Gabby_ A Story of Courage and Hope - Alison Hanson [129]
At 1:29 a.m., we initiated the de-orbit burn. We entered the Earth’s atmosphere at 2:03 a.m., like a glider, with no engines. As the orbiter hits the atmosphere at such a high speed, an incredible amount of friction is generated. This friction strips the atmosphere of some electrons, creating plasma, which is a state of matter that has some properties of a gas but can flow like a liquid. It doesn’t take long for the wings and fuselage to heat up to thousands of degrees, and you are literally flying in the middle of a giant fireball of plasma. There is a bright orange, eerie glow outside. You can’t help but think of the crew of Columbia.
I’d been in the fireball three other times, but this would be my second landing at the controls. The space shuttle was never known to be a great flying machine in the atmosphere. It is actually a lousy airplane with some pretty objectionable flying qualities. It flies about as well as a Coke machine. Imagine throwing one of those out the back of an airplane. The space shuttle didn’t fly much better.
I had wanted the shuttle’s wheels to cross the edge of the runway—called the threshold—at an altitude of thirty-two feet. I was at thirty-two feet. At our landing weight, our ideal touch-down speed would be 195 knots. I touched down at 191. You want to touch down at a descent rate of no greater than three feet per second. I touched down at less than one foot per second. I wanted to start braking at 120 knots. I got on the brakes at 119.
I was really happy with the approach, the landing, and the numbers, which I knew would be closely analyzed.
I had spent the sixteen-day mission vowing not to screw up, not to let anyone say I shouldn’t have flown. Now, at 2:35 a.m., here we were back on Earth and I was feeling tired, proud—and relieved.
As the commander, I was the last one out of the ship on the runway. I ducked my head to exit the hatch, then turned around and went back inside for one more look.
There was an impromptu ceremony on the runway, recognizing the legacy of Endeavour, which would never fly again. It was bittersweet as we stood there. I knew that, like the shuttle behind me, I’d never again return to space.
The space shuttle program was about to end, and I didn’t think I was suited for a desk job in the astronaut office. I wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about telling other astronauts not to drive so fast at the Kennedy Space Center. Besides, there wouldn’t be too many astronauts in Florida for the foreseeable future. NASA’s next launch vehicle was many years away from being ready to fly.
I didn’t say it that night, but I pretty much knew I’d soon be retiring from the Navy—and from NASA. That would be my last flight as an astronaut and my last as a naval aviator after twenty-five years of service. Still, it felt like the moment was right. Best of all, I’d be able to have more time with Gabby.
I e-mailed Gloria to say I’d landed, but it was too late to call Gabby. She was sleeping. I was able to phone her in the morning, and she was so excited to learn I’d returned safely. She told me she loved me three times.
Because we landed so late after a very long day, we weren’t able to head home until Thursday, June 2. There was a quick press conference when we arrived in Houston, and then I went north to TIRR.
I walked into Gabby’s room at about 5 p.m., earlier than she expected, and found her still putting on her lipstick. It was just the third time she’d worn makeup since January 8. Though her head was wrapped from surgery, she’d dressed up for me, wearing jeans and a black camisole.
After we hugged and kissed and hugged again, we sat down together. I was still getting used to gravity, so it was nice to sit in one place, peacefully. “I’ve got your wedding ring,” I said to Gabby. “Would you like it back?”
I gave it to her, and she took my ring from the chain on her neck