The Mammoth Book of Space Exploration and Disasters

Within minutes, Aaron believed he had the problem sorted out. The LEM operated at a slightly lower pressure than the command module. Over the past four days, with hatches opened up and Odyssey shut off, it was Aquarius which determined the pressure in both ships. When the command module was powered up and its door was closed, the pressure sensors spotted that difference and immediately tried to pump the internal atmosphere up to what they thought it should be. In a few moments, Aaron figured, the necessary air should have been added to the cockpit and the high flow rate would stop.

“Sit tight for another minute,” he said to the people around him. “I think we’ll be all right.”

Forty seconds later, the numbers in the spacecraft and on the EECOM’s screen indeed began to stabilize.

“OK,” Swigert said with audible relief, “it’s dropping now, Joe.”

“Roger,” Kerwin called. “In that case, when you are comfortably ready to release the LEM, you can go ahead and do it.”

Lovell and Swigert looked at the mission timer on their instrument panel. It was 141 hours and 26 minutes into the flight.

“Do it in four minutes?” Swigert asked.

“Seems like a nice round figure,” Lovell answered.

“Houston,” Swigert announced. “We’ll punch off at 141 plus 30.”

Outside the cockpit’s five windows, the astronauts could see nothing of Aqarius but its reflective silver roof plates, just a few feet away from the glass of their portholes. Three and a half minutes elapsed.

“Thirty seconds to LEM jettison,” Swigert said.

“Ten seconds.”

“Five.”

Swigert reached up to the instrument panel, ripped away his “NO” note, and balled it up in his palm.

“Four, three, two, one, zero.”

The command module pilot flipped the toggle switch and all three crewmen heard a dull, almost comical pop. In their windows, the silver roof of the lunar lander began to recede. As it did, its docking tunnel became visible, then its high-gain antenna, then the array of other antennas that bristled from its top like metal weed. Slowly, the unbound Aquarius began a graceful forward somersault.

Lovell stared as the face of the ship – its windows, its attitude-control quads – rolled into view. He could see the forward hatch from which he and Haise would have emerged after settling down in the dust of Fra Mauro. He could see the ledge on which he would have stood while opening his equipment bay before climbing down to the lunar surface. He could see the reflective, almost taunting, nine-rung ladder he would have used to make that final descent. The LEM rolled some more and was now upside down, its four splayed legs pointing up to the stars, the crinkly gold skin of its descent stage shining back at Odyssey.

“Houston, LEM jettison complete,” Swigert announced.

“OK, copy that,” Kerwin said softly. “Farewell, Aquarius, and we thank you.”

Finally, they needed to check their re-entry angle against the moonset attitude.

“Got anything, Jack?” Lovell asked.

“Nothing yet.”

“Now?”

“Negative.”

“Now? Just three seconds left.”

“Not yet,” Swigert answered. Then, at precisely the instant the FIDO in Houston had predicted, the moon dropped a fraction of a degree more and a tiny black nick appeared in its lower edge. Swigert turned to Lovell with a giant grin.

“Moonset,” he said, and clicked on the air. “Houston, attitude checked out OK.”

“Good deal,” said Joe Kerwin.

From the center seat, Jim Lovell turned to look at the men on either side of him and smiled. “Gentlemen,” he said, “we’re about to reenter. I suggest you get ready for a ride.”

Unconsciously, the commander touched his shoulder belts and lap belts, tightening them slightly. Unconsciously, Swigert and Haise copied him.

“Joe, how far out do you show us now?” Swigert asked his Capcom.

“You’re moving at 25,000 miles per hour, and on our plot map board, the ship is so close to Earth we can’t hardly tell you’re out there at all.”

“I know all of us here want to thank all you guys for the very fine job you did,” Swigert said.

“That’s affirm, Joe,” Lovell agreed.

“I’ll tell you,” Kerwin said, “we all had a good time doing it.”