Tom kept his cool. “Pitch-over.”
Etched on the commander’s window was a grid similar to a gunsight. This simple setup was Tom’s way of seeing roughly where the computer was taking them. Once Dusty read him the correct angles, all Tom had to do was line up the scribe marks. If he didn’t like where they were headed, he could make the necessary adjustments with his controls.
As the angles changed, Dusty called them out. “40 degrees… 38 degrees.”
“Okay.” With incredible focus, Tom continued to look for any recognizable landmark. He needed visual confirmation that they were on the right track. He was about to ask Dusty to take a look when he spotted Aggie Crater to his left. Just knowing one piece of the puzzle allowed Tom to quickly identify the other craters. He concluded they were slightly off target. The ship was heading northwest of their designated landing spot. Although landing right on point was not critical because of the lunar rover they brought along, Tom still wanted to top his fellow commanders. After minor corrections and firing the appropriate thrusters, Tom soon had the ship back on track.
Dusty called out. “5,000 feet, 41.”
In twelve seconds they had already descended over 2,000 feet. Tom continued to make slight tweaks to the controls-a couple of clicks left, three back-keeping their landing spot centered on the grid.
“3,000 feet, 52, 51, 49, 49.”
The craters were quickly getting bigger. Tom darted his eyes about until he found a safe opening. “Okay, I got a good spot.”
“Good. 48.”
In his helmet Tom heard mission control rattle off, “Explorer, Houston. You are Go for landing.”
Pleased with the “Go” signal, Tom rapidly spit out his response. “Roger. Go for landing.” Moisture beaded on Tom’s palms and perspiration welled up on his forehead as he continued to maneuver the Lunar Module while the computer rode the throttle.
“2,000, 46, on profile.”
Tom was happy to hear he was hitting his marks. He leaned up close to his window to get a good look at the spot he was shooting for. Though he would have to fly over a big crater just before touchdown, all looked doable. Dusty continued to read off the data in a crisp and disciplined manner as Tom skillfully guided them down. Once Dusty called out, 700, 50, Tom couldn’t contain himself any longer and took over control. He was ready to put this baby down. “Okay. Taking over, Dusty.”
In a confident tone, his partner responded immediately, “Roger, you’ve got P66.”
The P66 code informed mission control that Tom was now running the show. Apollo 16’s fate was in his hands.
Dusty’s voice became more animated. “Okay, 26 down at 500 feet.”
Tom no longer needed the landing point angles. What he needed were velocities and altitude. Per Dusty, they were dropping at 26 feet per second. He needed to slow down their descent. He switched to Altitude Hold, pitching the LM forward until they were almost vertical, letting the descent rocket brake their fall without slowing their horizontal flight.
A couple of irritating drops of sweat began to ooze over Tom’s eyelashes, distorting his view. He couldn’t chance the little pests seeping into his eyes. Not wanting to take his focus off the target, he blinked hard, successfully dislodging the little buggers.
“300 feet, 15.”
Tom was approaching “Dead Man’s Zone” where they would be unable to abort. After the two hundred-foot-level, their altitude wouldn’t allow for enough time for the ascent stage to ignite and stop their plunge. If any malfunction happened after that point, they were crashing onto the moon’s surface. Tom’s senses were working on overdrive. His hearing was tuned in to Dusty’s voice, his eyes took in the action outside his window, and his hands and body were feeling exactly what the machine was doing. Come on, Tom, get this right.
“200 feet, 11, 10 percent fuel.”
Tom pitched the ship slightly over to get a better look at the patch of land he was aiming for. A boulder field lay about fifty feet to the left but seemed a safe distance away. The area appeared level, but there was no way of telling for sure due to the lack of rocks big enough to cast shadows he could see. His concern was landing on the edge of the crater and putting the LM in a dangerously tilted position. Such a mistake would nullify the use of the ascent stage rocket, essentially making the Lunar Module their tomb.
“160, 10 down, give a couple of clicks up.”
Tom was so focused outside his window that it was tough to take in Dusty’s concern. But they were still descending too quickly. Ideally, they should be dropping at a slow, five feet per second, but they were at ten. It was as if his hand knew what to do and took over, slowing their drop, while his brain concentrated on what was going on outside. He was getting to the point where he had to stop their forward motion, but they needed another twenty feet to get past the crater.
“Okay, 5 down, 110 feet.”
A translucent sheet of moving dust started to distort Tom’s view. As he passed over the crater’s lip, he focused on a group of dark rocks he could see through the dirty buildup, helping him to determine exactly how the ship was moving.
Mission control came over the radio, “Sixty seconds.”
With two voices in his helmet and all the action happening outside, he had to sort through the chatter to extract information he needed. He convinced himself that sixty seconds of fuel was plenty, and he tuned out mission control. He straightened up the ship, completely stopping their forward motion. It was critical that they drop in a level and steady orientation to prevent snapping off a leg. He clicked the rate-of-toggle switch until he had their descent at the pace of a slow elevator. The dust was starting to blow up in thicker sheets, making it impossible to see the rocks that had been guiding him. He had no choice but to go by feel, hoping he wasn’t drifting back toward the crater.
“50 feet, down 3.”
For the first time, the shadow of the Lunar Module appeared on the surface. Even in the heavy dust, Tom could make out the legs’ shadows. He focused on those struts, watching the bottom of those shadows get closer to his spacecraft, his only visual indication of how high they were.
“30 feet, down 2.”
Tom was approaching the point where if he had to cut the engine, they would be okay with the hard landing. But he definitely didn’t want to test the theory. Contractors weren’t always right about their equipment. His plan was to cut the engine shortly after one of the nine-foot-long sensor probes extending off the legs came into contact with the surface. Once that happened, a blue light labeled Lunar Contact would glow in the cabin. If he waited too long past that point, it was feared that a rock could plug the engine’s fairing, causing a devastating explosion.
“20 feet, down 2.”
The ship’s shadow on the uneven surface didn’t help to determine if he was drifting. Finally the dust got so bad that he lost sight of his ship’s shadow. Come on, give me contact.
Dusty called out in an excited voice, “Contact.”
Tom waited a few seconds before calmly pushing in the Engine Stop button. A sudden hush filled his helmet as the ship plummeted the final five feet, hitting with a soft thud, thanks to the legs’ shock absorbers. Tom looked over at Dusty, who had a big grin. Tom broke the silence in his helmet by letting out an exhausted breath. He looked outside at the alien surface through the sun’s glare and dust. He shook his head, amazed he was on the moon. “Houston, Explorer has landed.”