Riding Rockets - Mike Mullane [103]
August 29, 1984, found us once again in the cockpit ofDiscovery. By now we were old hands at strapping in and waiting. But it didn’t get any easier. My bladder continued to torture me. My heart continued to race away in fear. And it didn’t get any easier forDiscovery. At T-9 minutes our third launch attempt was scrubbed for a Master Events Controller (MEC) malfunction. I was going to vomit before I got into space.
August 30. Another day. Another launch attempt. While awaiting our turns to enter the cockpit Judy and I slapped mosquitoes off each other’s back. The little bastards could drill right through our flight suits. Judy observed that the insects seemed worse than yesterday. I told her it was because our launch scrubs had trained them. “They knew we’d be standing here this morning. And they know we’ll be standing here at this exact time tomorrow, the next day, and every day afterward. We’re on their menu every day.”
Judy brushed away my pessimism. “We’ll do it today, Tarzan. I’ve got good vibes.”
I didn’t share her enthusiasm. I was emotionally exhausted. Clinical depression was on the horizon, suicide to follow.
A call came from the white room that it was my turn to be harnessed up. For the fourth time I embraced Judy. “This is the only thing fun about these scrubs. I get to hug you every morning.”
Judy smiled. “That’s sexual harassment, Tarzan.”
“I hope so.”
I wished her good luck and walked toward the cockpit.
She called after me. “See you in space, Tarzan.”
As the hours ticked by, I began to believe Judy’s vibes were right. The count proceeded smoothly. Milestone after milestone came and went without a negative word being spoken. The weather was great in Florida and at our abort sites. A little sunshine began to melt my black pessimism.
Then it happened again. We were notified the T-9 minute hold would be extended. This time the problem was with the Ground Launch Sequencer (GLS). I guessed we’d never get off the ground until everything broke at least one time. I ached for Donna and the kids, back on the LCC roof. It had to be killing them.
Just as the discussions on the GLS began to sound promising we were slapped with another problem. Some bozo in a light airplane had entered the closed airspace around the pad. We would have to hold until that plane was out of the area. The intercom seethed in our rage. We all simultaneously developed Tourette’s syndrome. Even Judy swore like a convict.Shoot the fucker down, was the general consensus. Previous shuttles had been delayed for the same reason, as well as for pleasure boats violating the offshore danger areas. Every astronaut thought these violators should be shot from the sky and sunk in the sea. Even astronauts enjoying a smooth countdown had no tolerance for idiots getting in the way of their launch, much less a crew as abused as ours.
As we waited, the LCC cleared the GLS problem. Now it was a matter of waiting until the light airplane exited the area. After nearly a seven-minute delay, its pilot pulled his head out of his ass and flew off. We all wished him engine failure. The count resumed.
Mike started the APUs at T-5 minutes. They all looked good. The sweep of the flight control system followed. It was also error-free.
At T-2 minutes we closed our helmet visors. Bob Sieck, the launch director, wished us good luck. Hank acknowledged, thanking him and his team for their efforts. I was glad I didn’t have to say anything at this point. My mouth was a desert.
T-1 minute. Hank reminded us, “Eyes on the instruments.”
T-31 seconds. “Go for auto-sequence start.” I made one last prayer for Donna and the kids…and again to God, “If you’re going to kill me, please do it above fifty miles altitude.”
T-10 seconds. “Go for main engine start.” The engine manifold pressures shot up.
T-6 seconds. For the second time in my life I felt the violence of SSME start. Two months earlier I had thought these vibrations were a guarantee for liftoff. No longer. Until there were goose