_Live From Cape Canaveral_ - Jay Barbree [74]
Deke Slayton laughed. “What do you expect from a government contract?” he shouted. “Now damn it, let’s do a little engineering here; let’s rig it to where they’ll all work together!”
Farm-boy Slayton led a group of engineers that came up with what they called “the Wisconsin dairy farm fix.” Using only materials the astronauts had on board, they jerry-rigged a contraption that would use Apollo 13’s square canisters.
It worked. Apollo 13 swept around the small world, disappearing behind its cratered surface. The crippled spaceship crossed the backside of the moon and when it emerged with its antennas pointing toward Mission Control, the astronauts were told by Houston to prepare for the lunar module’s descent-rocket burn. This would be the long rocket firing, the one needed to get them home.
On any other flight, proper flight-course alignment would have been confirmed by using a space sextant to sight a suitable navigation star and feed data into the computer, which would verify that all was set to ignite the course-correction burn. But Apollo 13 was on its way home in the midst of a cloud of trash left by the explosion. The trash was really a part of the Apollo/lunar module assembly that traveled along at the same speed.
“If a star wasn’t visible, what about the sun?” Mission Control worked out the details. Before racing around the other side of the moon, the crew and ground controllers conducted a sun check and locked into the lunar module’s guidance platform.
At two minutes and forty seconds before the burn, Houston CapCom Vance Brand radioed a voice check.
“Roger, we got you,” Jim Lovell responded through a storm of air-to-ground static.
There was long silence, then Brand called, “One minute.”
“Roger,” Lovell acknowledged and returned to silence.
One minute passed, and Lovell reported, “We’re burning forty percent.”
“Houston copies.”
“One hundred percent,” Lovell announced, excitedly.
“Roger.” Static roared full-blown into their headsets. “Aquarius, Houston. You’re looking good.”
The lunar module’s descent rocket was at full thrust, and every person involved was holding his breath.
“Aquarius, you’re still looking good at two minutes.”
“Roger,” Lovell answered.
“Aquarius, you’re go at three minutes.”
“Roger.”
The life-saving rocket burn was just beautiful.
“Aquarius, ten seconds to go,” reported Brand.
“Five, four, three, two, one.”
“Shutdown!” Lovell smiled.
“Roger. Shutdown. Good burn, Jim,” and the Apollo 13 train chugged on.
The major milestone of their uncertain flight was behind them. But cold and wet, their teeth chattering in the powered-down spacecraft they called the refrigerator, the astronauts of Apollo 13 were lonely. Ahead were sixty-three uncomfortable hours of crossing the quarter-of-a-million-mile void. Even though each hour was getting them closer and closer to home, Deke Slayton was becoming more and more concerned for the astronauts’ emotional state. They were sleeping only in short catnaps. They were not only worn out, their food was frozen, and for drinking water they had to suck on ice cubes. “Damn it,” cursed Slayton, “they need rest.” They were now two days away from reentry and were needed at their best.
Lovell smiled and told Mission Control, “We’re three men cold as frogs in a frozen pond.”
Slayton laughed and moved into the CapCom’s chair. “Hey, guys, this is Deke.”
“Hey, Boss,” Lovell answered. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going great, Jim,” he answered as if he were enjoying his favorite rocking chair. “Just wanted you guys to know we’re in great shape. Las Vegas says it’s a hundred to one we’re gonna get you back.” Slayton didn’t mind lying when it was necessary. “We think the odds are better than that. You guys are in good shape all the way around. Now, I just had to break a few heads down here to make sure they leave you alone so you can get some sleep. I want you guys rested and at the top of your game come reentry. You’ve already proven you are