But God granted us only the briefest of reprieves. A week after Scobee’s funeral, astronaut Steve Thorne, class of 1985, died in an off-duty recreational plane crash. It was another body blow to the astronaut corps.
*
Chapter 27
Castle Intrigue
Several weeks after
Most astronauts grudgingly accepted that the RSS was needed to protect civilian population centers. But there was no denying we hated it because it directly threatened our lives. Over several months I traveled to Cape Canaveral Air Force Station to meet with the RSS personnel—they were not NASA employees. By congressional law the protection of the civilian population from rocket mishaps was the responsibility of the Department of Defense, and DOD had given the job to the USAF. And the only way the air force could guarantee that protection was to place explosives on everybody’s rockets, NASA’s as well as all military and commercial missiles. (On the shuttle, the explosives were placed on each SRB and the gas tank. While there was none on the orbiter, detonation of the other explosives would also destroy the orbiter and kill the crew.) During every missile launch, USAF officers, who served as RSOs, monitored the machine’s trajectory. If a rocket strayed off course, it would be remotely blown up to prevent it from falling on a city.
In multiple meetings I examined every aspect of the design of the RSS and the selection and training of the RSOs. (I would learn that RSOs routinely declined invitations to attend KSC social functions with astronauts. They did not want their launch-day judgment impaired by a friendship with crewmembers they might have to kill.) The system was as fail-safe as humanly possible. In these same meetings I also learned that the Range Safety Office was proposing some changes to shuttle launch abort procedures. They worried that in some aborts, pieces of the jettisoned gas tank could land in Africa. Their suggested solution was to have astronauts burn the OMS engines during these aborts. The additional thrust produced in the burn would result in an ET trajectory that would drop the fuel tank into the Indian Ocean.
When I brought this request to John Young, he became as hot as a reentering ET, arguing it was a dumb idea. The OMS propellant was the gas used for the final push into orbit, for maneuvers while in orbit, and for the braking maneuver to get out of orbit. The RSOs were asking us to burn gas during ascent that we might later need—just to put another zero behind their already conservative risk-to-Africans probability numbers. I agreed with Young. But then the trajectory planners at MCC did their own studies and found that igniting the OMS engines pre-MECO (burning them at the same time as the SSMEs) would actually improve nominal and launch abort performance. In other words, it would improve the crew’s chances of reaching orbit or a runway. When I brought this data to Young, I expected him to enthusiastically endorse it, but I was stunned when he didn’t. His position was that we would never do an OMS burn on the uphill ride. I assumed I hadn’t made myself clear and tried again. “John, I’m not suggesting this be done to satisfy the RSO. This is our own FDO recommending it. The data shows it will improve performance during the abort.” John would hear none of it.
Over the next several weeks, in multiple meetings in Young’s office, I continued to bring him the results of various meetings on the pre-MECO OMS burn issue. The ball was rolling. It was going to happen.*Young was beyond angry at this news and focused his anger at me. Again and again I tried to make him understand the pre-MECO OMS burn was something FDO wanted to do to protect the crew. But he was deaf to my logic. Instead he remained focused on the fact the Range Safety Office wanted the OMS burn to keep the ET off Africa.