Matt Eaton - Sleeping Gods

“One more great moment in manned space flight,” Lovell muttered to no-one in particular.

Borman finally ditched the chutes and flicked the switch to inflate the balloons stored in the nose of the capsule, which were designed to keep them the right way up. The downpour of crud and dust sent him into a momentary coughing fit. It felt rather like he had just crashed the family wagon. They were around 220 nautical miles north-west of Kiribati and a long way south of Hawaii in what could poetically be described as the goddam middle of nowhere.

Thankfully it was only a few minutes before the world righted itself as the inflatables deployed.

The sea was rough that morning. They bobbed around like a cork in a bathtub and it didn’t take long for Borman to get seasick. It would be another 45 minutes before the US Navy recovery crew came knocking on the door. As previously agreed, they waited for dawn to break before beginning the retrieval operation. The Navy didn’t want to drop divers into pitch black water in case of sharks.

Borman spent much of the waiting time hurling his guts up. With splashdown his command had technically ended, meaning the other two, especially Lovell the Navy man, felt free to rib him mercilessly.

“I suppose this would feel pretty rough to a West Point ground pounder,” said Lovell. “I’ll say this for you Frank, you’re nothing if not consistent. Finish as you start out, eh?”

Up to this moment, Lovell had been quite restrained about the fact that his commander had suffered a good dose of the vomits for much of their journey to the Moon.

“Boy oh boy, we’re really bouncing around now,” said Borman, grimacing. He didn’t really care too much about the jokes, he was just happy to be home. They were alive and for that he was eternally grateful.

A day or two before lift-off, the head of flight crew operations Deke Slayton had told him privately he rated their chance of coming home alive at about 50-50. It sure seemed as though they had flipped that coin and won. He’d take a pain in the guts over Deke’s other option any day of the year.

With the light of dawn finally shining through their window, a shimmering black monster emerged from the deep to pull open the capsule door. A strangely foreign smell immediately filled the cabin and Borman smiled as he realised it was the taste of fresh air.

They had been locked in a tin can for six days.

The Navy Seal frogman pulled the mask from his face to greet them, although his expression was not exactly one of welcome.

“Everything all right, son?” Borman asked him.

“Yes sir, everything’s fine,” he replied. “Welcome back sir,” he added hurriedly.

Borman guessed they must be a sorry sight. Unshaved, unwashed.

A change of outfit awaited them in the Navy’s recovery chopper. Like men possessed, they ditched their flight suits and stripped nearly naked with a delirious eagerness. Never had clean clothes felt so good. White shirts adorned with the mission logo, white pants and aviator sunglasses. They felt human again.

Borman tried to be as casual as possible as he removed the Minox from his flight suit and slipped it into his trouser pocket. He knew the Seals would ask no questions.

In no time at all they found themselves on the deck of USS Yorktown amid a football crowd of faces — hundreds, maybe thousands of sailors dressed neatly in white and gathered across the ship at every available vantage point to catch a glimpse of the astronauts’ arrival. They watched through the window, amazed at the size of the assembled crowd. As the blades of the helicopter gradually ground to a halt, two sailors placed a set of stairs alongside the hatch for their descent to the deck.

“Those stairs must be for you, commander,” Lovell said, grinning.

“You better believe it,” Borman told him. “I have no intention of falling flat on my face with the eyes of the world upon us.”

NASA splashdown technician Eugene Geyer was the first up the stairs to greet them.

“Welcome home,” he called, holding his hand out to Borman and immediately losing his footing at the top of the stairs. Luckily Borman still had hold of his hand and kept him from falling back down to the deck. The poor man retreated quickly, partly out of embarrassment but also to clear the way for the astronauts to exit.

Borman turned quickly to the other two. “Let’s not follow in Eugene’s footsteps. Tread slowly and carefully. We’re all going to be a bit shaky on the pins.”

They stood together for some time at the top of the stairs, waving at the crew of the Yorktown. The sailors cheered and waved back. It was a welcome for heroes. Borman guessed that’s what they were, although until this moment it hadn’t occurred to him. He descended slowly to the deck of the ship. Anders stumbled at the top of the stairway but corrected himself by grabbing the hand rail. Nobody else seemed to notice.

A red carpet awaited them on the carrier flight deck. Borman felt slightly unsteady on his feet, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as when he and Lovell returned from their 14-day Gemini VII mission. That time he had struggled to stay upright.

“How’s those sea legs?” Lovell asked him. Borman just smiled, the cheers of the Yorktown crew so loud he could feel them in his chest. He was filled with a sudden sense of euphoria. They had done it. The greatest undertaking of his life and it had come off virtually without a hitch. He had never felt more proud.

At the end of the short red carpet, the Yorktown’s commanding officer Captain John Fifield waited for them alongside a microphone.

“Permission to come aboard, sir,” said Borman.

Captain Fifield smiled and shook their hands one by one before stepping up to the microphone. Their arrival was being broadcast live across the world.

Fifield gazed up as he spoke to the crew of the Yorktown. “On behalf of the entire Yorktown crew, a most hearty welcome aboard and congratulations on a tremendously successful flight. Colonel Borman, would you care to say a few words to the crew?”

Borman stepped forward. “Yes sir, thank you. Well, we’re just very happy to be here and we appreciate all of your efforts and I know you had to stay out here over Christmas and that made it tough. Jim and I always seem to fly in December. We made it home before Christmas in ’65.

“But we can’t tell you how much we really appreciate you being here and how proud it is for us to participate in this event because thousands of people made this possible and I guess we’re all just part of the group. Thank you very much.”

Captain Fifield handed them Yorktown caps which they happily donned, stopping to pose for pictures on the flight deck. Borman was dead tired, but he was keen to appear as amenable as possible to the folks on the Yorktown, knowing NASA would be reliant upon the Navy’s cooperation for many years to come.

“Now gentlemen, if you’ll just follow me, we’ll get you out of the glare,” said Fifield.

The Captain calmly directed them toward the nearest hatch, a path to it appearing as the crowd dutifully parted to let them pass. The ship’s interior was much darker as they left the glare of daylight. Borman’s eyes adjusted in time for him to register the ladder they now needed to negotiate. Fifield nimbly led the way. Lovell went next, then Anders. Borman brought up the rear, taking each step slowly, double-checking his footing was secure before moving down to the next rung.

At the bottom, Fifield led them along a narrow gangway. “Now I know you’ll want to shower and clean up,” he said, “but we figured after six days of sucking on tubes for sustenance a hearty breakfast might be top of your list.”

Lovell and Anders smiled. “Now you’re talking,” Anders told him.