Failure Is Not an Option

We are too busy now to think about this being the first landing. We do not have to look for problems because they come right at us, like flies drawn to a picnic lunch. Voice communications are broken, and LM telemetry is unable to lock up. The noise on the air-to-ground communications loop is deafening. Every controller punches the loop off so he can hear communications among the flight control team. Don Puddy instantly swings into action with his back room and his CapCom to select an alternate antenna.

FIDO Jay Greene asks for a report on the descent orbit injection maneuver that the crew has performed behind the Moon. The maneuver sets up the conditions for landing, so the report is critical to Jay’s evaluation of the tracking data. The lunar module is now coasting toward the point for descent engine ignition. While the LM is descending, Mission Control is checking the spacecraft systems telemetry, and Armstrong and Aldrin are performing landmark tracking to make sure they are in the landing corridor. We get communications with the LM briefly; just long enough to get the crew’s maneuver report.

The communications problem has bit us, and I am hard pressed to keep my frustration from surfacing in my voice. We have only two chances to get to the Moon and I sure as hell don’t want to blow off one of them. Every member of the White Team is ready for the race. Now we’re dead in the water. I have only five more minutes and then it’s Go or NoGo. I say a brief prayer, “Please God, give us comm.” The mission rests now on Puddy’s back. Charlie Duke works with Puddy to maintain voice communications with Armstrong and Aldrin in the LM so we can continue with the final preparation to start descent. Duke has to work around the comm outages and remember the controllers’ instructions. He watches comm signal strength indications and suggests an LM attitude change to try to improve the voice comm. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin continue to roll through their checklists, while we try to sort out the problems.

We get a burst of telemetry data at the time for the Go NoGo for powered descent, and I poll my controllers. The controllers make a rapid Go assessment, and then we lose data again. Since Duke cannot communicate with the LM, he relays the Go through Collins in CSM Columbia, who passes the Go to the LM Eagle. The intensity of the effort is coming in waves, centering on Go NoGo points. Puddy has seen enough data to recommend a switch to the aft antenna, and Duke again relays the message to Collins. A minor attitude change of the LM helps clear up some of the communications, but we still have signal breakups to contend with.

This is not going the way it should, and I remember the mission rule on data needed for landing. It is up to me to decide if we have enough to continue. I am thankful that I swung the rule change to allow making the final call much later in the descent. Communications and data improve momentarily, and we listen to the final checklist items as the crew prepares to start the descent engine. All checklist items are complete both on the ground and in the air, then the mission smoothes out in the sixty seconds prior to starting down.

The intercom crackles, the voices diced and chopped, staccato. I listen for any hint of concern or confusion. The voices have the steady, cool response of a well-tuned aircraft engine on a sunny day aloft. We are now engaged; the battle has been joined. The communications problem is the opening salvo. I am sure there will be more as I listen for the word “Flight!” to trigger me into the action chain. On a couple of occasions I have to order everyone to keep the level of chatter down in the control room because I have to be able to hear all the controllers, sometimes two or more of them speaking at once on the comm loop.

As we approach the start of the burn, the noise on the air-ground voice comm starts to sound like bacon sizzling in the skillet, indicating another imminent loss of communications. As the wall clock hits zero, the crew calls out, “Engine start… 10 percent thrust.” The lunar module uses a low thrust level to settle the propellants in the rear of the tank before going to full throttle. As the crew continues to throttle up, data is again lost. The team reacts swiftly to recover communications. Puddy requests the LM aft antenna. Duke relays the request, and Collins calls Aldrin to switch antennas. While communications are being restored, Bales indicates he now has a problem.

The landing target is in the center of a ten-mile-long and three-mile-wide oval area (the “footprint”). To hit the landing point the LM descent engine must be started at a precise velocity 260 miles before the target. The pressure in the tunnel at separation changed the planned velocity at the ignition point.

“Flight, [this is] Guidance. We’re out in the radial component of velocity. I’m halfway to my abort limit. I’ll watch it, and if it doesn’t grow, I think we’ll make it.” Bales’s concern is that the navigation system may be in error and that it will affect the trajectory during landing or if we abort late in the descent. I am also becoming concerned over the trajectory because Steve’s words confirm FIDO’s call that the altitude is a bit low.

Like a bolt of lightning, the data is suddenly restored. The controllers make a quick assessment, and all systems are Go. Radar data continues to be “ratty” and is frequently lost. We have just enough to provide the needed data comparisons between the ground indications and those on the Eagle. Bales continues his assessment. The downrange error is not increasing, so he determines that the navigation is good. With data steady for the moment, we verify proper thrust levels. Aldrin calls from the Eagle: “I’m seeing some fluctuation in the AC voltages.” We quickly confirm that the electrical system is looking good on the ground, and Aldrin concludes that the hitch is in the meter on board.

Everything is Go, and for the moment, the energy level of the room has settled down. We are running by the clock and are a quarter of the way to the surface. Bales again reports the downrange error is not increasing, and again states that he thinks we will make it through his mission rule gate. I have the fleeting impression that if it is close, he will bias his call on the Go side. After a visual position check against lunar landmarks, the crew indicates they also think they are a little long. I add up the pieces. Three data sources now say we are not going to hit the planned landing point. We are going to be long. I dig into my memory for the description of the landing site near the toe of the footprint. I know it is rough, full of craters and boulders. I hope Armstrong can find a landing site.

I relax prematurely, and once again the data gets ratty. I tell the controllers to make their Go NoGo decision based on the last data they think is valid. I trust enough in their judgment and the spacecraft to keep descending without data for a while. I go rapidly around the horn, and all controllers are Go, especially Bales. His “Go!” resounds clearly through the room like a cymbal. He does not need a voice loop today. I chuckle as I continue polling the controllers.

Duke advises the Eagle that they are Go to continue powered descent.Communications are noisy but usable, making it tough for me to pull the voices out of the background noise. It is the kind of workload that SimSup routinely put us through, and his training is paying off with my team today. Tindall must have been holding his breath, for he exhales noisily, and he knocks a book to the floor as he stirs in his chair.

Data returns just as the LM radar locks on to the lunar surface. Bales reports, “Radar, Flight,” and his voice briefly quivers, betraying his true feelings. Steve has passed another of his Go NoGo milestones. Then, Aldrin reports, “Program alarm. It’s a 1202.”

Controllers are still studying radar quality prior to incorporating the data into the computers and do not immediately pick up the alarm call. Seconds later, activity at the guidance console comes to an abrupt halt as the implications of the alarm sink in. Bales calls, “Stand by, Flight,” when his backroom support, Jack Garman, brings the alarm to his attention. Duke repeats, “It’s a 1202 alarm,” in a questioning voice. “It’s a 1202 alarm” echoes across the loops for several seconds.

Aldrin requests a reading. It is like coming to a fork in the road where you’re uncertain which direction to take. Many of the controllers are oblivious to the alarm and are continuing the decision processes related to accepting the descent radar. Bales, Duke, and I start work to resolve the program alarm. I don’t think anyone outside the flight control team understands the real significance of the alarm, in the midst of the rapid-fire exchange of communications. Duke muses aloud on the flight director loop, “It’s the same one we had in training.” He audibly expresses our collective feeling, almost wonderment. These were the same exact alarms that brought us to the wrong conclusion, an abort command, in the final training run when SimSup won the last round. This time we won’t be stampeded.

The significance of this is not lost on any of us. The alarm tells us that the computer is behind in its work. If the alarms continue, the guidance, navigation, and crew display updates will become unreliable. If the alarms are sustained, the computer could grind to a halt, possibly aborting the mission. Each alarm must be accounted for. They have the capacity to create doubt and distraction, two of a pilot’s deadliest enemies.

Prompted by Gibson in the back room, Bales says, “We’re Go on that alarm. If it doesn’t recur, we are Go.” Then, in the blink of an eye, he swerves back to the nominal mission and says, “He’s [Aldrin] taking in the radar data.” We pass the throttle-down times, continue the routine assessments, and a backroom controller inadvertently comes on the loop, saying, “This is just like a simulation.” I smile and agree. There is nothing like working out a