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British journalist Adam Higginbotham, author of “Midnight in Chernobyl: The Untold Story of the World’s Greatest Nuclear Disaster,” is back with a new, thoroughly researched book, “Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster at the Edge of Space” (Simon & Schuster), about the 1986 space shuttle disaster.
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“Challenger” by Adam Higginbotham
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Flight Control Room One
Johnson Space Center, Houston
January 28, 1986, 8:30 am
The coffee, as usual, was terrible: bitter and thin, the color of tea; almost certainly undrinkable. He filled his cup, returned to the console, and put on his headset. A long morning promise.
Steve Nesbitt had arrived at the office early, checked the latest weather update from the Cape before taking a short walk, out through the duck pond to Building 30, and up the elevator to Mission Control. But from what we’ve seen on TV, there’s no way we’re going to launch today: it’s freezing in Florida, and there’s two feet of ice hanging from the gantry. The Space Shuttle 51-L mission is apparently facing another delay.
Nesbitt has been involved in NASA public affairs for just over five years, and was there for the triumphant launch of the first Space Shuttle in 1981 – helping to respond to press requests and media inquiries from around the world. Since then, he has been the chief commentator for Mission Control, and has provided live commentary from Houston on almost every one of the twenty-four shuttle flights. But he was still nervous.
The responsibility of translating the confusing patois of engineering jargon and acronyms spoken by NASA engineers and astronauts into a language the public can understand begins with the launch countdown commentary that emanates from the loudspeakers at Cape Canaveral. After that – after the count reached zero and the spacecraft left the ground – everything happened on Nesbitt’s watch. There was no script, and he understood the words immediately to anyone who watched the launch on television – on the three national networks, on the newly launched CNN cable channel, or via NASA’s special satellite feed; They rely solely on the Ascent Event List, which maps out several milestones that the shuttle will pass on its way to orbit, from the slow roll to be executed when it is crowded away from the launchpad until the main engine is cut, at the edge of space.
The quiet environment in the Flight Control Room has been designed to concentrate each flight controller’s mind on their own tasks, and only recently has a TV been installed near the Flight Director’s console, to display images of the shuttle in flight. Nesbitt rarely had time to look, because he was focused on the console in front of him. Here, he has access to real-time information about the spacecraft: in his headset, he can listen to dozens of audio “loops” connecting a group of NASA engineers and flight controllers in an internal communication network; and on a pair of black and white monitors, he could see the telemetry data sent back to Earth from the shuttle, a column of numbers updated every second representing one of the hundreds of technical parameters of the flight’s performance.
With several hundred feeds to choose from, Nesbitt has the usual preferences: “Flight Ops Procedure,” which includes data on the shuttle’s engine performance, and “Trajectory” display, which shows its speed, height, and distance downrange. Even with all of this at his fingertips, Nesbitt found direct commentary engaging, and often rehearsed. He takes his public service duties seriously, and hates it when other commentators run off with flowery language, like Hollywood PR people. He wants to play live.
However, suffering from the effects of the cold taken the day before, even though the final countdown began, Nesbitt will receive another launch delay: his throat hurts, and he is not sure he can speak through the whole climb without his voice straining or cracking. He waited in silence for the cue: for the shuttle’s engines and giant solid rockets to light up; for partners in the Cape to announce that Challenger have cleared the tower.
It was almost exactly 11:38 in the morning when Nesbitt saw the numbers on the screen start to move, and a few seconds later he keyed the mike to say:
“Good roll program confirmed. Challenger going down now.”
At the console position next to him, the flight surgeon – a navy doctor in full uniform – was staring at the large TV in the room. It was the perfect launch. Challenger less than half a minute into the flight when Nesbitt gave the next update.
“The engine started throttling down, now at 94 percent,” he said. “Normal availability for most flights is 104 percent. We’ll be down to 65 percent shortly.”
Flight surgeons watched the space shuttle climb higher into the cloudless sky over the Atlantic; Nesbitt kept his eyes on the monitor. “The velocity is 2,257 feet per second,” he said. “Altitude 4.3 nautical miles, distance down three nautical miles.” The numbers all look good; in sixty-eight seconds, which is reported to be the next button on the list in front of people. “Engines are throttling up. Three engines now at 104 percent.”
Ten feet away, down the next row of consoles, astronaut Dick Covey confirmed the change with the shuttle commander: “Challengerhurry up.”
“Roger, step on the throttle up.”
The spacecraft had been flying for one minute and ten seconds.
Four seconds later, Nesbitt heard a voice in his headphones. Next to him, the surgeon saw Challenger suddenly covered in orange and white fireballs.
“What is that?” she said.
But Nesbitt stared at the monitor.
“One minute fifteen seconds. Velocity 2,900 feet per second,” he said.
“Altitude nine nautical miles. Downrange seven nautical miles.” Then Nesbitt looked up, and followed the surgeon’s gaze to the TV set. Something terrible has happened. There is no sign Challenger, only the fireball expands where it has never been – and the exhaust trail of two shuttle booster rockets, twisting in opposite directions across the sky. His console didn’t help: the data stream was frozen. Around him, another flight controller sat in shock, his face slack in shock. No one spoke.
Nesbitt knew he had to speak, but he didn’t have the information to explain what he saw. His mind raced. He thinks he has a responsibility to the public, and to the families of the astronauts. He thought, suddenly, of the attempt on Ronald Reagan’s life almost five years earlier: in the confusion that followed, CBS news anchor Dan Rather had announced that White House press secretary James Brady had died – only to discover that Brady, despite the bullet. in his head, still very much alive. Nesbitt didn’t want to make that kind of mistake.
A few quiet moments beyond half a minute. Agonizing silence enveloped the NASA comment loop; the eternity of dead air. On the TV screen, clouds drifted in the wind; the pieces of debris went into the sea. The Flight Director polled the team in vain for an answer.
Forty-one seconds before Steve Nesbitt spoke again.
“The air traffic controllers here are very careful about the situation,” he said, his voice flat and nonchalant. “Obviously a major malfunction.”
Excerpted from “Challenger: A True Story of Heroism and Disaster on the Edge of Space” by Adam Higginbotham. Published by Avid Reader Press / Simon and Schuster. Copyright © 2024. All rights reserved.
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