In the fall of 1985 it was announced that Congressman Bill Nelson would also fly a shuttle mission. Another groan arose from the astronaut office. No doubt the biggest groan came from another part-timer, Greg Jarvis. Greg was an employee of Hughes s.p.a.ce and Communications Company, a major supplier of communication satellites. He was flying in s.p.a.ce to observe the deployment of one of his company's products and to perform some in-c.o.c.kpit experiments on the physics of deployments. Garn's flight a.s.signment had already pushed him to the right on the schedule and he had finally ended up on STS-61C. It was while he was on a trip to JSC to pose for an official crew photo that HQ announced Nelson would replace him. The justification was that the Hughes satellite, which had originally been scheduled to fly on STS-61C, was having technical problems and was going to have to be deleted from the cargo manifest. Since one of the major purposes of Jarvis's shuttle mission was to observe a Hughes satellite deployment, it made sense, HQ intimated, to move him and give his seat to Nelson. This sounded reasonable-except for the fact NASA moved Jarvis to a mission that did not have a Hughes payload. That made it clear to TFNGs he was being removed for one reason only-to make room for Nelson. Now it was apparent to every astronaut that our management was useless when it came to confronting politicians. Anybody could be b.u.mped off any flight at any time to accommodate the whims of a congressman or senator. While it was just part-timer Jarvis getting the giant screw now, no TFNG MS felt immune. Next time it might be one of us airbrushed out of a crew photo like some disgraced Politburo member so a politician could be painted in. It was just one more threat to our place in line and we knew we could forget about protection from our JSC management. They were facilitators. The politicians could have their way with us.

NASA b.u.mped the oft-abused Jarvis one mission to the right. The next time he would pose for a crew photo would be for STS-51L, the mission that would kill him. He would die on a mission that had no Hughes satellite to deploy, the singular event that had been the original justification for his a.s.signment to a shuttle flight.

When Congressman Nelson arrived at JSC he was eager to secure a part to play on his mission. NASA obliged him by rolling out the old standby: photography. The congressman, like Garn, would be taking photos of various geologic, meteorologic, and oceanographic phenomena. But Nelson didn't want to be "Garn-ed." He wanted to be a contributing crewmember and do something really important. There was just one problem. None of the princ.i.p.al investigators of any of the experiments manifested on the mission wanted Nelson anywhere near their equipment. They were getting one chance to fly their experiments, had been working with the astronauts for months on how to best operate the equipment, and had no desire to have a nontechnical politician step in at the last moment and screw things up. Nelson continued to press the issue, but Hoot Gibson, the mission commander, remained firm...his mission specialists would do the major experiments. The jokers in the office quickly latched on to Nelson's enthusiasm to operate an "important experiment" and exaggerated it as his "quest to find the cure to cancer."

With the manifested experiments off limits, Nelson hit on the idea of taking photos of Ethiopia in the hopes they could help humanitarian agencies dealing with the drought that was ravishing the country. This well-meaning intention was exaggerated in office gossip as Nelson's second mission objective: "To end the famine in Ethiopia."

Finally, he threw out a real bomb. He wanted NASA to work with the Soviets and arrange an in-orbit gabfest between him and the cosmonauts aboard the Salyut s.p.a.ce station. At this moment in history, the Cold War was still very frosty. The complications, both technical and political, to pull off this s.p.a.cecraft-to-s.p.a.cecraft link would be difficult and time consuming. The crew wanted nothing to do with it. The MCC flight directors wanted nothing to do with it. To the astonishment of all, even Nelson's appeals to NASA HQ fell on deaf ears. n.o.body wanted to touch this t.u.r.d. The office gossips had a field day. They created a third Nelson mission objective: "To bring about world peace by talking to the Russian cosmonauts." The wits got more ammunition when the Salyut cosmonauts unexpectedly returned to earth, supposedly because one of them had become ill. Astronauts joked that the commies ended their mission as soon as they heard Nelson wanted to talk to them. Even they didn't want to be part of that bulls.h.i.t.

These exaggerated Nelson mission objectives-cure cancer, end the famine in Ethiopia, and world peace-generated this joke among TFNGs: Question: "Do you know how to ruin Nelson's entire mission?" Question: "Do you know how to ruin Nelson's entire mission?" Answer: "On launch morning tell him they've found a cure to cancer, it's raining a flood in Ethiopia, and the Berlin Wall is coming down! He'll be crushed." Answer: "On launch morning tell him they've found a cure to cancer, it's raining a flood in Ethiopia, and the Berlin Wall is coming down! He'll be crushed."

Neither Garn nor Nelson should feel abused at being the b.u.t.t of an office joke. If you're going to get in the game, you can expect some hits. We've all been there.

The pa.s.senger program didn't end with Nelson's landing. Next in line was Christa McAuliffe's initiation of the teacher-in-s.p.a.ce program. And it wasn't supposed to end with her. NASA HQ was dreaming of flying other pa.s.sengers. There were rumors Walter Cronkite and John Denver were being considered for flights. TFNGs greeted these rumors with head-shaking despair. The part-timer program was not only taking seats from us and flying people who were scaring the d.i.c.kens out of some crews, it was also an immoral program. Individuals who were clueless about the risks of s.p.a.ceflight were being exploited for public relations purposes. The entire part-timer program was built on the lie that the shuttle was nothing more than an airliner, which just happened to fly higher and faster than a Boeing 747. The very act of a.s.signing a schoolteacher and mother of two to a shuttle mission dramatically reinforced that lie. But every astronaut knew what the shuttle was-a very dangerous experimental rocket flying without a crew escape system. Christa McAuliffe's death onChallenger would finally open HQ's eyes to that fact and the agency ended the pa.s.senger program...with one notable exception-John Glenn. would finally open HQ's eyes to that fact and the agency ended the pa.s.senger program...with one notable exception-John Glenn.

I was a retired astronaut when I heard the news that seventy-seven-year-old Mr. Glenn had been a.s.signed to fly on mission STS-95. Had NASA completely forgottenChallenger ? Glenn may have been a former astronaut and he may have been a national hero (he had been ? Glenn may have been a former astronaut and he may have been a national hero (he had beenmy hero when I was a child) and he certainly understood the risks, but he would still be flying the shuttle as a nonmission essential pa.s.senger for PR purposes. Forget all that claptrap about his geriatric studies. That was another NASA fig leaf to cover a powerful politician. If geriatric research in s.p.a.ce was so important, why was NASA pushing older astronauts hero when I was a child) and he certainly understood the risks, but he would still be flying the shuttle as a nonmission essential pa.s.senger for PR purposes. Forget all that claptrap about his geriatric studies. That was another NASA fig leaf to cover a powerful politician. If geriatric research in s.p.a.ce was so important, why was NASA pushing older astronautsout of the c.o.c.kpit? Story Musgrave was a six-time shuttle veteran and a card-carrying AARPer who had been moved out to pasture. No...when Mr. Glenn lifted off, he was just another politician using his power for personal gratification. In Glenn's case he was also a part-timer whose advanced age added greater health risks to the mission than any part-timer before. It was insane. It was wrong. It was immoral. NASA Administrator Dan Goldin, who approved the mission, needed a time machine to go back and stand at Christa McAuliffe's graveside ceremony. Maybe seeing her weeping family would have opened his eyes to the possibility he might have to hand Mrs. Glenn a folded American flag during an Arlington ceremony while facing this thought, of the c.o.c.kpit? Story Musgrave was a six-time shuttle veteran and a card-carrying AARPer who had been moved out to pasture. No...when Mr. Glenn lifted off, he was just another politician using his power for personal gratification. In Glenn's case he was also a part-timer whose advanced age added greater health risks to the mission than any part-timer before. It was insane. It was wrong. It was immoral. NASA Administrator Dan Goldin, who approved the mission, needed a time machine to go back and stand at Christa McAuliffe's graveside ceremony. Maybe seeing her weeping family would have opened his eyes to the possibility he might have to hand Mrs. Glenn a folded American flag during an Arlington ceremony while facing this thought,I let this man die on a lark . .

When I heard that Administrator Goldin had suggested to the press other geriatrics would fly on the shuttle after Glenn, it was too much for me. I emailed an astronaut friend who was consulting for NASA and who had contacts among HQ managers. I asked him if NASA had lost its mind in putting Glenn aboard a shuttle, and if there was any truth to the press reports that other geriatrics would also fly. He replied that NASA had no intention of flying any more geriatrics and that "most NASA folks will tell you that the whole thing [flying Glenn] is a dumb idea, but not too dumb to actually do. In other words NASA believes chances are excellent it will turn out okay, and why not suck up some badly needed PR." I was astounded by his answer. NASA was pressing ahead with a "dumb idea" and relying on chance it wouldn't end badly. Apparently nothing had been learned fromChallenger. Russian roulette with the O-rings had brought us to that tragedy and now NASA was back at the game with Glenn's mission. Russian roulette with the O-rings had brought us to that tragedy and now NASA was back at the game with Glenn's mission.

I emailed my reply: "...you remember whatChallenger was like. The team killed seven people. It wasn't an accident. Afterward, we could all see how dumb we had been. This situation with Glenn sure takes me back to pre- was like. The team killed seven people. It wasn't an accident. Afterward, we could all see how dumb we had been. This situation with Glenn sure takes me back to pre-Challengerthought processes.... These 'little things' add up. They embolden people to try other things that might be just a little dumb. This Glenn thing isn't happening in a vacuum with no future ramifications."

I wrote an editorial forAviation Week & s.p.a.ce Technology, a major aeros.p.a.ce publication, concerning Glenn's mission. The piece was published in the September 21, 1998, issue. I closed it with these comments: "It bodes very poorly for any team when management needlessly accepts risk and then silently hopes for the best. It's little things like this that ultimately pave the road to another a major aeros.p.a.ce publication, concerning Glenn's mission. The piece was published in the September 21, 1998, issue. I closed it with these comments: "It bodes very poorly for any team when management needlessly accepts risk and then silently hopes for the best. It's little things like this that ultimately pave the road to anotherChallenger ..." ..."

Five years later, in 2003, another commission would investigate theColumbia tragedy. Its conclusions would hauntingly mirror those of the tragedy. Its conclusions would hauntingly mirror those of theChallenger Roger's Commission-cultural issues within NASA had led to Roger's Commission-cultural issues within NASA had led toColumbia 's loss. No one should have been surprised. The lessons of 's loss. No one should have been surprised. The lessons ofChallenger had been forgotten long before had been forgotten long beforeColumbia was dust falling through the Texas sky. Watching Mr. Glenn strap into the shuttle was proof of that. was dust falling through the Texas sky. Watching Mr. Glenn strap into the shuttle was proof of that.

*There were exceptions. Charlie Walker flew three missions and many of the s.p.a.celab PSes flew multiple times too.

*Again, there were exceptions. Most astronauts felt the European s.p.a.celab and Canadian astronauts, as well as McDonnell Douglas's Charlie Walker and a handful of other part-timers, were valuable additions to crews.

Chapter 25.

The Golden Age.

If ever there was a Golden Age for the s.p.a.ce shuttle program, that period was 1984 toChallenger . In those two years there were a total of fifteen successful shuttle missions, ten of those coming in the final twelve months. The shuttle would never again achieve that flight rate. In April 1985, . In those two years there were a total of fifteen successful shuttle missions, ten of those coming in the final twelve months. The shuttle would never again achieve that flight rate. In April 1985,Discovery and andChallenger were launched only seventeen days apart, another STS record. (The seventeen-day record marks the interval between successful launches. were launched only seventeen days apart, another STS record. (The seventeen-day record marks the interval between successful launches.Challenger 's final mission was launched only sixteen days after a 's final mission was launched only sixteen days after aColumbia mission.) The missions were coming so fast that shuttles were simultaneously being readied for launch on pads 39-A and -B. KSC was looking like a s.p.a.ceport out of science fiction. mission.) The missions were coming so fast that shuttles were simultaneously being readied for launch on pads 39-A and -B. KSC was looking like a s.p.a.ceport out of science fiction.

The history recorded in this Golden Age was remarkable. It included the world's first tetherless s.p.a.cewalks by jet packwearing astronauts, the first on-orbit repair of a satellite by s.p.a.cewalkers, and the first retrievals and return to earth of malfunctioning satellites. With its fifty-foot-long robot arm and s.p.a.cewalking astronauts, the shuttle repeatedly demonstrated its unique ability to put man to work in s.p.a.ce in ways never before possible. It was also during this period that the orbitersDiscovery and andAtlantis joined joinedColumbia and andChallenger to complete the four-shuttle fleet. And that fleet showed its muscle: Twenty-three satellites, totaling 142 tons of payload, were deployed from shuttle cargo bays. Just as NASA had promised, the shuttle was doing it all...launching commercial satellites, DOD satellites, and science satellites. to complete the four-shuttle fleet. And that fleet showed its muscle: Twenty-three satellites, totaling 142 tons of payload, were deployed from shuttle cargo bays. Just as NASA had promised, the shuttle was doing it all...launching commercial satellites, DOD satellites, and science satellites.

On the surface things looked glorious for NASA. But there was a problem: Getting to the twenty-plus missions per year that would give the shuttle a cost-compet.i.tive advantage over other launch systems was proving to be a much more formidable task than expected. The shuttle was a voracious consumer of man-hours. After every landing there were thousands of components that needed to be inspected, tested, drained, pressurized, or otherwise serviced. There were 28,000 heat tiles and thermal blankets on the vehicle. Each one had to be inspected. Mission-specific software had to be developed and validated. Payloads had to be installed and checked out. Severely hampering every turnaround was the lack of spare parts. Just-landed orbiters were being cannibalized of their main engines and other components to get the next shuttle ready. The necessary requirement to meticulously doc.u.ment all work was another drag on vehicle turnarounds: Just tightening a screw generated multiple pieces of paperwork. The joke within the astronaut corps was a s.p.a.ce shuttle could not be launched until the stacked paper detailing the turnaround work equaled the height of the shuttle stack...two hundred feet.

At just ten missions per year the shuttle was driving the system to its knees. The message was the same everywhere: "I need more people. I need more equipment. I need more spare parts." But NASA didn't have the money to buy these things. While commercial customers offset a portion of the expense, the cash flow was nowhere close to making the shuttle the pay-as-you-go enterprise promised years earlier to Congress. Significant taxpayer money was needed to underwrite the program, and those funds were fixed in the budget. The launch rate had to be doubled with the funds available. The end result was that more was being demanded of the existing manpower and equipment to achieve a higher flight rate. Everybody had a story about how this was overwhelming the various NASA teams. I recall being with an MCC controller when his boss brought in more work for him. The controller objected, "I haven't had a day off in six weeks. My wife and kids don't know who I am." The supervisor was sympathetic but had no other option. "We're all in the same boat. I don't have anybody else. You've got to do it." I could see it in both of their faces. They were exhausted, totally burned out. And they weren't the exception. In many areas NASA only had a first string. There was no "bench" to call on for subst.i.tutes. One of our STS-41D prelaunch hangar tests ofDiscovery had been botched for that reason. The first string had been supporting the pad checkout of the shuttle being readied for the next launch, so the contractor had sc.r.a.ped together a team for us from G.o.d-only-knew-where. One of the technicians had apparently been called from home because he arrived in the c.o.c.kpit with the smell of alcohol on his breath. It was an outrageous violation and Hank Hartsfield confronted the man's supervisor about it. He apologized for the intoxicated worker as well as for the entire test debacle, adding, "I don't have enough people to cover everything." had been botched for that reason. The first string had been supporting the pad checkout of the shuttle being readied for the next launch, so the contractor had sc.r.a.ped together a team for us from G.o.d-only-knew-where. One of the technicians had apparently been called from home because he arrived in the c.o.c.kpit with the smell of alcohol on his breath. It was an outrageous violation and Hank Hartsfield confronted the man's supervisor about it. He apologized for the intoxicated worker as well as for the entire test debacle, adding, "I don't have enough people to cover everything."

The story was no different for the engineers at the SRB Thiokol factory in Utah. The pressure to keep flying was hammering them even while they were struggling with a major anomaly. The O-ring problem first seen on STS-2 had not gone away. In fact, it had gotten worse. Beginning with STS-41B, launched in February 1984, and up toChallenger, only three missions did not have O-ring problems. The other fifteen flights of this period returned SRBs with eroded O-rings. Astonishingly, in nine of these fifteen flights, the engineers had recorded "blow-by," in which heat had not only eroded the primary O-rings but, for very brief moments, had gotten past those rings. On STS-51C, the blow-by had been exceptionally significant. That mission had launched in January 1985, after the stack had waited on the pad through a bitterly cold night. Engineers suspected that cold had reduced the flexibility of the rubberized O-rings, which, in turn, had allowed a more significant primary O-ring leak, resulting in a more significant blow-by. But in all cases none of the observed erosion equaled what had been recorded on STS-2's damaged O-ring, and that mission had been fine. In effect the STS-2 experience had become the yardstick against which all following O-ring damage was being measured. If the damage was less (and it always was), then it was okay to continue flights. In what would later be defined as "normalization of deviance" in only three missions did not have O-ring problems. The other fifteen flights of this period returned SRBs with eroded O-rings. Astonishingly, in nine of these fifteen flights, the engineers had recorded "blow-by," in which heat had not only eroded the primary O-rings but, for very brief moments, had gotten past those rings. On STS-51C, the blow-by had been exceptionally significant. That mission had launched in January 1985, after the stack had waited on the pad through a bitterly cold night. Engineers suspected that cold had reduced the flexibility of the rubberized O-rings, which, in turn, had allowed a more significant primary O-ring leak, resulting in a more significant blow-by. But in all cases none of the observed erosion equaled what had been recorded on STS-2's damaged O-ring, and that mission had been fine. In effect the STS-2 experience had become the yardstick against which all following O-ring damage was being measured. If the damage was less (and it always was), then it was okay to continue flights. In what would later be defined as "normalization of deviance" inThe Challenger Launch Decision by Diane Vaughan, the NASA and contractor team responsible for the SRBs had gotten away with flying a flawed design for so long they had lost sight of its deadly significance. The O-ring deviance had been normalized into their judgment processes. by Diane Vaughan, the NASA and contractor team responsible for the SRBs had gotten away with flying a flawed design for so long they had lost sight of its deadly significance. The O-ring deviance had been normalized into their judgment processes.

There were a handful of individuals who resisted this normalization of deviance phenomenon. Thiokol engineer Roger Boisjoly was one. In a July 31, 1985, memo to a company vice president, Boisjoly expressed his concern about continuing shuttle flights with the SRB O-ring anomaly. He concluded the memo with this prophetic sentence: "It is my honest and very real fear that if we do not take immediate action to dedicate a team to solve the problem with the field joint [a reference to the O-ring] having the number one priority, then we stand in jeopardy of losing a flight along with all the launch pad facilities." Boisjoly feared a catastrophic failure at booster ignition that would not only destroy the shuttle and kill her crew, but would also destroy the launchpad.

Another engineer, Arnold Thompson, wrote to a Thiokol project engineer on August 22, 1985: "The O-ring seal problem has lately become acute."

An October 1, 1985, interoffice Thiokol memo contained this plea: "HELP! The seal task force is constantly being delayed by every possible means." In his last paragraph, the memo's author, R. V. Ebeling, obliquely highlights the major problem of the operational STS...not enough people. "The allegiance to the O-ring investigation task force is very limited to a group of engineers numbering 810. Our a.s.signed people in manufacturing and quality have the desire, but are enc.u.mbered with other significant work." He finished his memo with the warning, "This is a red flag."

Another indication of the crushing workload being borne by the Thiokol engineers is found in an October 4, 1985, activity report by Roger Boisjoly. "I for one resent working at full capacity all week long and then being required to support activity on the weekend..." The operational shuttle program was devouring people.

Astronauts remained ignorant of the O-ring bullet aimed at our hearts. It was never on the agenda of any Monday meeting. None of the memos being circulated at Thiokol made it to our desks. But there were other things happening in the Golden Age of which we were aware-terrifying near misses.

On April 19, 1985, asDiscovery landed from STS-51D at KSC, the brake on the inboard right-side wheel locked on, resulting in severe brake damage and the blowout of the tire. Unlike large aircraft, which have engine trust-reversers to aid in stopping the machine, the shuttle is completely dependent on brakes...and it lands 100 miles per hour landed from STS-51D at KSC, the brake on the inboard right-side wheel locked on, resulting in severe brake damage and the blowout of the tire. Unlike large aircraft, which have engine trust-reversers to aid in stopping the machine, the shuttle is completely dependent on brakes...and it lands 100 miles per hourfaster than airplanes of comparable size. (A deployable drag chute was added in 1992.) When a shuttle touches down, it is a hundred tons of rocket, including several tons of extremely dangerous hypergolic fuel, hurling down the runway at 225 miles per hour. While the shuttle runways at KSC and Edwards AFB, at 3 miles in length, are sufficiently long for stopping, they are only 300 feet wide. A perfectly landed shuttle is only 150 feet from an edge, an eye blink in time at those speeds. It was a minor miracle that than airplanes of comparable size. (A deployable drag chute was added in 1992.) When a shuttle touches down, it is a hundred tons of rocket, including several tons of extremely dangerous hypergolic fuel, hurling down the runway at 225 miles per hour. While the shuttle runways at KSC and Edwards AFB, at 3 miles in length, are sufficiently long for stopping, they are only 300 feet wide. A perfectly landed shuttle is only 150 feet from an edge, an eye blink in time at those speeds. It was a minor miracle thatDiscovery didn't experience directional control problems as a result of the blown tire and careen off the runway. didn't experience directional control problems as a result of the blown tire and careen off the runway.

STS-51F experienced the second engine-start pad abort of the shuttle program. While not really a near miss, pad aborts have the potential to become dangerous. Afterward, I watched that crew put on their Right Stuff, no-big-deal faces for the press, just as we had done following our 41D pad abort. Astronauts are great actors.

STS-51F also became the first shuttle mission to perform an ascent abort whenChallenger 's center SSME shut down nearly three minutes early. It was later determined that the malfunction was due to two faulty engine temperature sensors. There had been nothing wrong with the engine. With only two SSMEs, the crew was forced into an Abort to Orbit (ATO). Fortunately, this was the safest of aborts. The shuttle had been high enough and fast enough at the time of the engine failure to limp into a safe orbit on its two remaining engines. Had the engine failure occurred earlier, the crew would have faced a much more risky 15,000-mile-per-hour, thirty-minute TAL to a landing at Zaragoza, Spain. 's center SSME shut down nearly three minutes early. It was later determined that the malfunction was due to two faulty engine temperature sensors. There had been nothing wrong with the engine. With only two SSMEs, the crew was forced into an Abort to Orbit (ATO). Fortunately, this was the safest of aborts. The shuttle had been high enough and fast enough at the time of the engine failure to limp into a safe orbit on its two remaining engines. Had the engine failure occurred earlier, the crew would have faced a much more risky 15,000-mile-per-hour, thirty-minute TAL to a landing at Zaragoza, Spain.

Having experienced both an engine-start abort and a powered-flight abort, the 51F crew had gone through ten lifetimes of heartbeats. After they returned, astronauts joked that a c.o.c.ked, loaded gun pointed between the eyes of any of them would not have elicited the slightest fear response. The mission had desiccated their adrenal glands.

STS-61C (Congressman Nelson's flight), the last mission prior to theChallenger disaster, experienced a pair of bizarre and dangerous malfunctions even before it was launched. During a January 6, 1986, countdown attempt, a temperature probe inside one of disaster, experienced a pair of bizarre and dangerous malfunctions even before it was launched. During a January 6, 1986, countdown attempt, a temperature probe inside one ofColumbia 's propellant pipes broke off and was swept into a valve that controlled fluid flow to an SSME. Unknown to anybody, the valve was jammed in the prelaunch open position. Engineers in the LCC noted the temperature sensor was not responding, but erroneously a.s.sumed it was due to an electronic malfunction. It had not occurred to anybody that the probe might have actually broken free and was floating around in 's propellant pipes broke off and was swept into a valve that controlled fluid flow to an SSME. Unknown to anybody, the valve was jammed in the prelaunch open position. Engineers in the LCC noted the temperature sensor was not responding, but erroneously a.s.sumed it was due to an electronic malfunction. It had not occurred to anybody that the probe might have actually broken free and was floating around inColumbia 's guts. The countdown continued using a backup temperature sensor. The mission was ultimately scrubbed for other reasons and the valve jam was discovered in the countdown reset. Had 's guts. The countdown continued using a backup temperature sensor. The mission was ultimately scrubbed for other reasons and the valve jam was discovered in the countdown reset. HadColumbia launched, there was a good chance the jammed valve could have caused a turbo-pump to overspeed and disintegrate during the engine shutdown sequence at MECO. The resulting shower of hot steel inside the engine compartment would probably have trashed the vehicle hydraulic system, dooming the crew on reentry. launched, there was a good chance the jammed valve could have caused a turbo-pump to overspeed and disintegrate during the engine shutdown sequence at MECO. The resulting shower of hot steel inside the engine compartment would probably have trashed the vehicle hydraulic system, dooming the crew on reentry.

During the same 61C countdown, a malfunction of a different valve (this time on the launchpad side of the plumbing) caused the drain back of a large amount of liquid oxygen from the gas tank. For a variety of technical reasons, the LCC had remained ignorant of the lost propellant. The shuttle very nearly lifted off without enough gas to reach its intended orbit. The crew's first indication of a problem would have come when all three SSMEs experienced a low propellant level shutdown somewhere over the Atlantic. How high and fast they were at that moment would have determined whether the crew lived (TAL, AOA, or ATO abort) or died (contingency abort). Again, the day was saved when the launch was scrubbed for unrelated reasons and the drain-back problem was discovered in the turnaround.

These near misses should have been warning flags to NASA management that the shuttle was far from being an operational system. They were indicative of the types of problems that occur in the early test phase of any complex aeros.p.a.ce machine. Every military TFNG had seen it happen in new aircraft systems they had flown. In fact, we were used to having urgent warnings appear on our ready-room B-boards concerning newly discovered failure modes on aircraft types that had been seasoned in decades of operations. It is the nature of high-performance flying. The machines are extremely complex and operate at the edge of their performance envelopes. And the s.p.a.ce shuttle was about as high-performance as flying got. There were certainly more surprises awaiting us in its operations. In fact, if the shuttle program should survive for a thousand flights, I am certain engineers will still be having occasional moments of "Holy s.h.i.t! I never expected to seethat happen." happen."

The shuttle was not operational and the close calls-STS-9's APU fire, STS-51D's brake problem, STS-51F's ascent abort, and STS-61C's valve problems (not even considering what was going on with the SRB O-rings)-were clear warnings to that effect. Yet, nothing changed. The shuttle continued to fly with pa.s.sengers and without an in-flight escape system, the two most visible manifestations of the operational label. Senior management saw the dodged bullets as validation that shuttle redundancy would always save the day. Meanwhile, astronauts saw the near misses as indicative of the experimental nature of the craft. When backup systems saved the shuttle, we cheered the genius of the engineers just as management did. The G.o.ds of Apollo were d.a.m.n good. But we also knew these incidents were just the tip of the iceberg. There were more unknowns lurking in the shuttle design, and when they finally reared their ugly heads, redundancy might not be enough to save us.

Astronaut concerns about the shuttle's operational label, the lack of an escape system, and the pa.s.senger program should have been heard by every key manager, from Abbey to the JSC center director to the NASA administrator. But they were not. We were terrified of saying anything that might jeopardize our place in line to s.p.a.ce. We were not like normal men and women who worried about the financial aspects of losing a job, of not being able to make the mortgage payment or pay the kids' tuition. We feared losing a dream, of losing the very thing that made usus. When it came to our careers, we were risk averse in the extreme. Effective leaders would have done everything possible to eradicate that fear. George Abbey, the JSC director, and the NASA administrator all should have been frequent visitors to the astronaut office, actively polling our concerns, and each visit should have started with these or similarly empowering words: "There is nothing you can say to me that will jeopardize your place in the mission line. Nothing! If you think I'm doing something crazy, I want to hear it." I had experienced this form of leadership many times in my air force career. I saw it on an F-4 mission in which a general officer was serving as my pilot. I was a first lieutenant-and terrified. I had never flown with a flag officer before. But this man was a leader who understood how fear could jeopardize the team and did his best to eliminate it. As my foot touched the c.o.c.kpit ladder, the general stopped me and said, "See these stars," and pointed to his shoulder. "If I make a mistake they won't save our lives. If you see anything that doesn't look right on this flight, tell me. There's no rank in this jet. Flying is dangerous enough as it is without having crewmembers afraid to speak up." It was an empowering moment. The astronaut office desperately needed the same empowering moments, but they never came. Fear ruled-a fear rooted in Abbey's continuing secrecy on all things a.s.sociated with flight a.s.signments. We kept our mouths shut. When it came to our careers, we were risk averse in the extreme. Effective leaders would have done everything possible to eradicate that fear. George Abbey, the JSC director, and the NASA administrator all should have been frequent visitors to the astronaut office, actively polling our concerns, and each visit should have started with these or similarly empowering words: "There is nothing you can say to me that will jeopardize your place in the mission line. Nothing! If you think I'm doing something crazy, I want to hear it." I had experienced this form of leadership many times in my air force career. I saw it on an F-4 mission in which a general officer was serving as my pilot. I was a first lieutenant-and terrified. I had never flown with a flag officer before. But this man was a leader who understood how fear could jeopardize the team and did his best to eliminate it. As my foot touched the c.o.c.kpit ladder, the general stopped me and said, "See these stars," and pointed to his shoulder. "If I make a mistake they won't save our lives. If you see anything that doesn't look right on this flight, tell me. There's no rank in this jet. Flying is dangerous enough as it is without having crewmembers afraid to speak up." It was an empowering moment. The astronaut office desperately needed the same empowering moments, but they never came. Fear ruled-a fear rooted in Abbey's continuing secrecy on all things a.s.sociated with flight a.s.signments. We kept our mouths shut.

It was in the Golden Age that Judy Resnik was a.s.signed to her second mission, STS-51L. She would join TFNGs d.i.c.k Scobee, El Onizuka, and Ron McNair as well as pilot Mike Smith (cla.s.s of 1980) for a flight aboardChallenger. Christa McAuliffe, a New Hampshire schoolteacher, would later join the crew. Her a.s.signment to 51L was linked to Judy's. NASA logically wanted Christa to fly with a veteran female astronaut. Greg Jarvis, another part-timer, would ultimately draw a Christa McAuliffe, a New Hampshire schoolteacher, would later join the crew. Her a.s.signment to 51L was linked to Judy's. NASA logically wanted Christa to fly with a veteran female astronaut. Greg Jarvis, another part-timer, would ultimately draw aChallenger slot when Congressman Bill Nelson b.u.mped him from STS-61C. slot when Congressman Bill Nelson b.u.mped him from STS-61C.

I don't blame Nelson or Abbey or anybody else for how the chips fell on theChallenger crew composition. Only G.o.d can explain the how and why of that. In fact, many months prior to crew composition. Only G.o.d can explain the how and why of that. In fact, many months prior toChallenger, Mike Smith was named as a backup to a mission pilot who was suffering a potentially career-ending health problem. That pilot recovered and Smith wasn't needed. But had the sick pilot's convalescence taken just a few more weeks, Mike would have flown on the earlier mission and another pilot would have died on Mike Smith was named as a backup to a mission pilot who was suffering a potentially career-ending health problem. That pilot recovered and Smith wasn't needed. But had the sick pilot's convalescence taken just a few more weeks, Mike would have flown on the earlier mission and another pilot would have died onChallenger.

I congratulated Judy and the others at their Outpost celebration. With a gold pin in my bureau drawer it was easy to be sincere. No more fake smiles. Still, I felt a touch of envy. The 51L crew would be deploying an IUS fitted with a NASA communication satellite. The Boeing engineers had finally fixed that booster rocket so Judy had a proven payload. It was one less thing to get in the way of her launch date. She would have a second flight long before I would and that was something to envy.

In spite of the record number of missions in 1985 and flight opportunities for astronauts, morale continued to suffer under the leadership of John Young and George Abbey, particularly the morale of the USAF pilots. Air force pilot Fred Gregory filled my ear on a T-38 mission. "Of the twenty-eight CDR and PLT seats available on the first fourteen missions, only six have been filled with air force pilots. Fifteen went to navy pilots." Fred went on to complain that of the six CDR and PLT seats available on the first three s.p.a.celab missions, four were being filled by air force pilots. (He was one of those four.) He didn't have to explain the meaning of the latter statistic: If any s.p.a.ce missions could be considered routine, they were the s.p.a.celab missions, and the USAF astronauts were getting more than their fair share of those. The navy pilots were getting the challenging and historic missions that included hands-on-the-stick rendezvous time and interviews on national TV. The most egregious example of an air force TFNG being screwed was when pilot Steve Nagel was a.s.signed to fly his first mission-not as a PLT, but as a mission specialist! Even some navy astronauts were outraged by this travesty. Steve was known to be a far superior pilot and to have much better judgment than several of the USN pilots who had drawn front-seat a.s.signments. And Abbey's preferential treatment of the navy didn't just stop with shuttle crew a.s.signments. He also picked navy astronauts (Walker, Gibson, and Richards) to serve as directors of NASA's flying operations at Ellington Field, and navy pilot Don Williams was a.s.signed a position in the JSC Shuttle Program Office.

Ironically, the flight a.s.signment situation with the air force pilots turned in my favor. On February 6, 1985, Abbey phoned me (no office visit this time) to tell me I was being a.s.signed to the first shuttle mission to fly from Vandenberg AFB in California. Abbey had finally drawn the air force's attention when he a.s.signed Bob Crippen, a navy captain, to command the most "air force" of all missions-the first Vandenberg flight. The air force was the lead service in DOD military s.p.a.ce operations, and it was a fact of orbital mechanics that many of their satellites had to be launched into polar orbits. For a spy satellite to see all of America's potential enemies, it has to have a view of all the Earth. A satellite orbiting around the Earth's poles gets such a view as the Earth spins underneath it. But it is impossible to launch polar orbiting satellites from the Kennedy s.p.a.ce Center, because a north- or south-directed launch from KSC would endanger populations below the rocket flight path. Polar orbiting satellites have to be carried into orbit by rockets launched from Vandenberg AFB, located near Point Conception, California. A rocket launched on a southern trajectory from this point will achieve polar orbit while flying safely over the ocean. The air force had spent a decade and several billion dollars building a shuttle launchpad at Vandenberg AFB. It was their launchpad and the first mission to be flown from it would carry an air force payload. The air force had wanted it commanded by an air force pilot, but Abbey had other ideas and a.s.signed Bob Crippen. In the ensuing discussions between the USAF and NASA, the air force had accepted Crippen, but with the caveat that the majority of the rest of the crew would be air force. (Or so the rumor mill had it. As always, there was nothing but rumors on the subject of flight a.s.signments.) In a strange twist, I became a beneficiary of Crippen's commandership of the first Vandenberg mission, a fact made clear to me when Crippen later commented, "You have the right color uniform for the flight."

I was deliriously happy about my good fortune. The Vandenberg mission was going to be a true first. It would carry me and the rest of the crew into polar orbit, something no human had ever done. The poor schmucks flying out of KSC on the commercial communication satellite deployment missions only got to see a narrow strip of the Earth between 28 degrees north and 28 degrees south lat.i.tude (as I had done on STS-41D). How boring. In a polar orbit we would see all of the Earth. We would flythrough the northern and southern lights. We would fly over the Greenland ice cap and the mountain ranges of Antarctica. We would pa.s.s over all of the Soviet Union. It was a mission Hank Hartsfield would have loved-he could have made the Kremlin a target for one of his BMs. I was back in my preSTS-41D frame of mind. I was mad to get into s.p.a.ce on this mission. But the liftoff date-originally scheduled for spring 1986-was slipping to the right. The new Vandenberg launchpad and launch control center had to be finished and checked out. The State Department had to complete its negotiations to secure shuttle abort landing rights on Easter Island's runway, a task being made more difficult by a Soviet Union disinformation campaign that shuttle operations would destroy the island's stone figures. The Soviets understood that most of the payloads carried out of Vandenberg would be spying on them and were doing their best to lay down obstacles. the northern and southern lights. We would fly over the Greenland ice cap and the mountain ranges of Antarctica. We would pa.s.s over all of the Soviet Union. It was a mission Hank Hartsfield would have loved-he could have made the Kremlin a target for one of his BMs. I was back in my preSTS-41D frame of mind. I was mad to get into s.p.a.ce on this mission. But the liftoff date-originally scheduled for spring 1986-was slipping to the right. The new Vandenberg launchpad and launch control center had to be finished and checked out. The State Department had to complete its negotiations to secure shuttle abort landing rights on Easter Island's runway, a task being made more difficult by a Soviet Union disinformation campaign that shuttle operations would destroy the island's stone figures. The Soviets understood that most of the payloads carried out of Vandenberg would be spying on them and were doing their best to lay down obstacles.

STS-62A's slippage provided time for me to pull other duties, including several missions as a CAPCOM. There were noApollo 13 dramatics on any of these flights but, like everything else in the astronaut business, even the mundane can be unique. One Sat.u.r.day night I was on CAPCOM duty and nearly comatose in boredom. The orbiting crew was engrossed in their experiments and the shuttle was performing flawlessly. On rev after rev all I did was make Acquisition of Signal (AOS) and Loss of Signal (LOS) calls as the shuttle pa.s.sed in and out of the coverage of various tracking stations. I tried to maintain an appearance of busy professionalism, knowing the public affairs wall-mounted cameras were focused on me. When no video was being streamed from the shuttle, the NASA PR officer would switch to these MCC cameras. Cable companies broadcast "NASA Select" video to their subscribers, including most astronaut households. My image was being dumped into living rooms throughout Clear Lake City and across America. Aware of this, I resisted the impulse to pick ear hairs and instead opened a shuttle malfunction checklist and pretended to study it. My eyes glazed over and my head nodded. dramatics on any of these flights but, like everything else in the astronaut business, even the mundane can be unique. One Sat.u.r.day night I was on CAPCOM duty and nearly comatose in boredom. The orbiting crew was engrossed in their experiments and the shuttle was performing flawlessly. On rev after rev all I did was make Acquisition of Signal (AOS) and Loss of Signal (LOS) calls as the shuttle pa.s.sed in and out of the coverage of various tracking stations. I tried to maintain an appearance of busy professionalism, knowing the public affairs wall-mounted cameras were focused on me. When no video was being streamed from the shuttle, the NASA PR officer would switch to these MCC cameras. Cable companies broadcast "NASA Select" video to their subscribers, including most astronaut households. My image was being dumped into living rooms throughout Clear Lake City and across America. Aware of this, I resisted the impulse to pick ear hairs and instead opened a shuttle malfunction checklist and pretended to study it. My eyes glazed over and my head nodded.

When my console phone rang I was instantly alert. The MCC phone numbers were unpublished. If a phone was ringing it was official business. I was glad for the interruption...anythingto break the monotony. I s.n.a.t.c.hed the receiver and answered in a crisp military manner, "CAPCOM, Mike Mullane speaking."

What came into my ear was a soft, feminine voice. "Raise your hand if you want a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b."

I bolted upright. Was I hallucinating? "Pardon me" was the only rejoinder I could muster.

"Listen up, Mullane! I said, raise your hand if you want a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b."

It is in the DNA of men to respond to such a proposition in the affirmative, so my hand shot up like the s.p.a.ce shuttle. The flight director and a couple of nearby MCC controllers looked at me like I had just had a seizure. No telling what the s.p.a.ce geeks around the country watching me on TV thought had happened.

My brain quickly replayed the conversation and I identified the voice, a TFNG wife. It was a Sat.u.r.day night. Somewhere there was an astronaut party. Someone had turned on the TV to check on the progress of the shuttle flight and found me bobbing toward unconsciousness. A crowd had gathered at the TV while this woman was given the CAPCOM phone number and made her call. I could imagine the roar of laughter when the party audience had seen my hand jerk skyward.

Now it was my turn to shock the caller. "You know this phone call is being recorded." She just laughed me off. It was no more possible to embarra.s.s this particular woman than it was to embarra.s.s Madonna. But the callhad been recorded. All MCC telephone conversations are recorded for accident investigation purposes. Somewhere in the National Archives are audiotapes with historic quotes from the s.p.a.ce program, like Alan Shepard's "Let's light this candle," and Neil Armstrong's "Houston, the been recorded. All MCC telephone conversations are recorded for accident investigation purposes. Somewhere in the National Archives are audiotapes with historic quotes from the s.p.a.ce program, like Alan Shepard's "Let's light this candle," and Neil Armstrong's "Houston, theEagle has landed," and Gene Kranz's "Failure is not an option," and a TFNG wife's "Raise your hand if you want a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b." has landed," and Gene Kranz's "Failure is not an option," and a TFNG wife's "Raise your hand if you want a b.l.o.w. .j.o.b."

There were Monday meeting discussions that proved almost as attention-grabbing as this proposition. We received a status report on the subject of herpes-infected monkeys. STS-51B, a s.p.a.celab mission, was to carry several primates as part of their life-science research and it was feared the virus, which was common in monkeys, could infect the crew. Needless to say this was a briefing that brought out the best in the Planet AD crowd.

"If you don't screw the monkeys, you won't catch herpes" came one call from the cheap seats.

"Good luck restraining the marines" came another.

"The ugliest one will come back pregnant by one of you air force perverts."

As this inter-service banter continued, one of the post-docs was able to shoulder in a valid question. "Why don't they just fly clean monkeys?"

The presenter replied, "It's difficult and expensive to find herpes-free monkeys." Then he added, "The scientists believe the herpes risks to astronauts are acceptable. They think there's a greater chance of the shuttle exploding than the crew contracting herpes." The scientists were right. n.o.body on the 51B crew would be worried about catching herpes from a monkey while sitting on 4 million pounds of propellant.

Weeks later, during a STS-51B simulation, the Sim Sup introduced a simulated monkey "malfunction." It wasn't a herpes outbreak, but a monkey death. This was to help prepare the MCC PR people to deal with nightmare antivivisectionists scenarios. (A group of these people were protesting NASA's s.p.a.celab animal experiments.) Per Sim Sup's instruction, the crew reported the simulated monkey was sick and bloated. A short while later they made the "monkey has died" call. At about the same time in the simulation, Sim Sup also introduced a human medical problem for the MCC flight surgeon to work-pilot Fred Gregory was ill with a fever and a urinary tract infection. The nearly simultaneous monkey illness and Fred's simulated infection had Fred vigorously defending himself in the simulation debriefing: "I did not violate the monkey!"

The herpes-infected monkeys made the flight and, as far as anybody knew, none of the crew caught the virus, not even the marines. And neither did any of the monkeys later give birth to an air force pilot's simian b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Nor did Fred come back with a urinary tract infection.

At another meeting one of the female physician astronauts presented some life-science findings derived from s.p.a.celab animal experiments. "Newly born mice appear healthy but, in weightlessness, they are unable to stay on their mother's teats to nurse."

The comment elicited a Beavis and b.u.t.t-Head reaction from the Planet AD crowd. "Dude, she said teats." A wave of giggles swept through our ranks. One USMC astronaut whispered, "Sucking t.i.t in zero-G sounds like a job for a marine."

Another life-science experiment presented to astronauts involved the insertion of an instrumented hypodermic needle into an astronaut's body to measure zero-gravity veinous blood pressure. A Spanish Inquisitor would have blanched at the size of the experiment needle. I asked, "Where are you going to find a vein large enough to stickthat ?" ?"

Physician (and former marine fighter pilot) Norm Thagard joked, "The dorsal vein of the p.e.n.i.s will work." On Planet AD everybody was a comedian.

The briefer a.s.sured us the p.e.n.i.s would not be a target, but wherever the needle was destined it wasn't going to be fun. Needle-oriented experiments always seemed to be part of s.p.a.celab missions, a fact that generated this office joke.

Question: "Why do s.p.a.celab missions require a crew of six MSes/PSes?"

Answer: "Five are needed to hold down the experiment victim."

At yet another Monday meeting the topic was the STS-51F s.p.a.ce cola war between c.o.ke and Pepsi. That mission carried experimental zero-G-functional cans of each soft drink. The crew was to evaluate them in the hope carbonated beverages could be added to the menu. Not surprisingly, both soft drink companies wanted theirs to be the first cola consumed in s.p.a.ce and called for their political connections to make that happen. Astronauts would hear the issue had reached all the way to the White House. A disgusted John Young returned from one management meeting and said the first-cola-consumed-in-s.p.a.ce topic had occupied hours of the committee's time. That prompted a growl from the back ranks: "Sure hope they're spending as much time working on the things that can kill us."

As the Coca-Cola Company was the first to come to NASA with the suggestion of flying their product, they won the battle. The 51F crew was ordered to take photos of the consumption of the drinks with the date/time recording feature of the NASA cameras in the on position. That data conclusively established that c.o.ke was the first cola consumed in s.p.a.ce. But since shuttles have no refrigerators, the beverages had to be consumed at room temperature. That fact doomed the experiment to be a disappointment. STS-51F was the first and last cola flight.

On January 27, 1986, I jumped in a T-38 and, along with the rest of the STS-62A crew, flew to New Mexico for some payload training at Los Alamos National Laboratory. While the primary business of the lab was nuclear weaponry, it was also involved in pa.s.sive military s.p.a.ce experiments. Some of these were to be payloads on our Vandenberg flight.

We landed in Albuquerque and took a lab-chartered flight to the small Los Alamos airport. After checking into a motel, I called Judy at the KSC crew quarters to wish her good luck on tomorrow's mission. I also teased her about the black cloud of delay that seemed to follow her. Her mission had already recorded two launch scrubs, one on January 25 for bad weather and then the next day for a problem with the side hatch.

"So you're the bad-luck person who caused all ourDiscovery scrubs." scrubs."

"I don't think so, Tarzan. It was Cheetah." She was right about Hawley. Steve now had the unenviable record of nine strap-ins for two flights. Judy was only working on her sixth strap-in.

I asked her how the launch looked for tomorrow. "Good, except it's supposed to be cold, down in the twenties. We're worried about ice in the sound suppression system."

"It's all these shuttle launches that are changing the weather."

She chuckled at my reply.

I kept the call brief knowing she probably had others to receive or make. "I just wanted to say good luck, JR. Please tell the others the same for me." These were the last words I would ever speak to her.

"Thanks, Tarzan. I'll see you back in Houston." These were the last words I would ever hear from her.

The last hope to saveChallenger pa.s.sed that night. When the Thiokol engineers learned of the extremely cold temperatures forecast at KSC, they convened a special teleconference with their NASA counterparts and argued that the mission should be delayed until the temperature warmed. Their justification was the fact that STS-51C, launched a year earlier with the coldest joint temperature yet-53 degrees-had experienced the worst primary O-ring blow-by of any launch. They suspected the cold temperatures had stiffened the rubberized O-rings and adversely affected their ability to seal. With an estimated joint temperature of about 30 degrees for pa.s.sed that night. When the Thiokol engineers learned of the extremely cold temperatures forecast at KSC, they convened a special teleconference with their NASA counterparts and argued that the mission should be delayed until the temperature warmed. Their justification was the fact that STS-51C, launched a year earlier with the coldest joint temperature yet-53 degrees-had experienced the worst primary O-ring blow-by of any launch. They suspected the cold temperatures had stiffened the rubberized O-rings and adversely affected their ability to seal. With an estimated joint temperature of about 30 degrees forChallenger, the same thing could happen tomorrow, they argued. They recommended the launch be delayed until the joint temperature was at least 53 degrees. The suggestion brought a fusillade of objection. One NASA official responded, "My G.o.d, Thiokol, when do you want me to launch, next April?" Another said he was "appalled" by the recommendation to postpone the launch. They correctly pointed out that there had been blow-by observed after launches in warm weather, a fact that suggested there was no correlation between temperature and the probability of O-ring failure. The arguments continued for several hours but, in the end, Thiokol management caved in to NASA's pressure and gave the SRBs a go for launch. The Golden Age had only hours remaining. the same thing could happen tomorrow, they argued. They recommended the launch be delayed until the joint temperature was at least 53 degrees. The suggestion brought a fusillade of objection. One NASA official responded, "My G.o.d, Thiokol, when do you want me to launch, next April?" Another said he was "appalled" by the recommendation to postpone the launch. They correctly pointed out that there had been blow-by observed after launches in warm weather, a fact that suggested there was no correlation between temperature and the probability of O-ring failure. The arguments continued for several hours but, in the end, Thiokol management caved in to NASA's pressure and gave the SRBs a go for launch. The Golden Age had only hours remaining.

Chapter 26.

Challenger.

After waking on January 28, I flipped on the TV to see what was happening withChallenger. The STS-51L countdown was running two hours late. I had plenty of time for my morning run so I dressed in my sweats and stepped into the crystalline twilight. The STS-51L countdown was running two hours late. I had plenty of time for my morning run so I dressed in my sweats and stepped into the crystalline twilight.

Few cities in America are more beautifully sited than Los Alamos, New Mexico. Set on a shoulder of a dormant volcano at an elevation of 7,200 feet, it commands a G.o.dly view of the Rio Grande Valley and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the east. The city is built upon multiple mesas separated by dramatic mini-grand canyons. The soil is soft volcanic tuff and eons of erosion have sculpted the terrain into bizarre and breathtaking shapes.

While Los Alamos was a joy for the eye, it was a pain for the lungs. In its thin air I was unable to keep the pace I regularly ran at sea level and I throttled back to a more leisurely jog. The dawn was pinking the eastern sky while a nearly full moon graced the west. I steered myself on a path through a forest of ponderosa pine, the scent of their needles perfuming the air. A herd of white-tailed deer, long accustomed to humans, didn't bolt at my appearance.

I ran for half an hour and then dropped into a cool-down walk, enjoying a moment of total contentment as I did so. I was in top physical condition. I was a veteran astronaut. I was in line for a second s.p.a.ceflight, afantastic second flight. There were probably no more than six or seven missions between me and polar orbit. I could easily visualize second flight. There were probably no more than six or seven missions between me and polar orbit. I could easily visualizeDiscovery on the Vandenberg pad, now that I had a photo on my office wall of on the Vandenberg pad, now that I had a photo on my office wall ofEnterprise on the same pad. on the same pad.*Several months earlier NASA had airlifted that orbiter to Vandenberg for a pad fit-check and the photos taken had captured her asDiscovery would soon be seen, standing vertical against a backdrop of California hills. It was an image that set my soul soaring. would soon be seen, standing vertical against a backdrop of California hills. It was an image that set my soul soaring.

After a shower and breakfast, I rendezvoused with the rest of the crew and drove to the lab to meet the princ.i.p.al investigators of our payloads. By nowChallenger 's launch was only a few minutes away, so we delayed our training to watch it. We knew this launch, unlike other recent ones, would be covered on TV because of the public's interest in schoolteacher-astronaut Christa McAuliffe. 's launch was only a few minutes away, so we delayed our training to watch it. We knew this launch, unlike other recent ones, would be covered on TV because of the public's interest in schoolteacher-astronaut Christa McAuliffe.

I couldn't sit down. As a rookie, I had been fearful while viewing shuttle launches. Now, I held a veteran's terror for what was at hand. I nervously paced behind the others. The TV talking heads focused on Christa, showing clips of her in training, then live shots of her students awaiting the blastoff. There was a carnival atmosphere among the children.

As the NASA PR voice gave the final ten seconds of the countdown, I was in prayer-overdrive, begging G.o.d for a successful launch. My motivation wasn't all selfless: There were still a thousand things that could come between me and my Vandenberg mission, and STS-51L was one of them. Another pad abort or, G.o.d forbid, an abort into Africa or Europe would have a serious impact on the launch schedule. The ripples of delay would push 62A even farther to the right.

At T-0 the SRBs blossomed fire andChallenger was on her way. The TV only covered a moment of ascent and then cut to the trivia of the morning. Bob Crippen spun the dial to other stations hoping for more coverage but there was none. Even the novelty of a schoolteacher couldn't buy NASA more than a minute of airtime. was on her way. The TV only covered a moment of ascent and then cut to the trivia of the morning. Bob Crippen spun the dial to other stations hoping for more coverage but there was none. Even the novelty of a schoolteacher couldn't buy NASA more than a minute of airtime.

We turned off the TV and gave our attention to a princ.i.p.al investigator of an experiment that would be in our cargo bay. As we were about to follow him to the hardware, Jerry Ross decided to give the TV another shot, "Maybe they'll have an update on the launch." He turned it on. What we saw immediately shocked us to silence.Challenger 's destruction had already occurred. We were seeing a replay of the horror. We watched the vehicle disintegrate into an orange-and-white ball. The SRBs twisted erratically in the sky. Streamers of smoke arced toward the sea. 's destruction had already occurred. We were seeing a replay of the horror. We watched the vehicle disintegrate into an orange-and-white ball. The SRBs twisted erratically in the sky. Streamers of smoke arced toward the sea.

For several heartbeats there was not a sound in the room. Then the exclamations came. "G.o.d, no!" Guy Gardner bowed his head and cried visible tears. I just stared in a dazed silence. Most of the others did the same. A few of the lab personnel wondered aloud if the crew had bailed out. I answered their question. "There's no ejection system on the s.p.a.ce shuttle. They're lost."

The TV focused on Christa McAuliffe's parents. They were in bleachers in the press area and appeared merely confused. I could read the question on their faces:Are the smoke patterns in the sky part of a normal launch? Their daughter was already dead and they didn't know. I silently cursed the press for continuing to focus on them. It was the ultimate obscenity of that terrible morning. Their daughter was already dead and they didn't know. I silently cursed the press