Once the body had been removed from the crash site, NASA maintenance techs had catalogued and retrieved all debris. The high vertical impact speed had kept the pieces of the helicopter in a surprisingly small area. The subsequent fire had reduced much of it to ash and rubble, including the light sheet-metal cabin and bubble canopy, but the seats, the tail rotor frame and the central heavy metal of the engine and transmission were relatively intact.
Piece by piece, the bits of wreckage were methodically photographed, tagged, loaded into a van and then laid out in a spotlessly cleaned and roped-off section of a secondary maintenance hangar. A silhouette of the helicopter was painted on the floor, and as each piece was identified, it was meticulously placed in its proper location.
Yet despite their methodical work, the NASA accident board had been unable to determine the root cause. The helo techs at Ellington Field had analyzed each charred piece but had found no obvious reason for the crash. A healthy pilot and a flightworthy aircraft had inexplicably fallen from the sky.
Al Shepard was frustrated with the inconclusive result. While the Apollo program was ending, Skylab and the Space Shuttle were starting. He needed any dirty laundry to be kept in-house in case a public hue and cry about cowboy astronaut antics or slipshod maintenance processes caused the already shrinking space budget to shrink further. He also owed an answer to Tom’s family; he didn’t want them to live with the ignominy of “probable pilot error” for the rest of their lives. But his team had found no smoking gun amidst the wreckage.
Shepard needed to get it resolved. As much as he disliked widening the circle, he called his ex-Navy contacts at the National Transportation Safety Board, and they sent their most seasoned investigator—a former Air Force Master Sergeant and senior instructor at the USAF Inspection and Safety Center, with a specialty in helicopters. A native Houstonian.
Miguel Fernandez stood between the two painted outlines, surveying the twisted, blackened metal. Extra lights had been erected on portable stands, and they starkly highlighted the angular debris, casting harsh shadows.
Looks like a dragonfly that fell into in a campfire, he thought.
Fernandez had flown in from Kirtland Air Force Base in Albuquerque the evening before, taking advantage of the travel to spend the night at his mom’s place. His NASA guest pass had been waiting for him when he drove up to the Ellington hangar that morning. The reception at the ops desk had been cool, as it usually was in such circumstances. If Fernandez found something they’d missed, they were going to look bad. The duty officer had escorted him to the debris site, fetched him the coffee he’d requested, and left him on his own.
He sighed, and sipped the thick black liquid from the styrofoam cup. No one ever wanted to stick around and watch him work.
Fernandez had read the board’s preliminary notes during the flight to Houston, thinking about the possible causes the investigators might have missed. He walked slowly amongst the wreckage, occasionally squatting, looking for signs that might prove any of his theories. After that first quick survey, he drained the last of the bitter coffee and retrieved his clipboard, pen and rubber gloves from his satchel. The many crashes he’d investigated had required him to develop a way to keep everything straight while missing nothing. He deliberately cleared his head of the morning’s distractions and started focusing on the details.
After 45 minutes of stopping, bending, picking up parts in his gloved hand and peering at them through his high-powered reading glasses, he stepped out of the painted area at the tail boom. Fernandez was pretty sure he’d found the cause.
He tucked his clipboard back in his satchel, took his gloves off and carried his coffee cup back to the ops desk for a refill.
The duty officer looked hard at him, trying to determine if he’d discovered anything. “How’s it going?” he finally asked.
“Nothing conclusive yet.” Fernandez decided to reduce the hostility. “Your boys did a really nice job with the wreckage, very professional. Best I’ve seen anywhere.” It wasn’t true, but there was no harm in saying it.
A small smile appeared on the DO’s face. “Thanks. I’ll pass it on.”
Miguel slowly walked back, sipping coffee as he mentally reviewed his inspection of each part. He set the cup on the floor and pulled the NASA board’s summary notes from his bag. After he reread their recreation of the flight profile that had preceded the crash, he nodded. It all made sense.
He finished his coffee, then retrieved his Canon F-1 camera and 50 mm macro lens from his bag and also pulled out his magnifying glass and a clean pair of gloves. He slung the camera around his neck and walked to where the largest pieces sat—the engine, transmission and rotor hub. He stopped, took some establishing shots, donned his gloves and then bent down to look closely at the part he’d noticed earlier.