“What’s the Buzz Board say, Jack?” the Colonel asked impatiently as they coasted northeast, headsdown, over blue water halfway between Hawaii and Mexico City.
“It says: Range to target 1 point 2 miles, R-dot 30 feet per second and closing. Does Mother agree, Will?” It was Enright’s turn to sound anxious.
The AC tapped his computer keyboard beside his right leg. On the center television, Mother’s green face printed “1.2 R… 28.3 R.”
“Seems we’re still in business, Number One!”
“Neither rain nor sleet nor dark of night, Skipper.”
“Endeavor, Endeavor: GDS listening at 90 minutes.”
“Greetings, California,” the AC drawled from a thousand miles due west of Guadalajara, Mexico.
“Bet you boys are just sitting up there, hands folded, looking out the window while everyone down here has to work for a living.”
The two upside-down pilots looked at each other across the twenty-inch-wide center console separating their seats.
“You got that right, Goldstone,” Enright replied without smiling.
“Thought so, Endeavor. Your temps look fine. When we get a good hard lockup on your uplink, we’ll update your state vectors via GDX.”
The two great dish antennae at the Goldstone tracking station in southern California carry the designators GDS and GDX.
“ ’Kay,” a Kentucky voice called from the black sky full of sun.
“You’re 2½ from Baja. We show you 1 point 2 behind your target and closing at R-dot of 26 feet per second. Soyuz is station-keeping two hundred meters from the target and they remain radio-silent. Backroom wants you to roll plus Z throughout TPI. You should have no problem using the COAS for the final approach alignment.”
“Roger, California. Understand attitude-hold in headsup. We’re still anxious about our temperatures with the doors closed in the bay.”
“We’re watching it for you, Shuttle. Your next sunset will be at two hours, two minutes. No problem with your heat load till then.”
“Flight, you got a time hack on opening the bay doors? Don’t want to rely on the flash evaps one minute longer than necessary.”
“We hear you, AC. We’re hoping to have you on station with the target on this revolution by the time you lose Bermuda. We should be able to cycle the bay doors and engage the radiators during your BDA contact.”
“Okay, Houston. We’ll plan on getting the doors open before we lose Bermuda. How’s that timewise?”
“Ah, standby one, Jack… You’re AOS Bermuda at 01 hours, 49 minutes. Then your LOS seven minutes.”
“Roger, Flight. It’s already warmin’ up in here… And we’re now rollin’ to plus-Z.”
“We see you rolling over. The evaporators should be able to handle the heat load another ten minutes, no problem. We show you now crossing Baja California, at 01 hours, 02 minutes, MET. See it?”
“Sure do from the right seat, Flight. It’s very clear, very reddish.”
“Believe that, Jack. And we show your range to target one mile even. We’d like to try a COAS shot here. AC: Your target should be about sixty-seven degrees above the horizon. Sun now about forty-five degrees high in the east, well below the Celestial Equator. Target should be in motion ahead and above you and rising against the stars Vega, low, and Alphecca, high, both northeast.”
The command pilot riding headsup squinted against the sun burning through his center, side window. His face was close to the small mirror of his COAS alignment sight.
“Lookin’… Lookin’. Have stars Altair very low in the east, and Antares about forty degrees high southeast.”
The command pilot gently nudged Endeavor’s nose from side to side with pre-programmed, one-tenth-second bursts of Shuttle’s two small vernier thrusters one on each side of Endeavor’s nose. Each tiny thruster popped with only 24 pounds of thrust for very fine attitude adjustments. The pilot fine-tuned his ship’s position with his control stick as he searched near the faint star Rasalhague in the equatorial constellation Ophiuchus nearly invisible against the sun in the east.
“Good star field, Flight. Wait one… One of’em is moving… moving upward. Jack is checking on it.”
The copilot tapped his computer keys asking Mother to resolve the Crew Optical Alignment Sight observation with the vector to LACE by the rendezvous-radar. Mother’s green face blinked at her pilots.
“Visual contact confirmed, Flight. Range one mile, and R-dot of sixteen feet per second. Angle 71 point three degrees high and increasing as we pass under the target. Have a very bright Soyuz in the starfield ahead.”
“We hear you, Jack. You’re Go for braking maneuver your discretion. KSC will remind you via MLX to confirm Hughes, anti-laser visors down and locked.”
“No need, Flight. They’re in place and secured.”
“Copy that, Endeavor. And welcome home! You are over Texas now at 95 minutes out. Configure LOS Goldstone. With you by Merritt Island.”
“Mornin’, Florida. See you later, California, thanks. Our range-to-go now zero point niner miles, and Jack and I both have a real visual dead ahead. Brightest thing I’ve seen out here. Brighter than approaching an Apollo CSM for sure. Sun angles must be just right.”
“Copy, Will. You’re four and one-half minutes from Bermuda acquisition which will occur over Georgia. And put Jack on the day watch; backroom says his eyeballs are sharper than yours, Will.”
“Thanks, Flight. Just don’t call me Gramps yet… You heard the man, Number One. Into the crow’s nest with you!” the AC grinned with his very best Wallace Beery voice which always convulsed Jack Enright.
“Aye, Captain Bligh,” the copilot laughed, flying headsup, 130 nautical miles above southern Texas 180 miles west of Houston.
“Step lively, Mister Christian,” drawled Wallace Beery with a touch of Blue Grass country in his raspy voice.
“You guys all right up there or what?” the headphones crackled as Shuttle over Texas spoke with Cape Canaveral’s antennae.
“Too much sun, I reckon,” the AC grinned.
“Sounds like it, Will. Make Jacob wear his hat.”
“Roger, Flight.”
“And, Endeavor, we see you really close now. Advise when braking.”
Endeavor approached LACE from below. In her lower orbit, Shuttle sped over the ground slightly faster than her target.
“Range half a mile; R-dot down to 12 feet per second. Target is right in the COAS field, dead center and 83 degrees high. Great visual out the windows. And there’s Brother Ivan five degrees below the target. I can just make out the new window in the work-station module. Must be a Soyuz-TM alright.”
“Real fine, Will. Your freon loop temps still look good from here.”
“A real traffic jam up here, Houston.”
“Roger that, Jack. Don’t run over anyone.”
“Try not to. Skipper is now on the THC for final approach.”
“Copy, Jack. Understand Will is braking manually.”
The Aircraft Commander had powered up the translational hand controller, a square handle with four spokes forming a fist-size cross at the lower left side of the forward instrument panel. With the THC in his left hand, Parker called upon the RCS thrusters which fire fore-aft, up-down, and left-right, to nudge Endeavor into minutely different orbits en route to LACE. With the rotational hand controller, RHC, in his right hand between his knees, the Command Pilot adjusted the attitude of Shuttle’s rightside-up body. Both pilots had an RHC control stick between his thighs, but only the pilot in command had the translational controller for moving the ship through space under rocket power. Pushing the THC into the instrument panel fired two RCS jets in each of the tail’s OMS pods. These pushed Shuttle forward. Pulling back on the THC handle fired three 870-pound-thrust jets in the nose for slowing Endeavor’s forward velocity.