. Though all astronauts were basically a bunch of alpha males, commanders were unmistakably the leaders of the pack. Each one of these men felt he was the best pilot, hands down, no question, especially the Navy men with their carrier backgrounds. Though Tom respected them all, he was just as good and was ready to prove he belonged in the club.
As programed, the Lunar Module pitched over at the 7,500-foot mark, giving Tom his first glimpse of the moon’s horizon. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he scanned the tapestry of craters in a mad search to locate their expected landmarks. The lack of shadows in the shallow craters made it difficult to determine their position. Tom had little time to waste. In less than four minutes he had to have them safely on the ground before running out of fuel.
Tom’s pilot training kicked in, and in his heightened state, he sensed time stretching, slowing things down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a large mountain range appear, dwarfing their spacecraft. In all their simulations, they had never been provided with any side views. The fact that they were zooming across the face of a huge mountain gave Tom the sensation he was truly flying. The sudden spike in his heart rate probably worried mission control, but he was just excited.
Tom kept his cool. “Pitch-over.”
Etched on the commander’s window was a grid similar to a gunsight. This simple setup was Tom’s way of seeing roughly where the computer was taking them. Once Dusty read him the correct angles, all Tom had to do was line up the scribe marks. If he didn’t like where they were headed, he could make the necessary adjustments with his controls.
As the angles changed, Dusty called them out. “40 degrees…38 degrees.”
“Okay.” With incredible focus, Tom continued to look for any recognizable landmark. He needed visual confirmation that they were on the right track. He was about to ask Dusty to take a look when he spotted Aggie Crater to his left. Just knowing one piece of the puzzle allowed Tom to quickly identify the other craters. He concluded they were slightly off target. The ship was heading northwest of their designated landing spot. Although landing right on point was not critical because of the lunar rover they brought along, Tom still wanted to top his fellow commanders. After minor corrections and firing the appropriate thrusters, Tom soon had the ship back on track.
Dusty called out. “5,000 feet, 41.”
In twelve seconds they had already descended over 2,000 feet. Tom continued to make slight tweaks to the controls-a couple of clicks left, three back-keeping their landing spot centered on the grid.
“3,000 feet, 52, 51, 49, 49.”
The craters were quickly getting bigger. Tom darted his eyes about until he found a safe opening. “Okay, I got a good spot.”
“Good. 48.”
In his helmet Tom heard mission control rattle off, “Explorer, Houston. You are Go for landing.”
Pleased with the “Go” signal, Tom rapidly spit out his response. “Roger. Go for landing.” Moisture beaded on Tom’s palms and perspiration welled up on his forehead as he continued to maneuver the Lunar Module while the computer rode the throttle.
“2,000, 46, on profile.”
Tom was happy to hear he was hitting his marks. He leaned up close to his window to get a good look at the spot he was shooting for. Though he would have to fly over a big crater just before touchdown, all looked doable. Dusty continued to read off the data in a crisp and disciplined manner as Tom skillfully guided them down. Once Dusty called out, 700, 50, Tom couldn’t contain himself any longer and took over control. He was ready to put this baby down. “Okay. Taking over, Dusty.”
In a confident tone, his partner responded immediately, “Roger, you’ve got P66.”
The P66 code informed mission control that Tom was now running the show. Apollo 16’s fate was in his hands.
Dusty’s voice became more animated. “Okay, 26 down at 500 feet.”
Tom no longer needed the landing point angles. What he needed were velocities and altitude. Per Dusty, they were dropping at 26 feet per second. He needed to slow down their descent. He switched to Altitude Hold, pitching the LM forward until they were almost vertical, letting the descent rocket brake their fall without slowing their horizontal flight.
A couple of irritating drops of sweat began to ooze over Tom’s eyelashes, distorting his view. He couldn’t chance the little pests seeping into his eyes. Not wanting to take his focus off the target, he blinked hard, successfully dislodging the little buggers.
“300 feet, 15.”
Tom was approaching “Dead Man’s Zone” where they would be unable to abort. After the two hundred-foot-level, their altitude wouldn’t allow for enough time for the ascent stage to ignite and stop their plunge. If any malfunction happened after that point, they were crashing onto the moon’s surface. Tom’s senses were working on overdrive. His hearing was tuned in to Dusty’s voice, his eyes took in the action outside his window, and his hands and body were feeling exactly what the machine was doing. Come on, Tom, get this right.
“200 feet, 11, 10 percent fuel.”
Tom pitched the ship slightly over to get a better look at the patch of land he was aiming for. A boulder field lay about fifty feet to the left but seemed a safe distance away. The area appeared level, but there was no way of telling for sure due to the lack of rocks big enough to cast shadows he could see. His concern was landing on the edge of the crater and putting the LM in a dangerously tilted position. Such a mistake would nullify the use of the ascent stage rocket, essentially making the Lunar Module their tomb.
“160, 10 down, give a couple of clicks up.”
Tom was so focused outside his window that it was tough to take in Dusty’s concern. But they were still descending too quickly. Ideally, they should be dropping at a slow, five feet per second, but they were at ten. It was as if his hand knew what to do and took over, slowing their drop, while his brain concentrated on what was going on outside. He was getting to the point where he had to stop their forward motion, but they needed another twenty feet to get past the crater.
“Okay, 5 down, 110 feet.”
A translucent sheet of moving dust started to distort Tom’s view. As he passed over the crater’s lip, he focused on a group of dark rocks he could see through the dirty buildup, helping him to determine exactly how the ship was moving.
Mission control came over the radio, “Sixty seconds.”
With two voices in his helmet and all the action happening outside, he had to sort through the chatter to extract information he needed. He convinced himself that sixty seconds of fuel was plenty, and he tuned out mission control. He straightened up the ship, completely stopping their forward motion. It was critical that they drop in a level and steady orientation to prevent snapping off a leg. He clicked the rate-of-toggle switch until he had their descent at the pace of a slow elevator. The dust was starting to blow up in thicker sheets, making it impossible to see the rocks that had been guiding him. He had no choice but to go by feel, hoping he wasn’t drifting back toward the crater.
“50 feet, down 3.”
For the first time, the shadow of the Lunar Module appeared on the surface. Even in the heavy dust, Tom could make out the legs’ shadows. He focused on those struts, watching the bottom of those shadows get closer to his spacecraft, his only visual indication of how high they were.
“30 feet, down 2.”
Tom was approaching the point where if he had to cut the engine, they would be okay with the hard landing. But he definitely didn’t want to test the theory. Contractors weren’t always right about their equipment. His plan was to cut the engine shortly after one of the nine-foot-long sensor probes extending off the legs came into contact with the surface. Once that happened, a blue light labeled Lunar Contact would glow in the cabin. If he waited too long past that point, it was feared that a rock could plug the engine’s fairing, causing a devastating explosion.
“20 feet, down 2.”
The ship’s shadow on the uneven surface didn’t help to determine if he was drifting. Finally the dust got so bad that he lost sight of his ship’s shadow. Come on, give me contact.
Dusty called out in an excited voice, “Contact.”
Tom waited a few seconds before calmly pushing in the Engine Stop button. A sudden hush filled his helmet as the ship plummeted the final five feet, hitting with a soft thud, thanks to the legs’ shock absorbers. Tom looked over at Dusty, who had a big grin. Tom broke the silence in his helmet by letting out an exhausted breath. He looked outside at the alien surface through the sun’s glare and dust. He shook his head, amazed he was on the moon. “Houston, Explorer has landed.”
POP, POP, POP.
Corks were flying all over the living room from folks opening bottles of Cold Duck to celebrate the successful landing. Virginia was giddy as she approached Anne with an open bottle of the bubbly along with a healthy stack of colorful paper Dixie Cups.
Virginia gave Anne a hug. “Looks like our Tom did it.”
Anne smiled as she grabbed one of the cups. Virginia poured the sparkling wine.
Tom’s dad approached, giving both his daughter and daughter-in-law a hug. Hank was beaming as he nabbed a Dixie Cup. “How about that?”
Anne continued to show a happy face, but her stomach was still in knots. It was tough for her to let loose and enjoy the party. Her husband was over 200,000 miles away in a dangerous and unforgiving place. There was no guarantee he would return, and that weighed heavily on her.
Hank put an arm around his daughter-in-law and toasted her cup. “Sweetheart, I know this is just round five of a fifteen-round fight. But Tom did a great job up there. I have every confidence in the world he will be sitting in this living room this time next week, probably asking you to make him a martini.”
USSR Hoax (Hoax Trilogy Book 3) Page 23
