The Mammoth Book of Space Exploration and Disasters

“It’s coming in,” Lovell said, glancing out the window and turning away as the sun filled it. “I think it’s coming in.”

“Just about there,” said Haise.

“We’ve got it,” Lovell called. “I think we’ve got it.”

“OK,” Haise said, watching as the disk of the sun brushed the cross hairs of the telescope and slid downward. “Just about there.”

“Do you have it?” Lovell asked.

“Just about there,” Haise repeated.

In the telescope, the sun slid down another fraction of a degree, then a fraction of a fraction. The thrusters puffed hypergolics for another second or so, and then, silently, they cut off as the ship – and the sun – came to a stop. Lovell said, “What have you got? What have you got?”

Haise said nothing, then slowly pulled away from the telescope and turned to his crewmates with a huge grin.

“Upper right corner of the sun,” he announced.

“We’ve got it!” Lovell shouted, pumping a fist in the air.

“We’re hot!” Haise said.

“Houston, Aquarius,” Lovell called.

“Go ahead, Aquarius,” Brand answered.

“OK,” said Lovell, “It looks like the sun check passes.”

“We understand,” Brand said. “We’re kind of glad to hear that.”

In Mission Control, where only moments before, Gerald Griffin had called for absolute quiet, a whoop went up from the RETRO, FIDO, and GUIDO in the first row. It was taken up by the INCO and the TELMU and the Surgeon in the second row. Across the room, an undisciplined, unprecedented utterly un-NASA-like ovation slowly spread.

“Houston, Aquarius,” Lovell called through the noise. “Did you copy that?”

“Copy,” Brand said through his own broad grin.

“It’s not quite centered,” the commander reported. “It’s a little bit less than a radius to one side.”

“It sounds good, it sounds good.”

Brand glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Griffin who grinned back and let the tumult go on around him. Disorder was not a good thing in Mission Control, but for a few more seconds, at least, Griffin would allow it. He pulled his flight log toward him, and in the blank space under the Ground Elapsed Time column he wrote, “73:47.” In the space under the Comments column, he scribbled, “Sun check complete.” Looking down, the flight director discovered for the first time that his hands were shaking. Looking at the page, he discovered for the first time, too, that his last three entries were completely illegible.

As the LEM moved onto the dark side of the moon, the crew were able to use the position of the stars to check their alignment for the PC + 2 burn. They were out of radio contact for 25 minutes – when they regained contact they had accelerated because of the moon’s gravity. Vance Brand was Capcom at the time of the PC + 2 burn. He called 2 minutes 40 seconds to burn.

There was a long silence.

“One minute,” Brand announced.

“Roger,” Lovell answered. Sixty more seconds of silence.

“We’re burning 40 percent,” the radio officer now heard Lovell call.

“Houston copies.” Fifteen seconds passed.

“One hundred percent,” Lovell said.

“Roger.” Static roared in the background. “Aquarius, Houston. You’re looking good.”

“Roger,” Lovell crackled back. Another sixty seconds passed.

“Aquarius, you’re still looking good at two minutes.”

“Roger,” Lovell said. More static, more silence.

“Aquarius, you’re go at three minutes.”

“Roger.”

“Aquarius, ten seconds to go.”

“Roger,” Lovell said.

“Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one,” Brand ticked off.

“Shutdown!” Lovell called.

“Roger. Shutdown. Good burn, Aquarius.”

“Say again,” Jim lovell shouted hack through the radio hiss.

Brand raised his voice. “I – say – that – was – a – good – burn.”

“Roger,” Lovell said. “And now we want to power down as soon as possible.”

Splash down would be 600 miles east of US Samoa, on Friday. Meanwhile Houston decided the crew had to execute Passive Thermal Control and then power down and get some sleep. They were still 225,000 miles from home.