“TELMU,” Kranz said, turning to Bob Heselmeyer, “I want projections from you. How long can you keep the systems in the LEM running at full power? At partial power? Where do we stand on water? What about battery power? What about oxygen? EECOM” – he turned to Aaron – “in three or four days we’re going to have to use the command module again. I want to know how we can get that bird powered up and running from a cold Stop to splash – including its guidance platform, thrusters, and life-support system – and do it all on just the power we’ve got left in the reentry batteries.”
“RETRO, FIDO, GUIDO, CONTROL, GNC,” he said, looking around the room, “I want options on PC + 2 burns and mid-course corrections from now to entry. How much can PC + 2 speed us up? What ocean does it put us in? Can we burn after PC + 2 if we need to? I also want to know how we plan to align this ship if we can’t use a star alignment. Can we use sun checks? Can we use moon checks? What about Earth checks?
“Lastly, for everybody in this room: I want someone in the computer rooms pulling more strip charts from the time of translunar injection on. Let’s try to see if we can’t figure out just what went wrong with this spacecraft in the first place. For the next few days we’re going to be coming up with techniques and maneuvers we’ve never tried before. I want to make sure we know what we’re doing.”
Kranz stopped and glanced once more from controller to controller, waiting to see if there were any questions. As was often the case when Gene Kranz spoke, there weren’t any. After a few seconds he turned around and walked wordlessly out the door, heading back toward Mission Control, where dozens of other controllers were monitoring his trio of imperilled astronauts. In the room he left behind were the fifteen men he expected to save their lives.