Neil Armstrong: A Life of Flight (21 page)

Dave Scott remained disappointed he had not been able to try out his planned two-hour spacewalk. He had hoped to solve some of EVA’s difficulties, which had first appeared when Ed White had so much trouble getting back in
Gemini 4
.

He and Neil joined the Gemini flow and a year after Ed White made the first spacewalk, astronaut Gene Cernan was ready. With Dave’s disappointment, Cernan would now be the second American to walk in space.

*   *   *

Two-and-a-half-months after
Gemini 8
,
Gemini 9
’s Tom Stafford and Gene Cernan reached orbit on June 3, 1966, and Cernan began his spacewalk attached to a 25-foot lifeline. He looked forward to experiencing the freedom that Ed White had on his spacewalk. But Cernan didn’t find it. White had gone outside just to skip and flit about for a few minutes. Cernan had gone out to work. He had specific duties, but quickly discovered he was little more than a clumsy sloth climbing a greased pole.

Mission planners had installed in the back of
Gemini 9
’s equipment bay a backpack called an AMU (Astronaut Maneuvering Unit). Attached to a long 125-foot tether, the backpack’s jets would enable Cernan to maneuver alongside
Gemini 9
.

But the spacewalker soon learned he couldn’t actually “fly” in space. Once away from his mother ship, he found himself in an independent orbit, and changing it was a major chore. Cernan wasn’t having a glorious experience. He could only move about an inch at a time. He did everything he could to clamp his gloved hands on something that would secure him to his ship. But without proper handholds, he kept slipping off the sleek hull of
Gemini 9
and having to fight his way back. He needed a jet gun like the one that Ed White had used. Cernan could damn well use his backpack if he could get to it, but the 15-foot walk to
Gemini 9
’s rear equipment bay was proving to be impossible. He had thought it would only take a few minutes and now he’d been trying to get there for nearly an hour.

He was clumsy, frustrated, and struggling fully exhausted, but the astronaut who would be the last to walk on the moon, finally made it. “It’s a strange world out here!” he radioed Tom Stafford in
Gemini 9
’s commander seat, barely adding, “Whew!”

“Take a rest,” Stafford told him.

He didn’t have to be told twice. Cernan was grateful just to hang onto some equipment in the rear of his ship. After a brief rest he began trying to maneuver his pressurized, suited body into the backpack so he could possibly jet around. This would be real maneuvering in an EVA, but in spite of all his efforts, trouble remained his companion.

The job of slipping into his backpack demanded more than slipping into simple straps. He needed to make electrical and other connections, and Cernan found every move was more time-consuming than he had planned. When he seemed to have one of his backpack hookup procedures under control, he floated from the spacecraft. He had nowhere to stand—nothing to hold him in place. There was no way he could maintain a solid plant of his body. There were a few footholds and handholds, but they were woefully inadequate. He needed positions that would allow him to use leverage. Soon he was severely overworking his own chest pack, which circulated oxygen through his suit and also removed excessive moisture from his body. He perspired. Fog collected inside his helmet visor and froze, and he endured excessive heat, perspiration, and ice all at the same time. He was barely able to see through the visor—a potentially lethal situation for a man turning like a bloated rag doll in a vacuum, only several feet from the security of his spaceship’s cabin.

“We’ve got problems,” Tom Stafford told Mission Control. “Gene is fogging up real bad.” Then he spoke only to Cernan on
Gemini 9
’s crew loop. “How bad is it, buddy?”

“I’m really fogged up, Tom,” Gene told him. Stafford didn’t like the sound of Gene’s voice.

Stafford called Mission Control again. “The pilot’s visor is fogged over, and I’m having trouble understanding him. He sounds like a large gargle. If the situation doesn’t improve…”
Gemini 9
’s commander suddenly went quiet and came back to Mission Control with his own command decision. “It’s no go on the AMU! The pilot is fogged up!”

“We confirm, no go,” Mission Control agreed, and now Gene Cernan’s problem was figuring out how to get the hell back inside. He began trying to return to his seat in
Gemini 9
, carefully, hand over hand, slipping, fighting every inch of the way. He was only able to see through small sections of his visor where his breath had melted the frost.

“He’s in trouble,” said one flight surgeon in Mission Control. Gene Cernan’s heart was beating 180 beats per minute. Suddenly Tom Stafford felt icy chills as he recalled a very private conversation he had had with Deke Slayton before launch. “Look, Tom, what Gene’s going to do out there is pretty risky. If he’s outside and he’s in trouble…” Deke paused. “If for some reason the spacecraft is in trouble, short of fuel, or something, and well, if there’s no chance of getting him back in…”

Deke’s voice faltered, then the words returned, “There’s nothing written on this. No mission rule, but, well, I think you understand. If that kind of thing happens, you’ve got to cut him loose.”

*   *   *

No one on the ground was more concerned for Gene Cernan than Janet and Neil Armstrong. Janet and Gene were classmates at Purdue. Tom Stafford would never learn as commander what he would have done if faced with having to cast his buddy and fellow pilot to certain death.

He was so grateful he didn’t have to make that decision. He was never so damn relieved as he was to see Gene Cernan fighting and clawing and struggling through his hatch, pulling his exhausted body back into his
Gemini 9
seat.

When they finally had their spaceship all buttoned up, and they were safe, the third man to walk in space, the second American, had been outside a record two hours and nine minutes, and all of it had been pure hell.

*   *   *

Following
Gemini 9
, both Mike Collins on the
Gemini 10
and Dick Gordon on the
Gemini 11
experienced troubles maneuvering away from their spacecraft. Collins, who used a jet gun to move to a nearby Agena target rocket, told flight planners, “I found that the lack of a handhold is a big impediment. I could hang on to the Agena, but I could not get around to the other side where I wanted to go. That is indeed a problem.” Gordon, like Cernan, became hot and sweaty and his visor fogged. “I’m pooped,” he said, deciding to cut short his walk.

To date the Gemini program had been highly successful. It was spaceflight at its best, developing systems needed to reach the moon. Only EVA was a problem. Astronauts’ helplessness in moving about outside their spaceships left NASA’s bosses in a quandary. “How can we send astronauts to the moon, if…?”

Deke Slayton, Neil Armstrong, Tom Stafford, and Gene Cernan—all those working on EVA knew most definitely they were left with one shot. They were down to one flight,
Gemini 12
.

That was the bad news.

The good news was veteran astronaut Jim Lovell would command
Gemini 12
and Buzz Aldrin, who had one of the astronaut corps’ most educated scientific minds, would attempt Gemini’s final EVA.

Aldrin graduated third in his class from West Point with a degree in mechanical engineering and he received a Ph.D. in the science of astronautics from MIT. Aldrin was not only smart and educated, he was a tinkerer. He built on the experience of the others. He talked at length to Cernan, Collins, and Gordon and he listened. He asked them questions again and again and took their advice. He gathered special devices like a wrist tether and a second tether much like those used by window washers. For foot restraints, he fashioned himself a pair of “golden slippers.” He would bolt them to the workstation floor he had put in his spacecraft’s equipment bay. There he would bring each major job to be done as if he was bringing work home to his garage workshop.

When it came to moving easily from point A to point B, Buzz fashioned portable handholds he could slap onto either the hull of Gemini or the hull of the Agena to keep his body under control. And to make sure he never found himself without a needed tool, he placed a variety in pockets and holding places within his spacesuit.

*   *   *

Aldrin nodded ready to Lovell and on November 11, 1966,
Gemini 12
roared into orbit. It captured its Agena target rocket, and once docked, Buzz Aldrin, who would make the first landing on the moon with Neil Armstrong, once and for all banished the gremlins of EVA.

First Buzz took what he had learned and recognized movement in orbit is strange to our senses. A circular orbit is like trying to walk on a merry-go-round platform. Straight is not what it seems. If you move perpendicular to the line from the satellite to Earth’s center, the forces are small, and the maneuvers are easy. If you move any distance directly away from, or toward Earth’s surface, the forces can be noticeable, although moving inward should be okay, but moving out is not. The physics is simple, and Aldrin proved such a master at it that he seemed more to be taking a leisurely stroll through space than attacking the problems that had frustrated and endangered previous astronauts. He erased NASA’s grave doubts about its chances of landing astronauts on the lunar surface.

Aldrin moved down the nose of the Gemini to the Agena like a weightless swimmer, working his way almost effortlessly along a six-foot rail he had locked into place once he was outside. Next came looping the end of a 100-foot line from the Agena to the Gemini for a later experiment, the job that had left Dick Gordon in a sweatbox of exhaustion. Buzz didn’t show even a hint of heavy breathing, perspiration, or an increased heart rate. When he spoke, his voice was crisp, sharp, clear. What he did seemed incredibly easy, but it was the direct result of his incisive study of the problems and the equipment he’d brought from Earth. He also made sure to move in carefully timed periods, resting between major tasks, and keeping his physical exertion to a minimum. When he reached the workstation in the rear of his ship, he slipped his feet into his “golden slippers” and secured his body to the vehicle with the waist tether.

Using his self-fashioned EVA aids, Buzz Aldrin works effortlessly outside
Gemini 12
. (NASA)

Buzz hooked different equipment to
Gemini 12
, dismounted other equipment, shifted them about, and reattached them. He used a unique “space wrench” to loosen and tighten bolts with effortless skill. He snipped wires, reconnected wires, and connected a series of tubes.

Mission Control hung on every word exchanged between Aldrin and Lovell and asked, “Buzz, how do those slippers work?”

“They’re great, just great,” Buzz smiled. “I don’t have any trouble positioning my body at all.”

*   *   *

Neil Armstrong was in disbelief listening to Aldrin lay the blueprint for a successful EVA. Neil said quietly, “Buzz you can fly with me anytime,” and would he ever.

At the end, Aldrin’s doctorate in astronautics from MIT solved the final critical procedure moon-bound astronauts would need to make it all the way to their destination.

In ten flights and twenty months Project Gemini had come from behind in America’s fierce competition with the Russians.

Cosmonauts were still clumsily plodding through orbit compared with the freewheeling antics of the Gemini crews.

No cosmonaut had yet mastered rendezvous. No Russian spacecraft had yet docked with one another. They had conducted only one EVA, and were far from the EVA skills Buzz Aldrin had just given the science.

Apollo was next. America was on a roll, moving fast to fulfill President Kennedy’s promise to send a human to the moon before the 1960s ended.

But in only days beyond the holiday season, NASA would learn it was moving too fast. America would pay a terrible, heartbreaking price to be first on the moon.

Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee suited up for their
Apollo 1
launchpad test. (NASA)