Riding Rockets

For the ninth time in my life I waited for launch. I was certain there would be a tenth time, tomorrow. The KSC weather was bad. I could feel the vehicle shaking in the wind and J.O. and John reported heavy rains lashing their windows from passing squalls. And it wasn’t just the Florida weather that was a problem. Our two transatlantic abort sights—Zaragoza, Spain, and Morón, Spain (pronounced MORE-OWN)—also had weather issues. At T-9 the launch director held the count. God might have been punishing us for ignoring Dave’s request to turn off the Playboy Channel.

Pepe’s practice countdown in the briefing room chair had been useless in preparing him for another pad wait. It didn’t take more than thirty minutes before he was once again entertaining us with his complaints. He ended one session with “My organs are shoving my diaphragm into my throat.”

I replied, “You’re wearing a diaphragm?” Everyone laughed so hard the engineers in MCC probably sawAtlantis ’s vibrations in their accelerometer data. J.O. fell into a gagging wet cough. He was still not well, a fact that had made theHouston Chronicle. An unnamed source was quoted in that newspaper suggesting that J.O. was actually suffering from viral influenza. It wouldn’t have surprised me if that was the case, but I was glad he was soldiering on. The longer our delay, the greater the chances I would become infected. (I would fall ill a day after landing.) I seriously doubted NASA HQ would hold the launch for my recovery, or the recovery of any infected MS, for that matter. As CDR and PLT, J.O. and John Casper were relatively irreplaceable. But with three MSes trained on the payload, any one of us was expendable. Given HQ’s attention to the flight rate, I suspected management had already instructed JSC to have some MS substitutes standing by just in case. I prayed for a weather miracle.

Pepe outlasted me as the cockpit clown. He joked and complained without pause. Now he was reviewing all the movies we had watched during the past two weeks: “Lawrence of Arabia, The Great Escape, How the West Was Won, The Terminator, Predator, Alien, Top Gun…” We had seen more blood and guts than a meat packer. I resolved that the next movie I watched would beHeidi.

The T-9 minute hold dragged on…thirty minutes…an hour. Pepe gave us another item to consider. “I was just calculating…Since we started this never-go mission we’ve logged more than thirteen hours of on-the-back time. J.O. has even more time because he’s first in and last out. In fact, J.O., you’ve been on your back for five hours just on this countdown.”

“Thanks for cheering me up, Pepe.”

I didn’t have a body part that wasn’t complaining. To ease the pain in my back, I loosened my harness and arched my hips upward. The restored circulation was heaven-sent but I couldn’t hold the position for more than a moment. As my butt collapsed into the seat, a tide of cold urine squeezed from the diaper, climbed up my ass crack, and washed over my testicles. This was particularly disgusting knowing that, if we ever launched, I wouldn’t see a shower for five days. If I did this tomorrow, which seemed certain, I was going to take my chances with the condom UCD.

As the groans and moans ricocheted among us, Dave Hilmers broke into song, “When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.” That threw me into the punch-drunk giggles again.

Pepe suggested a new song for Max-q (the astronaut band): “Holding at Nine and Hurting.” It would have been a hit. At one time or another most astronauts have been there.

Rain continued to fall at KSC and the TAL weather looked grim, but observers at both places predicted a brief moment of acceptable launch conditions. The chances those moments would coincide were slim, but, with our launch window nearing a close, the launch director decided to give it a shot. He released the clock and we counted to T-5 minutes and held there. The wives were on the LCC roof. No doubt the rain made it even more miserable for them.

The wait extended. Even Pepe couldn’t find anything more to say. The only sounds were the steady breath ofAtlantis ’s cooling system and the irritating high-pitched whine of our pressure suit fans. The latter gave me a headache on top of my other pains. I refused to look at my watch, certain the digits were changing in quarter time. If there had been a glimmer of hope we would actually launch, the wait wouldn’t have been so interminable. But we were all certain our investment in pain and adrenaline was going to be for naught. We would hold for the weather until the close of the launch window and then scrub. We would have to do it all again tomorrow.