Even though the ventilation line no longer extended past the four-mile mark, the divers found that oxygen levels were sufficient to sustain human life well beyond that point. But they knew that by the time the tunnel cleanup had been completed and the actual plug-removal mission had begun, those oxygen levels would be lower, for two reasons. First, the cleanup wouldn’t be considered complete until the entire bag line was yanked out. Second, the remaining oxygen at the end of the tunnel would essentially begin using itself up. In the dank, confined space of the tunnel, oxygen would be depleted by things like the growth of aerobic bacteria and the rusting of metals, such as bolts. There was also the very real possibility that oxygen would be displaced99 by highly toxic gases, such as carbon monoxide, methane, and hydrogen sulfide, which is produced when certain organisms decay.
Tap watched as Harald set up his communications command post, purposefully striding around the tunnel, wielding a radio antenna100 like an orchestra conductor’s baton. Harald wore a yellow slicker and high rain boots over his tan Norwesco jumpsuit and gray hard hat. He would remain in contact with the divers via VHF radios, which were designed to work for up to four miles, though no one was sure how well they would function this deep into the earth.
At the command post, two teams of divers put on extra layers of rain gear over their coveralls, then left Harald and ventured deeper into the tunnel. They stopped at regular intervals to measure the levels of oxygen and flammable gases, logging their readings into black notebooks.
Once the oxygen levels dipped to a certain point, Tap and the other divers paused to don their main breathing apparatus for this mission: rebreathers. These Drager-brand contraptions consisted of facemasks attached to bulky backpacks that looked like roller suitcases. Inside each rebreather was a small bottle of oxygen and a soda lime filter that absorbed the carbon dioxide from the exhaled air so it could be reused.
Tap was relieved that their readings showed no significant levels of explosive gases. Even though the divers weren’t asked to venture all the way to the end of the tunnel, the partial journey gave Tap enough of a taste to conclude that his body was simply too big to be messing around in such a confined space. For the actual plugpulling mission, he would keep himself out of the tunnel and stay topside with Harald.
5. Mine Rescue
One month after Neil Armstrong took his giant lunar leap for mankind in the summer of 1969, a NASA manager pulled Jim Lovell aside101. Lovell had been aboard the Apollo 8 when it made the first manned orbit of the moon, and he was scheduled to conduct his own moonwalk in late 1970, as commander of Apollo 14. But now his boss asked him if he’d be willing to take command of an earlier mission instead. Lovell said yes. Even though the training period would be condensed, he and his two crewmates would still have nearly a year to prepare.
They would be taking a tougher path to the moon and back, since this time the landing spot would be a treacherous Appalachia-like range102 rather than the desolate lunar plains. So NASA toughened its already exacting standards for preparation, putting Lovell’s crew through months of flight simulation. With the headset-wearing staff of Mission Control at their consoles and the astronauts in mockups of the Apollo command and lunar modules, a separate team would surprise them with a series of simulated problems. This endless wargaming had twin aims: to forge cohesion among the crew and with Mission Control, and to arm the entire team with the knowledge and confidence to tackle any crisis that might emerge during the actual space flight.
NASA had always taken great care103 in assembling its teams, using psychological tests to exclude those who didn’t demonstrate the right qualities, such as the ability to work well with others. But this simulation allowed the astronauts to be tested on what’s known as space flight resource management, notably their ability to work through a crisis by following proven protocols rather than by making panicked gut decisions.
After they had spent so many hours together, Lovell could detect every nuance104 and inflection in the voice of his crewmate Ken Mattingly. This was important, since four days into the actual mission, they would be separated, as Lovell and the third crewmate would land the tiny lunar module on the moon, while Mattingly hovered sixty miles above in the main command module. A few weeks before launch, NASA ran a simulation of precisely this part of the mission. Staring at his monitor, the electrical and environmental command officer from Mission Control, known as EECOM, noticed a drop in the cabin-pressure reading for Mattingly’s command module. Because this blip disappeared after a second, he dismissed it. Forty minutes later Mattingly’s voice crackled105 into everyone’s headsets. “We had a sudden depressurization here, Houston. Cabin pressure is down to zero,” he said, adding that he was now relying on the pressure from his space suit.
The EECOM froze. He had failed this pop quiz spectacularly—grounds enough for him to be fired. But the no-nonsense flight director in Houston, Gene Kranz, was feeling charitable. “All right,” he said, “let’s work through the problem.” For several hours the EECOM and the entire team ran through an obscure survival simulation, blasting the lunar module back up to dock with the command module to serve as its cramped “lifeboat” for all three astronauts.
Just days before launch came a different, nonsimulated crisis106. A member of the backup crew came down with the German measles. Lovell’s crew underwent blood tests to see if they were susceptible. Mattingly was the only member who’d never had the measles, so NASA doctors decided to ground him.
Lovell went crazy. “Now?” he thundered. Crew cohesion that had developed over nearly a year of training should matter more, he argued, than the remote possibility that Mattingly might come down with the measles. Lovell’s trust in Mattingly dated back to Apollo 8, when he had served as “Capcom,” the astronaut stationed in Houston who is the primary conduit for information between Mission Control and the crew hurtling through space.
Although NASA gave its crews great latitude in critiquing mission plans, it gave its doctors greater deference in medical matters. Forty-eight hours before launch107, Mattingly’s replacement was certified to fly.
Fifty-five hours, fifty-four minutes, and fifty-three seconds108 into the mission, Lovell heard a dull bang. “Ah, Houston, we’ve had a problem,” he said, reporting a low voltage reading from the instrument panel. As it turned out, a tank of liquid oxygen had exploded, leading to a crippling power failure in the command module.
Anyone who saw the 1995 Ron Howard-Torn Hanks movie Apollo 13 will recall the dramatized version of events that followed that dull bang (which the movie depicted as a big blast). On the screen and in real life, Lovell’s crew suffered an unholy number of setbacks109, any one of which should have been a death sentence: the trail of liquid oxygen venting out the back of the module, the loss of cabin heat, the shortage of water, the buildup of carbon dioxide, and the need to fly blind during a power shutdown. Although Kranz never actually uttered the unforgettable line from the movie “Failure is not an option,” the flight director did provide inspiring, sure-footed leadership. “This crew is coming home110,” he told his team. “You have to believe it. And we must make it happen.” (Kranz did like the “failure” line well enough to make it the title of his autobiography.)
99 (Chapter 4, note 21)
oxygen would be displaced: U.S. Department of Labor, “OSHA Fact Sheet: Hydrogen Sulfide,” October 2005, www.osha.gov/OshDoc/data_Hurricane_Facts/hydrogen_sulfide_fact. pdf; U.S. Department of Labor, “OSHA Fact Sheet: Carbon Monoxide Poisoning,” 2002, www.osha.gov/OshDoc/data_General_Facts/carbonmonoxide-factsheet.pdf; and U.S. Department of Labor, Occupational Health and Safety Administration, “Confined Spaces,” www.osha.gov/SLTC/confinedspaces/index.html.
100 (Chapter 4, note 22)
wielding a radio antenna: In addition to conducting interviews with multiple participants, I viewed video footage of this fact-finding operation.
101 (Chapter 5, note 1)
a NASA manager pulled Jim Lovell aside: Jim Lovell and Jeffrey Kluger,
103 (Chapter 5, note 3)
NASA had always taken great care: Al Holland (NASA psychologist), interview by author, July 2012; Shannon Lucid (retired astronaut), interview by author, June 2012; Chris Flynn (psychiatrist and former NASA flight surgeon), interview by author, June 2012.
104 (Chapter 5, note 4)
Lovell could detect every nuance: Lovell and Kluger,
108 (Chapter 5, note 8)
Fifty-five hours, fifty-four minutes, and fifty-three seconds: Ibid., 126.
109 (Chapter 5, note 9)
an unholy number of setbacks: Stephen Cass, “Apollo 13, We Have a Solution: Rather than Hurried Improvisation, Saving the Crew of Apollo 13 Took Years of Preparation,”