This launch shroud was held in place by a wire that had been improperly stowed before the target vehicle lifted off. It was hard to believe, but a multimillion-dollar mission was now jeopardized by a stainless steel wire worth 50 cents. As soon as Jim and I landed in Houston, we were ordered to an emergency planning meeting with all the flight directors and senior project officials. As backup pilot, I’d spent months training with Gene Cernan for his planned EVA. Gene had told me one day that he thought the way to overcome the problems of space walks was “brute force.” He was underestimating the difficulty of an EVA, but I knew he was a resourceful astronaut. I piped up at the meeting and suggested that he begin his EVA early, take along a pair of wire cutters from the spacecraft tool kit, and cut the damned shroud free.
Bob Gilruth and Chris Kraft looked at me like I was crazy. They said Gene could puncture his EVA suit while cutting the wires. No attempt was made to rescue the ATDA, and Gemini IX drifted free of its target vehicle. Another opportunity lost. (Deke Slayton later told me that I almost got jerked from my Gemini XII assignment for that suggestion. But in my own defense, these impromptu EVA repairs became commonplace on NASA’s Skylab and the Soviets’ Salyut space station in the 1970s.)
Two days later Gene Cernan began his scheduled EVA. The flight plan called for him to leave the cabin, clamber back to the adapter section, and don the bulky AMU backpack, becoming the world’s first true human satellite. Unfortunately, none of this worked out. After some tentative grappling around the edge of the hatch, he moved forward to conduct simple hand-tool experiments. But as Gene later said, he “really had no idea how to work in slow motion at orbital speeds.”
Any small movement of his fingers sent him tumbling to the limits of the umbilical that kept him attached to the spacecraft. The handholds and Velcro patches on the spacecraft he needed for leverage were either totally inadequate or too clumsy to use; his umbilical “snake” whipped around him, blocking his progress. Everything was harder than he’d thought it would be. He was unable to keep his movements under control. When the spacecraft crossed the terminator line into darkness, all his exertions finally caused his faceplate visor to fog. He was blinded as well as exhausted.
Gene and Tom Stafford decided to cancel the rest of the EVA. Now the mission’s other main objective had also ended in failure.
Around the middle of 1965 there had been talk of flying a Gemini spacecraft around the Moon in a mission called a LEO, or Large Earth Orbit. There had been sporadic interest from Congress down, but the top hierarchy of NASA felt it was more suitable for the Apollo missions. Charles Conrad and Dick Gordon were the crew of Gemini XI. Charles Conrad was very keen on the idea of going around the Moon. Eventually he persuaded management to try a very high orbit in his Gemini XI mission instead.
Gemini XI: asleep in a vacuum
The big thing about this was there was no way we were going to get any help from the ground. Previously all the solutions and the phasing burns and all of that stuff were computed on the ground. We had to get ourselves into a matching orbit that was 15 miles (24 kilometres) smaller than the Agena target was in and phased the proper distance behind so that a while later we would begin the Terminal Phase Initiate (TPI) burn and go ahead and rendezvous with the target. The most important thing was that we knew the exact time of our lift off down to quarters of a second. The ground had to pass up our corrected lift off time during powered flight just after launch, but before we disappeared over the horizon. We had this nice little handwritten chart which gave us the burn we had to do right smack at insertion.