Tom was in the left seat, which enabled him to command the rocket. Kirk sat in the middle with Dusty in the far right seat. Seeing two minutes left in the countdown, Tom closed his eyes and said a short prayer, a tradition he’d started on his Gemini flight. Lord, please don’t let me mess this up. Watch over Anne and Peter, and if it’s not too much to ask, please keep an eye on the crew of Apollo 16 for the next eleven days. Amen.
Tom opened his eyes and focused on the subpanel of the main console that held the key displays and switches critical to the launch. If any display signaled a failure, it was up to him to determine if he should take over the flight manually or twist the abort handle.
“T-minus one minute and counting.”
Tom had one final task before riding out the last seconds of the countdown. He aligned their “eight-ball” before calling out, “Guidance aligned.”
“Roger, T-minus 30 seconds.”
Tom briefly peered over at his crew, who were stone-faced, looking straight ahead. Tom pushed himself deep into his canvas couch and positioned his hand carefully on the abort lever. He was ready for the ride of his life.
“15, 14, 13…”
Even though Tom was at the top of the thirty-six story high beast, he started to hear muffled sounds through his helmet of the fuel rushing into the five massive F-1 engines at the bottom of the rocket, getting them ready to fire. These were similar engines to the ones he inspected years earlier. A flash shot through his mind that Russian parts were on those engines. He was suddenly a supporter of USSR technology.
“10, 9…”
The rocket was coming alive, as if it had a soul and was ready to take charge. There was no turning back now. Tom and his mates were firing off for the heavens whether they wanted to be or not. Tom took his hand off the abort handle. He decided no matter what happened over the next 20 seconds, he wasn’t turning it. If there was a catastrophic malfunction before the rocket had safely cleared the tower, they would probably be dead either way.
“7, 6, Ignition, 4…”
A slight vibration began as the thunderous sound of those mighty engines transmitted up through the rocket’s metal skeleton, causing Tom’s heart rate to rise.
“3, 2…”
All five LV ENGINE lights went dark on the control panel, indicating all engines had reached 90 percent power and were fighting against the enormous hold down clamps keeping the rocket at bay.
“Liftoff!”
Tom felt a mild jolt as the LIFTOFF light lit, signaling the massive rocket had lifted a few centimeters. The rocket was on its way. There was no way the brute could be put back in place. They were all flying somewhere, the question was, where. Through the vertical shaking, Tom was able to verify that the event clock had reset to zero. The expected shudder was due to the rocket’s engines swiveling back and forth. They constantly corrected the rocket’s path as it slowly rose. Its violent behavior was more than Tom had expected. He impulsively clutched his armrests in an unrealistic, subconscious effort to steady the giant.
Tom confirmed on the control panel that the guidance system was leaning the long rocket slightly away from the tower, ensuring the well-balanced machine couldn’t be blown into the stationary structure. He yelled into his mike, informing mission control the rocket was doing its job, “Yaw program.”
The long nine seconds to clear the tower seemed like an eternity.
A BRIGHT BURST of flames shot out from under the Saturn rocket, momentarily blinding Anne. As the rocket started to gradually rise, the eerie silence of the grandstand was broken by a few whispers of “Go…Go…” All at once a monstrous, thunderous roar blasted against Anne’s body, pushing her back. The massive shockwave caused her to put a hand to her chest. Peter instantly gripped her other hand with both of his and pulled her close, scared by the deafening sound.
“Mommy, is Daddy’s rocket blowing up?”
The grandstands shook. Anne did her best to stay composed as her eyes stayed glued to the rising rocket. To reassure her son, Anne shouted, “No dear, everything’s okay. Daddy is fine.”
Soon the whole grandstand was cheering madly, as a loud chorus of “Go! Go! Go!” echoed out all around them.
“TOWER CLEARED.”
Fighting the rocket’s might, Tom clenched his jaw as he spit out his response, “Roger, clear tower.” Control of the flight had been passed over to Houston. Relieved they were on their way, Tom cautiously moved his hand back onto the abort handle.
The monster was giving them a hell of a ride as it soared into a programmed roll. He took a quick glance at the displays and established they were headed on the correct trajectory. The force of acceleration pushing him deeper into his seat gave him the impression they were heading straight up through the clouds instead of flying in an arc. All systems appeared to be working perfectly. He called out over the shaking. “Roll and pitch program.”
“Roger, roll. You have good thrust in all five.”
“Roger.”
Dusty yelled out, “Wahoo!”
Tom felt just as excited but kept his cool. “Yeah, some ride.”
Kirk was even more subdued as he calmly replied, “Not what I expected.”
The sun abruptly shot through the one window not covered by the aerodynamic, protective shroud. The unexpected rays caught Tom by surprise. He lifted his hand to shield himself from the sun so he could continue to read the controls. As the rocket continued to increase its speed, the lateral frequency, swaying him side to side, made it difficult for him to steady his hand. The g forces pushing him down were slowly climbing. In less than two minutes, just before staging, that force would top out at four and half g’s.
“Stand by for Mode 1 Bravo.”
Tom answered, “Roger, Houston.”
“Mark. 1 Bravo.”
They were now supersonic at a high enough attitude that if they needed to abort, it would be in the safer 1B Mode. Though he didn’t plan on turning the handle, there was a better chance they would survive if he had to. Tom’s eyes stayed riveted on the pitch, yaw, and roll rates. If any of those readings exceeded their safe limits, he would have to consider an abort.
“Your feet are wet now.”
CAPCOM was using an old navy term, telling Tom they were now flying over water and were capable of a water landing. “Roger.”
Off box, so mission control couldn’t hear, Tom joked with his crewmates. “Everyone have their life preservers on?”
Dusty chuckled. “Won’t need them.”
“Roger that.”
The aerodynamic forces acting on the vehicle were continuing to rise as their speed increased. With the air around the rocket thinning, eventually the Saturn V would reach the point where it would experience the mightiest forces ripping at its skin, trying to tear their ride apart. This was known as “Max q,” a major hurdle that was coming up.
“Two and a half g.”
“Sixteen, you’re through max q. Everything looks good.”
“Roger.”
“MARK. 2 MINUTES, 3 seconds. The flight director is going through his status checks in mission control for a Go/No-Go for staging. Coming up on center engine shutdown.”
Hearing the grandstand speakers announce that Tom was well on his way, Anne continued to block out the sun with her hand as she stared up at the long, twirling contrail left by the rocket. It led high into the scattered clouds. She was convinced a faint light at the end of the trail was the flame coming out of the Saturn engines. She blew a kiss in the direction of the light before it disappeared.
“Is Daddy in space?”
Anne looked down at her son. “Almost.”