Anxiety

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  No one had considered that. But it was true of Christmas, too. Borman, Lovell, and Anders would be in lunar orbit on December 25. If they died then, Christmas would never be the same in America. Or maybe in all the world. Every year, it would be a tragic reminder of a mission gone horribly wrong. Webb had little to gain by signing his name to such a risky plan. And though he hadn’t announced it, he planned to resign in a few months, ending his seven-year tenure at NASA. No sense in sticking his neck out for a crazy mission he wouldn’t even be around to oversee. And yet, even as he continued screaming into his telephone, he did not say no. Instead, he said he’d think about it. And he promised to get back to the men the next day. — As NASA awaited Webb’s verdict on Apollo 8, Soviet cosmonauts trained for their own December lunar mission. It was a treacherous business, and they were taking risks that were normally forbidden, but with the Moon in the balance these were not normal times. A day later, Webb found a secure phone line in Vienna and called his men in Washington. He still thought the new plan for Apollo 8 was saturated with risk and danger, and that it could ruin NASA, but he could not deny its potential. He gave Paine and Phillips the go-ahead to prepare for a December lunar launch, but warned that he would not sign off on the plan unless and until Apollo 7 orbited Earth and completed its mission objecctives in the fall. That was all the green light these men needed. Even as they hung up they were dialing top NASA brass: The big guy had spoken. Eight was Go for the Moon. Now NASA needed a flight plan. Ordinarily, that took months to devise, but time was suddenly a luxury of a bygone era. Early in the afternoon on August 18, Borman met with Kraft and some of NASA’s top designers, planners, and engineers in Houston. Everyone had come to hammer out a blueprint for Apollo 8’s flight to the Moon. No one intended to leave until it was done. Borman looked around the office. To him, this was the ideal setup: no committees, no memos, no suits from Washington, just top-notch guys

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  engineers stepped up their already intense schedule and worked around the clock to study the viability of Low’s plan, looking for any showstoppers and keeping it a secret from the wider organization. A few days later, they were convinced: It would take a near miracle, but every problem could be solved, every challenge could be met. Now it was time to go to NASA’s top boss, James E. Webb, for permission. Some at NASA doubted that Webb would even listen. The Apollo 1 fire had nearly put him and the agency out of business, and it seemed unlikely he’d risk another tragedy. But they had to make their pitch now if the agency was to have any hope of sending Apollo 8 to the Moon by year’s end. The job of seeking official permission fell to Webb’s deputy, Thomas Paine, a young, forward-thinking engineer, and to Air Force general Samuel Phillips, director of the Apollo Manned Lunar Landing Program. Phillips at first wanted to do it in person but then thought better of it—a sudden trip to Vienna by high-ranking officials of the American space program might tip off the Soviets that NASA was planning something big. The better idea was to use a secure telephone line and hope for the best. Paine and Phillips reached Webb at the American embassy in Vienna. They had reason to hope Webb would see the genius of the new plan. Since Kennedy’s speech in 1961, Webb had been a champion for Apollo, protecting and advancing the program with Congress, playing by street rules when necessary. So the men laid out their vision for Apollo 8. “Are you out of your mind?” Webb yelled. He began to count off the risks of sending Apollo 8 to the Moon in December, only to grow more indignant with each one, and his list didn’t seem to end. “You’re putting the agency and the whole program at risk!” Webb finally said. And it was hard to argue with any of it. Three astronauts had died a horrific death on the launchpad less than two years earlier. Congress would not abide another three dead, especially if it occurred because NASA had hurried. And Webb added a final point. “If these three men are stranded out there and die in lunar orbit, no one—lovers, poets, no one—will ever look at the Moon the same way again.”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  sorts. Going without it meant that if Apollo 8’s single engine failed or malfunctioned at the Moon, the crew could smash into the lunar surface or be stranded in lunar orbit or fly off toward the Sun. And yet Kraft couldn’t bring himself to say no. He asked for a day to study the problem, then met with several experts. He returned to Low’s office the next morning with startling news. Kraft thought Apollo 8 should do more than just go to the Moon in December. He thought Apollo 8 should orbit the Moon. That nearly knocked Low from his chair. A lunar fly-by, as Low had proposed (and the Soviets planned), required only that a spacecraft be pointed at the Moon. If aimed precisely, it would be pulled in by the Moon’s gravity, whipped around its far side, and slingshotted back toward Earth, all without relying on the complex engine burns and calculations that were required to enter and exit a lunar orbit. That made things simpler by an order of magnitude, because it put gravity in charge, not engineers and rockets. In essence, Low had wanted Apollo 8 to fly a classic figure eight from Earth around the Moon and back again. Engineers had worked on this so-called free return trajectory for years, and NASA was certain it was sound. Now Kraft was suggesting Apollo 8 do something much more difficult. Entering and exiting lunar orbit—whereby the spacecraft would slow itself enough to become captured by the Moon’s gravity, then speed up again to leave—required intervention. Engines had to be fired, altitudes changed, speeds modified, navigation altered, and countless other adjustments made. All of it required complex calculations, software, training, and planning far beyond what was required for a free-return flight, and little of which NASA had in its current arsenal. Yet the benefits of orbiting the Moon could be immense. Putting Apollo 8 into lunar orbit would provide NASA with all kinds of experience it needed for the upcoming landing mission. Everything from deep space maneuvers to rocket firings to navigation to communications to propellant consumption to life support systems could be tested under the same conditions NASA would face when landing men on the Moon. New mission rules and procedures could be put through their paces, simulations appraised, training revised. And once the spacecraft arrived, the crew of Apollo 8 could photograph the Moon from up close, scouting

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  Kraft’s heart pounded. He well remembered the second and most recent test flight of the Saturn V, when the third stage had flat-out failed to restart. If that happened again, Apollo 8 would be fated to an orbit around Earth—and the lunar mission would have failed. Eight seconds before ignition. Liquid hydrogen began to run through opened valves and to the engine as Borman counted down. “...Four...Three...Two...” Liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen flooded into the engine’s combustion chamber. An indicator in the cabin lighted up brightly, telling Borman and crew ignition was imminent. In Hawaii, hundreds of people gazed upward. All they could see was a pinpoint of light. “Ignition!” Lovell said. The J-2 engine fired, pushing the astronauts gently back into their seats. In Hawaii, observers saw the tiny point of light explode into a giant streak of flame, a man-made comet glowing bright across the dark veil of sky. This was the acceleration that would be necessary to extend the spacecraft’s orbit out to where the Moon would be in about sixty-six hours’ time. At the moment, the Moon was farther back in its orbit around Earth and nowhere near where Apollo 8 was pointing. But if everything went right, the Moon, itself streaking through space at an average speed of 2,288 miles per hour, would arrive just in time to rendezvous with the little spacecraft. While the astronauts monitored systems and prepared to fly the vehicle manually in case the engine or steering system failed, Apollo 8 began to pitch up from its orientation parallel to Earth and climb higher away from its home. G-forces increased from 0.7 past 1.0 as Lovell watched the digits on the cabin’s velocity indicator, which seemed to spin upward like the wheels of a slot machine. Just over two minutes into the burn, Lovell reported a speed of nearly 20,000 miles per hour, faster than humans had ever moved. Over the next three minutes, the craft would need to exceed 24,000 miles per hour to achieve the desired trajectory. The g-forces continued to increase. In Houston, everyone from Kraft and Charlesworth to the men in the farthest back rooms hardly breathed. With forty seconds to cutoff, Apollo 8 had reached about 98 percent of its target speed.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  Collins, was on Charlesworth’s Green team and would cover launch through to the historic TLI maneuver. Overseeing them all in Houston would be Chris Kraft, the director of flight operations. Even now, Kraft might have been the most nervous of them all. He’d been with NASA since its inception in 1958. More than anyone else, he knew how much could go right—and wrong—when men left Earth. The astronauts occupied themselves by checking switches, confirming checklists, and eavesdropping through their headsets on launch personnel. They could not hear NASA public affairs officer Jack King, whose baritone voice and slight Boston accent had kept the world updated live on launch countdowns since the Mercury flights. Borman, Lovell, and Anders shivered in their space suits, their cabin freezing in the still-chilly morning air. The astronauts could do little more than wait. Through a tiny porthole in front of him, Borman watched two seagulls flying around the spacecraft and checking out the strange, tall bird—the Saturn V—that now shared their sky. From his middle seat, Lovell scanned the instrument panel and admired the detail of the Apollo simulators; nothing inside the command module looked or felt different from what the crew had practiced with on the ground. And in a testament to the cool that runs through the bloodstream of fighter pilots, Anders fell asleep, ready to awaken when things got good. By 7 A.M., network coverage of the launch had gone live on televisions and radios across America and the world. As the countdown clock ticked under an hour, a crowd gathered around the color television in the living room of the Borman home. Susan, her two sons, Frank’s parents (who had arrived at three A.M. and now fidgeted nervously on the couch), and family friends had come to watch the launch. Joining them were a Life magazine photographer, along with the wives of seven other astronauts, some of whom had brought deviled eggs and champagne. Though she smiled for newspaper photographers while scratching the tummy of the family’s shaggy dog, Teddy, Susan’s insides were in knots. At every chance, she hurried back to the squawk boxes NASA had installed in her home so that she could listen directly to the communications between Apollo 8 and Mission Control.

• From Scandalous Liaisons (2007)

  [image file=image_rsrc3ZJ.jpg] Olivia said nothing during the ride to Dunsmore House. She couldn’t have managed speech even if she’d desired to, what with her mouth being dry as the desert and her throat clenched shut with apprehension. Her discomfort only worsened as the carriage rolled to a halt in front of the imposing manse. Sebastian vaulted down and stared up at the elegant façade. “Remain here.” “No,” she argued. “I’m coming with you. You are not facing your father alone.” He looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want you anywhere near him!” “I don’t want you anywhere near him either, but you insisted we come.” She lifted her chin. “Go in there without me, and I’ll follow you, I vow.” Sebastian’s face was grim as he assisted her down. He glanced at the footman. “Wait here,” he ordered. Olivia shivered at her husband’s starkly austere features. He led her inside, ignoring the horrified butler. They ascended the stairs, heading directly to the study, where masculine voices could be heard. His hand at the small of her back was firm and steady, despite the inner turmoil she sensed. She’d never seen him in such a mood, something akin to murderous rage, and she realized at that moment what had prompted his fierce reputation. They entered the room, again without knocking, and Olivia paused, frozen on the threshold, shocked to find her father in a wingback chair in front of the fire. Sitting opposite him was a man who looked remarkably like Sebastian and nothing like the decrepit, miserly man she had pictured in her mind. Jack Lambert stood, his golden hair glinting in the light of the fire. “Livy, sweet!” He came to her and kissed both of her cheeks. “You’re late, by weeks. I was worried sick. Agents at the shipping office have kept watch for the Seawitch. Your husband made haste to retrieve you when word came that she’d put into port.” He looked past her to Sebastian, eyeing him speculatively. “Where is Lord Merrick? And who is this gentleman?” Sebastian clasped her father’s outstretched hand and dipped his head respectfully. Olivia shot a scathing glance at the marquess. “Lord Merrick, may I present my father, Jack Lambert. Father, this is Lord Merrick.” Her father scowled. “The devil you say!” “You’ve been deceived,” Sebastian explained softly. Her father turned to the marquess, frowning in obvious confusion. Lord Dunsmore rose from his chair with arrogant indifference. He was as tall as his son, but slender and elegant in his build. He was almost frightening, with his cruel mouth and harshly lined eyes. “Sebastian,” he drawled. “I see your penchant for ruining the best-laid plans is still in evidence.” Sebastian’s arm stiffened under Olivia’s fingertips. Her father’s face turned a mottled red. “Explain yourself, Dunsmore!” The marquess arched a sardonic brow, the depths of his eyes showing no emotion at seeing the son who had been absent for years. “I think I’ll leave the explanations to Merrick.”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  or otherwise, Borman had come to see the stress his career placed on Susan, and he couldn’t have any more of that. — After the press conference, the astronauts prepared to fly from Houston to Florida, where they would live for the remaining two weeks before their launch. This would be their last chance to say goodbye in person to their wives and children. Borman and Lovell said farewell to their families at home, wished them a merry Christmas in advance, and told them they’d celebrate the holiday after they returned to Earth. Anders did the same, but then he gave Valerie a small package. It contained an audiotape. He asked that she play it in the event he didn’t make it back. Anders was a private person and didn’t tell anyone what he’d said on the tape. It began, “You children and your mother are the most important...” Much of the rest of it came down to this: expressions of love for Valerie and the kids; a reminder that he missed them already; a hope that Valerie would marry again in the future; and an assurance that he’d died doing what he wanted to be doing. At the Cape, the men checked in to their new quarters, each getting a tiny room with little more than a steel bed and a steel desk, but with a large adjoining living room to share. Framed copies of classic paintings competed with lunar maps for space on the walls. It was a comfortable, if cramped, existence, and one deemed necessary by NASA to prevent the crew from catching bugs or viruses from the outside world that might short-circuit their ability to fly. The sole luxury came in the form of a personal chef. No sooner had the astronauts arrived at the Cape than they had to pack their bags again. Lyndon Johnson had invited them and their wives to the White House for a formal dinner and send-off, just twelve days before the flight. System checklists and countdown procedures swimming in their heads, the astronauts boarded a charter flight to Washington. Doctors didn’t like the idea. The Hong Kong flu pandemic—which would kill more than thirty-three thousand in the United States alone in a six- month span—was reaching its peak, and the astronauts were supposed to be in quarantine. When a NASA doctor tried to object, LBJ issued a

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  bus—and could deliver its payload to within inches of its target destination. Its top deck was the size of a major league baseball infield. Carrying the Saturn V to the launchpad, it would cruise at one mile per hour. Engines grinding, the tractor moved the Saturn V and its tower out of the white Vehicle Assembly Building and into daylight. A slender 34-foot- tall launch escape system sat atop the rocket and seemed to scrape the nearly full Moon hanging in the sky. Soon the structure was moving down the road toward Pad 39A, a journey of about three and a half miles, where the spacecraft would undergo exhaustive testing, verifications, and countdown rehearsals until the December launch. A man in white shirtsleeves and a black tie operated the Crawler-Transporter from inside a control cab, while several engineers wearing hardhats rode atop various platforms on the tractor. Like the red fire engine that drove beside them in case of emergency, these men appeared to be toys in the shadow of these machines. As the Apollo 8 hardware made its reptilian crawl, it might have been easy to forget that in just two days, Apollo 7 would launch on an eleven- day Earth orbit mission designed to test the Apollo spacecraft and systems. That flight, historic in its own right, and NASA’s first since the fatal fire, had to be near-perfect for Apollo 8 to get its green light for December. — Apollo 7 sat atop its Saturn IB rocket on October 11, 1968, a 20-knot easterly wind blowing against the spacecraft and into commander Wally Schirra’s instinct. Mission rules prohibited launching into winds that could push a spacecraft back onshore during an abort—the ground could be a deadly hard landing spot compared to the ocean—but that was just the kind of wind whistling at Cape Kennedy during the countdown. Lying on his back alongside crewmates Donn Eisele and Walt Cunningham, Schirra grew furious that NASA seemed determined to fly despite the hazard he perceived. He argued against launching until about an hour before lift-off, when he realized it was too late to call things off. Just after 11 A.M., with the wind still howling, Apollo 7 launched successfully. All went well until the second day, when Schirra came down

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  As Apollo 8 neared its target, the Moon would be moving at more than 2,000 miles per hour, with the spacecraft rapidly accelerating, both approaching nearly the same spot in space. If NASA’s figures were accurate, the ship would slide just ahead of the Moon’s leading hemisphere, then use lunar gravity to curl behind the lunar far side. Once the spacecraft went behind the Moon, all communication with Mission Control would be blocked. At that point, if all looked good, Borman would fire the Service Propulsion System, or SPS, engine, which would slow the ship enough to be captured by the Moon’s gravity and enter lunar orbit. There was no backup to the SPS. If it didn’t fire, Apollo 8 would whip around the Moon and return to Earth. The real problem would come if the engine fired incorrectly: too short or too weak, and the spacecraft would fly off into eternal space; too long or too strong, and it would crash into the Moon in less than an hour. If it all worked, however, Apollo 8 would enter an irregular orbit, about 69 miles above the lunar surface on the far side and about 200 miles over the near side. For two revolutions (about four hours), the crew would prepare their cameras and observe landmarks. Then they would get ready to fire the SPS engine again, this time to circularize their orbit at a constant 69 miles above the lunar surface. It would then be Christmas Eve morning back in America. Once in a circular orbit, the crew would do the bulk of its work. For eight revolutions over the next sixteen hours, they would scout candidate landing sites for future missions, take photographs, analyze lighting conditions, and study the effects of gravitational anomalies on the spacecraft’s orbit. All the while, Mission Control would be tracking the spacecraft by radio and communicating with the astronauts, except when Apollo 8 was over the far side of the Moon. And there would be two more television broadcasts. As Borman did the math, he could see that these would come on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. During the final two revolutions, the astronauts would get ready to fire the SPS engine again, this time to gain enough speed to get the spacecraft out of lunar orbit and on its way back to Earth. As before, the firing would be done over the far side of the Moon, out of contact with Houston and the rest of the world. It was another critical maneuver: If it

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  grow so small it fit behind his outstretched fist. Anders climbed into his hammock, which he found too big for his small frame. Worse, he had nothing to cuddle up to—no extra pillow, no covers, no Valerie. Whenever he dropped off to sleep, he suddenly felt like he was falling, as people do in dreams, and it would jar him back to consciousness. He tied a knot in his sleeping bag—something to press against—and that helped prevent the feeling of falling, but when he drifted off to sleep, the primitive level of his brain shouted “What the hell is going on here? Where are you?” and he’d wake again. Lovell couldn’t sleep either. Every few minutes, he saw tiny novas of white light exploding in his field of vision, which was odd since his eyes were shut. Holding his hands over his face did nothing to stop the fireworks. Lovell didn’t know it, but his optic nerve was being bombarded by (mostly harmless) cosmic rays. Shielding his face did nothing, as the rays just danced on through. And if either man was lucky enough to find a few minutes’ sleep, intermittent radio noise would shake him from it. Twenty-four hours into the flight, Apollo 8 crossed the halfway point on its journey to the Moon. Owing to its continued decrease in velocity since leaving parking orbit around Earth, the spacecraft was traveling more slowly now, and it was still forty-five hours from its destination. Soon Lovell and Anders were awake and back in their seats. To both of them, Borman looked a bit healthier, a condition the commander confirmed. “I think it was the sleeping pill,” Borman said. But Anders wasn’t so sure. A Seconal might explain vomiting, but not diarrhea. He still thought Borman should report that he’d been ill. There was a chance the commander was still sick and might get worse. And there might be an easy antidote, if only they would give Mission Control the chance to suggest one. By now, however, Anders realized that even if Borman had been willing to report his condition, the media would hear the broadcast (as they did the vast majority of them) and jump to its usual worst-case conclusions, and a public relations nightmare would ensue. That wouldn’t be good for anyone—not Borman, not their wives, not NASA. So Anders pitched another idea. Borman could make a tape recording that described his illness, which

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  approach or orbit the Moon. “You don’t know that you’re that accurate,” Mueller had told Kraft when the mission was planned. “You don’t know that you can hit the Moon within sixty-nine miles as you’re aiming at this thing two hundred and forty thousand miles away. You don’t know that your radar is that good. You don’t know that your tracking is that good.” Kraft agreed that orbiting at a higher altitude would decrease the chance of error and catastrophe. But that wouldn’t have allowed NASA to best prepare for a lunar landing. So 69 miles it would be. Mueller wasn’t the only one worried. Pacing the back row at Mission Control, the lead flight director, Cliff Charlesworth, who was off duty at the time, kept thinking, I know all our guidance systems are accurate, and we tracked it properly, and all the mathematicians in the world have looked at this thing. But sixty-nine miles is pretty close... In a back room, John Mayer, chief of the Mission Planning and Analysis Division, began to receive visitors—Bob Gilruth, George Low, and other top managers, who’d arrived with a pressing, semiserious question: “How sure are you we’re going to miss the Moon?” On board Apollo 8, the crew had the same concern. Their spacecraft was now traveling more than 5,000 miles per hour. For its part, the Moon, 2,160 miles in diameter, was moving at more than 2,000 miles per hour. Could anyone really guarantee the ship wasn’t going to end up smashing into the massive orb? At one console, Flight Dynamics Officer Ed Pavelka calculated the SPS burn data Apollo 8 required for its Lunar Orbit Insertion. Nearby, Jerry Bostick, chief of the flight dynamics program, the team responsible for the trajectory and guidance of the spacecraft, watched him check and recheck his calculations, not once or twice but nine or ten times, before passing them along to Carr for transmission to the astronauts. Five minutes remained until Apollo 8 met the Moon. At home, Susan, Marilyn, and Valerie hung on every word from the squawk box. “Apollo 8, Houston. Five minutes...all systems Go. Over,” Carr radioed to the crew. “Thank you. Houston, Apollo 8,” Borman replied. “Roger, Frank,” Carr said. “The custard is in the oven at three fifty. Over.”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  — Three days after Paine’s announcement, a letter arrived at the office of Bob Gilruth, director of NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston. It was written by a man named Stewart Atkinson, of Darien, Connecticut. It read: Dear Sir: I wonder what sort of thinking went into your decision to send three men around the Moon at Christmas-time. This is by no means a sure venture, and the risk of ruining the Christmas Season for millions of Americans is enormous. Christmas is a time for carefree family reunions, for as much happiness as all of us can snatch in this miserable year of 1968. We do not need a space triumph to celebrate our greatest holiday, but a failure will be the crowning blow to a people already punch drunk with the events of the year. Along with millions of Americans I have been thrilled by the successes of the Space Program...but I am of the opinion that the American people would much prefer a delay of a month if such is essential. Sincerely, Stewart Atkinson It was around this time, about six weeks before scheduled lift-off, that Borman got a call from the agency’s public affairs mastermind, Julian Scheer. NASA, Scheer said, had decided to have the crew of Apollo 8 make a live television broadcast on Christmas Eve. “We figure more people will be listening to your voice than that of any man in history,” Scheer said. “So we want you to say something appropriate. You’ll have maybe five or six minutes.” “Great, Julian,” Borman replied. “What are we doing?” “Do whatever’s appropriate,” Scheer said. Borman was surprised by the response. Scheer, and NASA, were leaving it up to him to decide what to say. No committees. No consensus.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  mission at hand. In fact, the men and their wives felt lucky. Borman, Lovell, and Anders had served in the military and knew what it was like to be away from home for long stretches. And each of them had friends fighting thousands of miles away in Vietnam, and they gladly would have served there, or anywhere else the country needed them to fight. The couples had all become expert at making the most of twenty-four hours of family time every week. None of the men had called home to discuss the proposed new mission with his wife. It hadn’t even crossed their minds. It wasn’t that they didn’t respect their wives’ opinions. It wasn’t even that they were living in a male-dominated culture. These were military men, and even though NASA had been set up as a civilian organization, it was clear to all astronauts—and to their families—that NASA assignments were orders. — Borman greeted his wife with a kiss and told her about the new mission. As always, Susan smiled and clasped his hand. Inside, she was dying. The Moon? she thought, trying to absorb what he was telling her. It was August. NASA hadn’t even tested the command module yet. December—that was what, four months away? Usually crews trained for a year or more. To the Moon? She told Frank how proud she was, how important the mission sounded, that there was no better man for the job. Then she turned and went into another room, where she wished she could kick down a door. They’re rushing it, she thought. They’re leapfrogging, they’re too anxious to get it going. Over the course of Frank’s career, she’d closed her eyes and hoped for the best, but she could see that this mission was different, that she needed to stop living in a cocoon and pretending her husband would always be home for Sunday dinner, because this time Frank wouldn’t just be running another test flight—this time he would be leaving the world. As always, Frank thanked God for Susan. She always supported him, never made him worry about her or their two teenage boys. He had no inkling of what was going on inside her, or how badly she’d been hurting since Apollo 1 had taken Ed White, the husband of her close friend Pat

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  misfired, the ship could crash into the Moon or fly off into the void. If it failed to fire, Apollo 8 would become a possession of the Moon. Forever. But if all went according to plan, the spacecraft would escape lunar orbit and begin its fifty-seven-hour journey home. In the flight’s last minutes, the service module containing the engine would be jettisoned, leaving the astronauts in the cone-shaped command module they would ride the rest of the way to Earth. A short time later, the capsule would begin reentry into Earth’s atmosphere at near 25,000 miles per hour. No human had ever attempted such a thing, and it had to be virtually perfect or Borman and his crew wouldn’t survive. Angle of attack was everything. Apollo 8 needed to enter a corridor that spanned just two degrees. That was equivalent to finding exactly the right ridge on a coin that had 180 ridges grooved into it. (By comparison, a United States quarter dollar has 119 ridges.) If the spacecraft came in too shallow, it would skip off the atmosphere like a stone on water, going into a large elliptical trajectory around Earth without enough oxygen or electricity on board to get back for another attempt at reentry. If it came in too steeply, it would grind so hard against the atmosphere that the resulting heat and deceleration would burn up and tear apart the capsule. But if it came in just right, the atmosphere would slow the capsule down enough to allow it to survive reentry into the atmosphere and plunge toward Earth. Two degrees—anything on either side of that and the crew was dead. If Apollo 8 survived reentry and if its heat shield succeeded in preventing its incineration in temperatures that would reach 5,000 degrees Fahrenheit—half that of the surface of the Sun—the triple canopy of parachutes would deploy and the capsule would splash down in the Pacific Ocean about forty-five minutes before first light. The astronauts would stay inside until a Navy recovery crew reached them. By that time, Apollo 8’s historic voyage would have ended, after a little more than six days. Borman looked at the other men in the room. Each wore the same expression: We know this is impossible, but we still think it can work. He appreciated their commitment and expertise, but he thought they’d planned too much for the crew to do—every hour seemed loaded with tasks, duties, obligations, checks.

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  White. Susan knew Frank had enough pressure at work, and she considered it her mission to make home a place where he never worried. Borman told the news to his two sons, Fred and Edwin. To the boys, the Moon sounded pretty cool. Borman would have showed them where he was going if only he’d owned a lunar map. At his home, Anders shared the news with his wife, Valerie. Even as he spoke she thought This is a big and scary change, but she also had been steeling herself to danger since she was a little girl (her father had been a motorcycle-riding California Highway Patrolman), and she believed beating the Soviets to be a worthy goal. Bill had always been straight with Valerie, and it would do no good to sugarcoat things now. He laid out his thinking on the risks. He thought there was a one-third chance of a successful mission, a one-third chance of a failed mission that managed to make it back home, and a one-third chance the crew wouldn’t return at all. He hated to worry her, but he knew if she sensed he was bullshitting, she just would have worried more. Valerie trusted that these odds were accurate, though they were not numbers any young mother of five liked to hear. She thought about other military wives, some of whom had husbands missing in action, and she remembered that her husband, like most astronauts, would be fighting in Vietnam—eagerly—if he weren’t training to fly to the Moon. She kissed Bill and told him she believed in NASA, in the mission, and in him. On Lovell’s arrival home, his wife, Marilyn, made a happy announcement: She’d scored several bargains on clothes for the family’s upcoming Christmas vacation in Acapulco. It was hard for her to believe it was happening; she couldn’t remember if they’d even attempted a vacation since he’d joined NASA six years earlier. Jim smiled as Marilyn held up her brightly colored beach buys, but she could see his mind wasn’t on Mexico. “Are you all right?” she asked. He motioned her into his study. “I can’t go on vacation,” he said. “I can’t believe it!” Marilyn replied. “I’ve already made all these plans for Acapulco!” “I’m going somewhere else. Somewhere special.” “Where are you going?”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  “Buzz” Aldrin, and Fred Haise. By Slayton’s assignment scheme, backup crews became primary crews three flights later. That meant Armstrong, Aldrin, and Haise would be prime crew for Apollo 11. Late that night, while the astronauts slept, the famed British astronomer Sir Bernard Lovell (no relation to Jim Lovell) reported that a massive radio telescope in England had tracked a Soviet spacecraft (Zond 5) as it passed within a thousand miles of the Moon. Further, it appeared that the ship was now making a return journey to Earth. Lovell concluded the Soviets intended to recover the craft. “Once they have achieved this,” he said, “we can anticipate that they will put a man in one.” The next night, observers picked up a different kind of signal being broadcast from Zond 5. This time, they heard a Russian voice. No one believed a cosmonaut to be aboard Zond 5, but the man calling out the ship’s instrument readings was as real as the spacecraft itself. His voice, and others heard later, belonged to cosmonauts and were being transmitted live from the Soviet Union to Zond 5, then beamed back to Earth by the spacecraft, all by way of practice for the real thing. Soviet intentions were clear. A manned lunar mission was coming very soon. But Zond 5 wasn’t home yet. On September 21, the spacecraft collided with Earth’s atmosphere at a speed of 24,600 miles per hour. In seconds, deceleration forces reached between 12 and 18 g’s, a punishing (but survivable) load for properly trained humans (1 g is equal to the force of gravity at Earth’s surface, 2 g’s is equal to twice the force of gravity at Earth’s surface, and so on). For three minutes, Zond 5 raked through increasing resistance until it plummeted through a darkened sky toward the Indian Ocean. At an altitude of about 20,000 feet, its single parachute deployed, leaving the craft, still glowing from the heat generated by reentry, in a final ride to the water. Still alive inside the capsule were the tortoises, just 10 percent lighter for their near-week in space. Several fly eggs had hatched. It had been a rough return, but the bottom line was unmistakable: living creatures had survived a round-trip to the Moon. In England, Sir Bernard Lovell told reporters that Russia had regained the lead in the race to send men to the Moon and that Zond 5 “makes it highly probable that a Russian will get a close-up look at the Moon quite a long time before an American does.”

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  they were floating down as planned. Under the chutes’ risers, the capsule was tipped on an angle to allow it to knife into the water rather than belly-flop onto its blunt base. At an altitude of just 8,000 feet, Apollo 8 was less than five minutes from scheduled impact with the water. Moments later, one of the recovery aircraft made radio contact with the spacecraft. “Welcome home, gentlemen,” a crewman called to the astronauts, “and we’ll have you aboard in no time.” At three minutes to splashdown, recovery helicopters spotted flashing beacons from the falling spacecraft. Apollo 8 was almost directly over the Yorktown, a bull’s-eye of almost unimaginable accuracy. “Stand by for Earth landing!” Borman called from his commander’s seat. At their homes in Houston, the astronauts’ wives stared at their televisions. For Valerie, it was thrilling to hear that the parachutes had opened—that meant Apollo 8 was somehow reconnected to Earth. But she thought, “They’re heading for a big, dark, rough ocean, and the ships still don’t know where they are.” At one thousand feet altitude, radio traffic from the recovery forces grew so voluminous that the astronauts couldn’t communicate with one another. “Turn him down!” Anders told his partners. “Christ, we can’t get anything done.” Just a hundred or so feet remained. The crew braced themselves, not knowing exactly when impact might come. Borman called to Lovell and Anders. “Maybe we better get these—” At that moment, Apollo 8 came in flat, not on its intended angled edge, and bashed into the Pacific Ocean, its blunt end colliding against the upswell of a wave, just about the most violent impact possible. Inundated by water (and perhaps stunned by the crash), Borman could not flip the switch to cut the parachutes from the capsule, and Apollo 8 was dragged over by its chutes and turned upside down in the ocean. None of the men was ready for an impact that jarring; nothing in simulation had come close. By the time Borman came around a few

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  Anders had imagined he would watch the Moon closing in, as the pilots did in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey, until it filled the sky. Instead, he saw emptiness. Even Lovell, with the wide field of view from his telescope and sextant, couldn’t catch a glimpse of the Moon. Due to the position of the Sun (and the glare it caused) and the position of the spacecraft’s windows (facing mostly toward black space), it had been all but impossible for the crew to spot its target. “As a matter of interest, we have as yet to see the Moon,” Lovell radioed to Houston. “What else are you seeing?” asked CapCom Jerry Carr. “Nothing,” Anders replied. “It’s like being on the inside of a submarine.” In Houston, in the middle of the night, the astronauts’ wives turned their squawk boxes just loud enough to hear without awakening friends and family who were curled up on couches and in chairs throughout their homes. One by one, these supporters awoke to help the wives through Lunar Orbit Insertion. In the fog of nerves and excitement, few realized that it was now officially Christmas Eve. Despite the hour, approaching four in the morning in Houston, visitors began to crowd into the viewing room at Mission Control. A hundred people sardined themselves into this room designed for far fewer, but all respected the flashing sign that requested QUIET PLEASE as Lunar Orbit Insertion drew near. It was time for Mission Control to make a final decision. One by one, Flight Director Glynn Lunney polled each of his controllers, looking for a simple Go or No Go. One by one, they gave him their answer. Lunney looked at Carr, who radioed to the spacecraft, now just over three thousand miles from the Moon. “Apollo 8, this is Houston. At 68:04, you’re Go for LOI.” “Okay,” Borman answered. “Apollo 8 is Go.” “You are riding the best bird we can find,” Carr said. Thirty minutes remained until Lunar Orbit Insertion. Controllers continued to make final checks of the spacecraft and its systems, and to grow more nervous by the minute. George Mueller had thought 69 miles was cutting it far too close to

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  Borman: Right. Anders: Okay, EMS mode, Standby; delta-v set; set delta-vc. Borman: 3501.8. Lovell: I’ll check: 3501.8. Borman: Okay. Anders: EMS Function, delta -V; Nonessential Bus, Main B; cycling cryo fans—good a time to do it as any. Anders: BMAG Mode, three, Rate two. Borman: Rate two. Lovell: Delta-vcg CSM. It was now past eleven o’clock in Houston. Less than an hour remained until TEI. If all went according to plan, the SPS engine would fire at 12:11 A.M. Houston time, in the earliest minutes of Christmas morning. At the Borman home, Susan and her sons would listen to the squawk box in front of a Life magazine reporter and photographer, and where NASA would know where to find them if something went wrong. After Valerie Anders put her children to bed, she drove over to the Borman house and joined Susan in the kitchen. Valerie and Susan liked each other, but they might have preferred to be alone at a time like this. NASA public affairs, however, had arranged this photo op, and the women went along with it. Marilyn had a touch of the flu and didn’t attend. As their lives in the public eye demanded of them, both women were dressed beautifully. Susan wore an ice-blue dress, a beige cardigan draped over her shoulders, a bangle bracelet on her wrist, and pearls around her neck. Valerie was in a robin’s-egg-blue dress with scalloped rickrack at the neckline, a white cardigan embroidered with colorful flowers on her shoulders, and an elegant watch. Each had curled and styled her own hair (beauty shops were expensive on an astronaut’s salary). A giant lunar map lay spread over Susan’s table, a pack of cigarettes on top of that. At her own home, Marilyn stayed close to her squawk box and her friends, trying to stay as optimistic as Jim had seemed when he’d told her in August that everything would be okay. As the wives settled in, Mission Control began to fill up with off-duty

• From Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man’s First Journey to the Moon (2018)

  to get, given how the spacecraft (which had just five small windows) needed to be oriented during flight. The Moon was still sixty hours away, and any good views available to the crew might have to wait until they arrived. Around nine and a half hours into the flight, Apollo 8 was more than 52,000 miles from Earth and weighed just 63,295 pounds—less than 1 percent of its launch weight, thanks to all of the spent propellant and discarded stages. Soon it would weigh a bit less than that, as the crew got ready to do something many at NASA thought it should not do. To enter and exit lunar orbit, Apollo 8 would rely on its Service Propulsion System, a single engine designed to slow down or speed up the spacecraft as needed. It was one of the most important pieces of equipment on the vehicle, and the only major source of propulsion remaining on Apollo 8. If it did not function properly, the results could be catastrophic for the crew. Engineers and controllers had confidence in the SPS engine, because it had been tested repeatedly on the ground and had worked well aboard Apollo 7 just two months earlier. But to Chris Kraft, that wasn’t enough. Despite its track record, the engine had never been tested in deep space. And it was, after all, a rocket, and rocket engines were complicated, and never one hundred percent propositions. So when the flight plan was devised for Apollo 8, Kraft wanted the engine tested in flight, a confidence burn for just a few seconds, when the spacecraft was about 60,000 miles from Earth. That way, if anything malfunctioned, either with the engine or with the computers that ran it, the problems could be fixed or the flight aborted. Some controllers protested Kraft’s proposal. Test-firing the SPS, they argued, could screw up Apollo 8’s trajectory, fouling its path to the Moon. But Kraft wouldn’t back down. “Fire that thing and I’ll get it back on trajectory for you,” he assured them. “But I want that engine to run before we get to the Moon.” And that was how the flight plan stood until about an hour before the test was to run. Now controllers doubled down on their concern that the spacecraft would be thrown dangerously off course by the two-and-a-half-second burn. They urged Kraft to abandon the plan. Doing so would have been