Gene Kranz - Failure Is Not an Option

The crew, the control team, and myself were briefed by the team at the Cape that had installed the shroud. They concluded that a safing pin had not been removed from the band and as a result the sequence had started but the band had not separated, leaving the shroud unopened.

The countdown was virtually perfect for our third try at getting Stafford and Cernan off the ground. After giving the launch team the word, “Mission Control is Go for launch,” I stood up and put on my vest. By now everyone was used to the bit with the vest. But this one was radically different from any I had worn previously. All earlier vests, while different in style and material, were solid white. After my second Gemini 9 launch scrub, Marta made a splashy vest of gold and silver brocade over white satin. She thought I needed a bit of good luck for my third launch try.

When I put this vest on, Kraft made a few wry comments. Looking up and through the glass into the viewing room, I could see people pointing. The vest had made a hell of an impact on the visitors; now I just hoped it brought my team and the crew a bit of luck.

There is no feeling in the world like a launch day. The controllers, launch team, and crew are a single entity bound by a mission, the atmosphere brittle and electric. The clock provides the cadence as we grind through the procedures, events, and tests. In the final minutes prior to launch, I began the flight director’s ritual, locking the doors of the control room after the final status check.

For the last sixty seconds the voice calls are all programmed, there is no superfluous chatter, all reports are crisp and formal. We were like sprinters in our blocks, waiting for the starter’s gun. Alas, the automatic launch update again failed, so my GUIDO (guidance officer) manually transmitted the commands, ramming them home in the allotted forty-second window.

In the final seconds, it turned eerily quiet in the control room. The controllers scanned their displays, absorbing and assessing hundreds of pieces of data. The only sound was the incessant finger tapping against the consoles or the nervous clicking of ballpoint pens. Relief from the tension comes only when the launch team calls, “Auto sequence start… five… four… three… two… one and engine start!” Approaching zero, I felt like I was flying an aircraft for the first time. My adrenaline reached a peak, and then there was icy calm at the moment of commitment. I was ready and I felt great. In a few moments, when the rocket cleared the launch tower, the ballgame was ours. I never had a controller get the shakes during a mission—the nervous types were weeded out or else looked at the job and knew it wasn’t the right one for them.

“Flight, liftoff, 13:39:33 [7:39 A.M. CST]. The clocks have started.” Recording the liftoff time, I decided this new vest was really lucky. We were finally on our way, the crew and controllers crisply reporting launch events as the Titan accelerated, arching skyward, reaching for its target orbit in space. The work, sweat, and frustration now paid off with a perfect orbital cutoff. After separation, and then another maneuver, Stafford and Cernan were racing toward their rendezvous target. Their maneuvers inexorably closed the distance between the two spacecraft, the crew and ground perfectly executing the procedures, the team harmony and rhythm fluid and dynamic. Approaching the end of the third orbit over Hawaii, Gemini 9 slid smoothly into position, flying formation with the target.

As Stafford maneuvered, Cernan gave a running commentary during the approach, finally confirming our suspicion that the shroud had not separated. From a distance of a few feet away Stafford said, “The clamshell is open wide, the band holding it together is at the front. I believe the rear bolts were fired, and we can see the springs. The band is holding the whole mess together. It looks like an angry alligator.”

While the crew remained as observers, I directed my team to send a series of rapid attitude maneuver commands to attempt to shake the shroud loose. The crew saw the target’s motion as the thrusters fired, then reported, “No joy. It’s not doing any good. You might as well save the fuel.” With this new data, and to buy some time to develop other alternatives, we passed the crew maneuver data for the second planned rendezvous of the mission. This maneuver thrusted them away from the Earth and, if perfectly executed, placed them onto a football-type trajectory, returning to the target in exactly one orbit.

My Agena controllers left the console to attend a meeting with engineering to assess any reasonable shroud jettison alternatives. (Just to make life more confusing, we continued to have our controllers use the Agena call sign, despite the fact that on this mission the target vehicle was not an Agena rocket but a target made up of spare parts from Agena and Gemini.) After an hour and a half, they returned, reporting no one saw any way to separate the shroud. With Gemini’s orbit moving toward the area of sparse network coverage, I felt it was time to call it a day and get the crew moving toward the sleep period. A maneuver was passed to separate from the target and set up the conditions for the third and final rendezvous on my shift in the morning.

Lunney had been standing by during the second rendezvous, and at handover his Black Team took to the consoles in Mission Control. During my press conference most of the correspondents tried to engage me in speculation about a comment made by Stafford to Cernan that, “We might be able to nudge the target shroud off with the nose of the Gemini.”

During my shift I quickly discouraged Stafford from contemplating such a maneuver, and I did not want to give it any more credibility via the media. I advised the press, “Our priorities are to accomplish the three rendezvous, a complex EVA, and a bunch of experiments. Docking, while an objective, is now only frosting on the cake.” I paused, then added, “There is a lot of energy still stored in the thrusters in the shroud. When and if that band comes loose, I want Gemini long gone.”

After the press conference I went home for supper and some fresh clothing, then returned to the sleeping quarters above the lobby of Mission Control. Prior to hitting the sack, I went to the control room to check in with Lunney. I was surprised to find Cliff Charlesworth in Lunney’s chair. Cliff said, “They called Glynn to a meeting in the controller ready room to discuss tomorrow’s EVA.” I hit my boiling point in a second as I exclaimed, “What EVA?”

Cliff responded, “They want to do an EVA to release the shroud.”

Next to the sleeping quarters was a ready room for the controllers to observe TV mission status and listen to the other controllers and crew communications while relaxing before or after a shift. The lounge is on a floor midway between the two control room floors and I took the stairs two at a time in my haste to get there.

When I opened the door, the ready room was loaded. Present was an array of NASA’s top leadership: George Mueller, NASA associate administrator; Chuck Mathews, program manager; Robert Gilruth, center director; as well as Kraft, Slayton, Dr. Charles Berry, and assorted astronauts. Glynn Lunney, the only flight controller present, looked up as I entered, rolled his eyes, and silently raised his hands in exasperation. Standing up, he walked over and said, “They’re talking about doing an EVA to release the shroud.”

I was livid. The last word I had left was that in no case would we plan to try to release the shroud. Kraft saw my expression, walked over, and said, “Dammit, control yourself and settle down. No decision has been made yet.” As I watched, I concluded that astronaut Buzz Aldrin was the principal proponent of the gamble, since he was animatedly discussing possible procedures to release the band. William Schneider, the Gemini 9 headquarters mission director, motioned me to the corner, briefed me on the discussion, then asked me for my opinion. My response was tart: “Bill, there is little to gain, the risk is high, and I don’t want to compromise the planned objectives. This is nothing I will support.” Kraft, standing, was studying me, wondering what else I was going to say when my turn came.