The flightdeck was chaotic as the astronauts scrambled to complete emergency procedures. Colonel Crawford, with the assistance of Ward Culdrew, began donning his space suit.
Hank Doherty took command of the shuttle and initiated an emergency orbital change. Alan Cressottie, standing behind Doherty, read the emergency checklist to the shuttle pilot during the hasty descent.
“Columbia, Houston,” the radio crackled.
“Columbia,” Doherty replied, glancing at the array of twinkling lights on the annunciator panel.
“What’s your status?”
“We have … ah, we have nominal cabin pressure, and the electrical fires appear to be contained. No primary threat indications at present.”
“Roger, Columbia. Stand by.”
“Houston,” Doherty replied calmly, “we do have a major problem with the main hydraulic system.”
“What’s your problem, Columbia?”
“We’ve lost complete system integrity. Must have ruptured a main line,” Doherty explained, then added, “We don’t want to use the auxiliary system until we enter the lower atmosphere.”
“Copy, Columbia.”
Crawford climbed into his seat, strapped in, then keyed his microphone. “Houston, we’ve got another problem. Our left main gear indicates unsafe.”
“We’re working on the anomalies, Columbia.”
Crawford didn’t acknowledge the transmission. He turned to the crew, hesitated momentarily, then spoke quietly and slowly.
“We are in deep kim chi. We have never addressed the problem of ricocheting back into the earth’s atmosphere with extensive structural damage, and, God help us, our hydraulically boosted controls shot to shit.”
“Columbia, Houston. We’ve got some valid data for you on the secure net.”
“Stand by, Houston,” Crawford radioed, switching to the discreet frequency, then addressing his crew on the intercom. “It’ll be like skipping a flat stone across a mill pond. Depends on how many times we bounce.”
Crawford flipped the secure net switch. “Houston, Columbia. Radio check.”
“Five by—. Preliminary telemetry indicates you were hit by a particle-beam weapon. We’re ready to commence the recovery at this time.”
“Well, the Russians have got our number,” Crawford replied, watching the deorbit burn count down to one minute.
“We’re set.”
“Copy, Columbia.”
The flight deck was quiet as Crawford programmed the shuttle for reentry.
“Autopilot to manual,” Crawford said to himself, checking the programmed roll, pitch, and yaw axis. All parameters appeared normal.
“You’re doing great, Skipper,” Doherty said as he watched the number one CRT.
“Yeah … like building a soup sandwich,” Crawford replied, watching the orbiter rotate into the nose-forward, thirty-degree pitch-up attitude.
“Houston,” Crawford glanced at the CRT again, “we’re in entry attitude, ready to do it.”
“Copy, Columbia,” the mission controller responded.
“Antiskid,” Doherty stated.
“On,” Crawford replied tersely.
“Nose wheel steering.”
Crawford checked the switch. “Off.”
“Speedbrake — throttle controls.”
“Full forward,” Crawford responded, checking the controls.
The checklist continued, concluding with the acknowledgement that the functioning emergency hydraulic system was operating normally.
“Houston, entry checklist complete,” Crawford reported, then typed in a new set of instructions for the computer to handle. The CRT screen lighted, followed by an acknowledgment beep.
The mission controller reported the weather. “Columbia, the Edwards weather looks good. Ten thousand scattered, forty miles vis, temperature sixty-seven, wind out of the southwest at twelve, gusting to twenty.”
“Copy, Houston,” Crawford replied as he moved the orbiter’s aerodynamic control surfaces to exercise the emergency hydraulic system.
“Hank, this is going to be difficult,” Crawford said to the shuttle pilot.
“Yeah, looks like you’re struggling a bit.”
“They’re stiff as hell,” Crawford responded, “and there isn’t any air resistance at this point.” The pilot rolled the controls in the opposite direction, using a considerable amount of force. “Wait ‘til we blast into the lower atmosphere.”
“Yeah,” Culdrew replied, “take a gorilla to move ’em.”
Crawford entered a code to dump the forward reaction control system propellants overboard, shifting the orbiter’s center of gravity for reentry.
“Houston,” Crawford radioed, then made another entry into the computer. “RCS dump completed.”
“Copy dump,” Houston acknowledged. “Our prayers are with you.”
“Thanks,” Crawford responded.
Crawford and Doherty checked the entry attitude a fourth time. The ADI showed no roll, no yaw, and the nose-up pitch now indicated thirty-four degrees. The shuttle, although heavily damaged, was in the ideal position for reentry into the earth’s lower atmosphere.
“Looks good, Hank,” Crawford looked at Doherty. “Let’s go for it!”
“Hit it, boss,” the mission pilot replied, watching the instrument panel while he read the checklist.
“Speedbrake-throttle.”
“Auto,” Crawford responded, watching the attitude indicator for the slightest deviation.
“Pitch,” Doherty continued, monitoring the command pilot’s moves.
“Auto,” Crawford said as he quickly entered more information into the computer, then watched his CRT for the proper response.
“Yaw and roll,” Doherty challenged.
“Auto,” Crawford said, as he prepared for atmospheric entry to commence at 400,000 feet.
Columbia, hurtling through space at 17,000 miles per hour, was absorbing the effects of the more dense atmosphere. The shuttle was rapidly heating from the thermal shock of reentry.
“Houston,” Crawford radioed, pulse pounding in his neck, “we’re at entry interface, ready for LOS.”
“Roger, Columbia. Copy ready for loss of signal.”
The shuttle was approaching an altitude of 315,000 feet, traveling at 16,700 miles per hour, when the communications blackout began. Columbia was enveloped by ionized particles during deep atmosphere entry.
Crawford tensely watched the flight instruments. When sensors detected an atmospheric pressure of ten pounds per square foot, the roll thrusters would be turned off. The elevons would then supply roll control, providing the low-pressure emergency hydraulic system could move the flight controls.
“Oh, shit!” Crawford exclaimed as the orbiter decelerated to 15,000 miles per hour in the lower, denser atmosphere. “I don’t like this stiff feeling in the controls.”
Crawford was intently concentrating on the flight instruments, fixating on a few. “The vibration is beginning to make this very diffic—”
“Watch your roll, boss,” Doherty reminded Crawford, noting the right wing had dropped seven degrees.
“Got it!” Crawford answered, then stared at the RCS pitch thrusters deactivated light. The bright light winked on, startling the shuttle commander.
The elevons now controlled pitch, as well as roll, with limited hydraulic pressure to activate the aerodynamic flight controls. Columbia was crippled and entering a dangerous transition zone.
“Hang on guys!” Crawford said as the shuttle, over the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Baja California, neared 230,000 feet of altitude at 14,000 miles an hour.