Mike Mullane - Riding Rockets

For the first half hour after the deorbit burn, there was no indication anything had changed. It felt as if we were still in orbit. We had fallen a hundred miles closer to the planet but the air was still so tenuous it had no observable effect. Then a lost M&M candy appeared from a corner and began a very slow fall. It was my first indication we were no longer weightless. The fringes of the atmosphere were finally slowing us.

At 400,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean, atmospheric friction began to heat the air. The glow in the cockpit windows changed from orange to red to white hot. I twisted my head to look upward through the ceiling windows. A vortex of white-hot air streamed away, flickering like a ribbon in the wind. I was seeing Discovery ’s wake. The superheated air on the belly was wrapping around the vehicle and combining above her to form a wake of plasma. It streamed off into infinity. In spite of the incredible light show, the cockpit was quiet. There was no wind noise, no vibration.

Discovery completed several role-reversals to manage her energy. As thin as it was, there was still enough air to produce lift and the autopilot commanded the vehicle into alternating 75-degree banks to use this lift to pull her off centerline. She was standing on alternating wings, skidding into the Earth’s atmosphere like a snowboarder braking to a stop. She was flying a giant S across the Earth, lengthening the distance to the runway, to give her more time to lose altitude. If she had attempted to dive straight ahead we would have been incinerated.

Our computer displays showed Discovery as a bug tracking down the centerline of a fan of green energy lines. She was flying like a dream. In spite of the fire outside the windows and Discovery ’s bizarre maneuvers on our instruments, I felt completely secure. The cockpit was as comfortable as a womb.

The Reaction Control System (RCS) thruster lights flashed intermittently to indicate they were firing to hold our attitude. Just a fraction of a degree in error and we would be tumbled out of control. If it happened, the Pacific would swallow our ashes. NASA wouldn’t find a trace of us.

Deeper into the atmosphere the G-forces increased to the maximum of 2. In any other circumstance this would have been a trivial force. A modern fighter can subject its pilot to 9 Gs. But for an astronaut returning from days of weightlessness, the feel of the G-forces was significantly amplified. It seemed as if an elephant were on my shoulders. I was being crushed into my seat. The weight of the helmet made it difficult for me to hold up my head. My vision began to tunnel, as if I were looking through a straw. I knew from my fighter jet experiences tunnel vision was an indication of approaching blackout. The vision area of my brain wasn’t getting enough oxygenated blood. I inflated my anti-G suit to the maximum setting and the air bladders squeezed my belly button nearly to my spine. I simultaneously bore down with my gut muscles, all in an effort to tourniquet my waist. It worked. My vision cleared.

Passing 200,000 feet we began to hear the faint rush of wind around the cockpit. Discovery was transforming herself from a spacecraft to an aircraft. Mike deployed the air data probes to give us better airspeed and altitude information. We flew into sunlight. It was still twilight below us but the Sun had dawned at 100,000 feet. As Discovery ’s velocity fell below the speed of sound, her shock waves, which had been trailing her, now zoomed ahead. A buzzing vibration shook the vehicle at their passage.

At seventy thousand feet the steering rockets on Discovery ’s tail stopped controlling her attitude. She was now fully an aircraft, a creature of the air. Hank took control from the autopilot. While he could have taken control at any point during the reentry, there had been no reason to do so. The runway wasn’t visible until the final ten minutes of flight.

The dry lakebed of Edwards AFB, which had welcomed countless machines from the edge of space, now welcomed Discovery. Hank guided her over the runway and then banked into a wide, sweeping left turn toward final approach. With her short, stubby wings she was a poor glider and he kept her in a kamikaze-like dive at nearly 350 miles per hour. From the cockpit it appeared as if we were diving straight into Earth. At 1,800 feet above the ground he started his flare. At 300 feet Mike lowered the landing gear. Discovery touched the sand in a perfect landing, just as the dawn was breaking. Hollywood couldn’t have written a better ending.

“Houston, wheel stop.” Hank made the call.

“Roger, Discovery. Welcome home.”

Our cheers had hardly died before all of us were wondering, When will I be able to do this again?

Chapter 23

Astronaut Wings

I was drunk on joy and beer. We were headed back to Houston on the NASA Gulfstream jet with our wives. A cooler of beer had been placed aboard and I was doing my best to ensure it was empty by the time we got to Ellington Field. I couldn’t sit down. I couldn’t stop talking. I was giddy and silly and, oh, so happy. I was the bride on her wedding day, the child on Christmas morning. Periodically I would sit with Donna and try to describe the things I had seen, but as soon as I would get started on one memory, another would pop up and I’d be off on its telling. I never finished a sentence. I would leap to my feet and pace the aisle. I was incoherent with joy. I was now a real astronaut. I was a live astronaut. The latter fact was something I had never really expected. Subconsciously, I don’t think I ever believed I would survive this mission and now that I had, I was wild to celebrate life. I was the soldier back from combat. I had walked the narrow precipice of death and had not fallen.

The others stared at me like I was nuts, which of course I was. In one insane moment I bet everybody I could drop a can of beer and catch it before it hit the floor. I was past the bulletproof stage of intoxication and had entered the weightless stage. The results were predictable. I ended on my hands and knees chasing the foaming, rolling can while the others laughed at my floor show. I didn’t care that I was making a fool of myself. There was nothing anybody could have done or said to diminish my celebration.

A crowd of family, friends, and NASA employees greeted us at Ellington Field. Some of the family members and office secretaries had fashioned welcome-home signs. I saw my three children in the front row wearing huge smiles of pride and relief. We wouldn’t get any NYC ticker-tape parades but this was better. The people behind the ropes were NASA family. They had put me into space. I loved them all and given a chance I would have kissed each and every one.

A microphone was provided so we could say a few words of thanks. Stepping forward for my turn, I tripped on my own feet. It wasn’t because of my intoxication…or at least, not entirely. My sense of equilibrium had been affected by weightlessness. It was a common, short-term aftereffect of spaceflight. I have no idea what I said, but it didn’t generate any groans of embarrassment from my compatriots behind me, so I guess I did okay.

The ceremony ended and we walked into the crowd. Someone shoved another beer into my hand. I hugged my kids. Amy, my sensitive child, was full of tears. Pat and Laura were smiling. Only my death would have pulled tears from them. I worried the press might find me. I could see their vans and knew they were somewhere in the crowd. The last thing I wanted was to have a camera in my face. That would have been sure to dampen my fun. But I need not have worried—nobody was interested in male astronauts when Judy was around. She looked stunning. We had all showered at Edwards and donned fresh flight suits, and Judy had applied lipstick and a little makeup. She was holding the spray of roses given to her at Edwards. Unlike her predecessor, she had graciously accepted them. At that moment she was everything to everybody, the feminine feminist. The press was all over her. Fortunately, her hair was so big the shank she had lost in orbit wasn’t noticeable enough to generate questions.