This one couldn’t wait for internal mail. There was a potential real-time threat to the Motherland, and it was outside of the Navy’s jurisdiction.
He listened to the ringing on the other end, rereading the message, preparing exactly what he was going to say.
It took three more phone calls and a total of 36 minutes for the Kavkaz’s message to get cleared from Severomorsk through the bureaucratic layers all the way to Vladimir Chelomei, as the Almaz Program Director. The tinny telephone speaker on his desk rattled as the Kavkaz Captain’s words were read to him verbatim, including the timestamp. Chelomei’s thoughts clicked like tumblers as he unlocked what the information meant—what the Northern Fleet communications officer had grasped a small piece of.
Those American bastards are heading for my ship!
Gene Kranz leaned back in his chair and looked at his Instrumentation and Communications officer.
“INCO, why isn’t 18 hearing us?”
Gene’s voice was carried via headsets to everyone in Mission Control, but because of the military nature of the mission, it was blocked from going beyond the building.
“Not certain, FLIGHT. Likely a problem with the relay ship—we haven’t had to station one this far north before. They got a good tracking lock, but voice is intermittent. Should be better when we pick up the South Pacific ship at seventy-two minutes.”
Gene thought about it.
“FDO, how we looking?” Gene pronounced it “fido.” FDO was the Flight Dynamics Officer, in charge of tracking the vehicle’s position.
“Right on the money, FLIGHT. Perfect set-up for the rendezvous.”
Gene nodded. “Let’s work the updated tracking and start getting preliminary numbers for the first burn.” The Apollo spaceship had launched into orbit perfectly aligned with Almaz, below and behind it, catching up. It was going to take two careful engine firings to raise the orbit enough so they could fly alongside. “Meanwhile, INCO, let’s look hard at onboard comms so far, make sure we’re not seeing anything wrong with 18’s hardware.”
“Copy, FLIGHT, in work.”
Gene looked at the digital clocks on the front screen and addressed the whole room.
“When we pick them up over the South Pacific, Luke will be getting his suit ready to go outside, and we’ll need to verify all systems are good to support that. We’ll also be fifty minutes from the first burn, so we’ll need updated tracking to get the right numbers on board.
“Let’s be ready, people. This is an Apollo like no other.”
The technician at Motorola was an expert with a soldering iron. She’d learned her skill in her dad’s garage in Phoenix, the two of them building Heathkit radios and amplifiers together, him admiring her steadiness of hand and fierce concentration as she fed in the minimum amount of metal and flux for neat electrical connections.
When Motorola had hired her, she and her father had both taken great pride in the fact that she was now being trusted to assemble Apollo communications hardware. The complexity of circuitry required methodical assembly and exact handiwork, wiring and soldering each layer into place. The necessity for perfection demanded extra levels of inspection. After she’d bent over, staring intently through her protective glasses to accomplish a task, she’d move out of the way while a super-visor verified the quality of her work. Layer by layer, one soldered connection after another, they had built the main communications blocks for the Apollo Command and Service Modules.
She wore a cotton suit over her clothes, her hair tied up inside an elastic cap, to avoid stray strands or lint getting into the circuitry. Her mouth and nose were covered by a mask so that her humid breath didn’t add any moisture. The room of technicians looked somehow robotic, all individuality blurred; anonymous pale-blue figures at electronics benches, intent on their work.
As she had leaned forward to accomplish one particular join, her mask bunched slightly under her nose. She ignored it, focusing on getting the tip of the soldering iron perfectly in place to heat the adjoining exposed wires. She wrinkled her nose at the tickling sensation caused by the mask and wiggled her pursed lips side to side. But it was no use, and she sneezed. She stifled it, as she had stifled other sneezes, focused on keeping her hands steady as she fed in the solder and flux.
She finished, pulled her hands away and tipped her head to one side, examining her work. She allowed herself a small smile under the mask. It looked perfect. She rolled her chair slightly away as the inspector leaned in to double-check. Satisfied as usual, he nodded, and made a checkmark in the long list on his clipboard. She adjusted the mask slightly away from her nostrils and continued working.