Launch on Need by Daniel Guiteras (small books to read txt) 📗

veteran spaceflight spectators said had been missing from the Cape since July 1969—back when a Saturn V rocket sat waiting on the very same launch pad, begging to take three men to the moon.

Atlantis and her crew were alone now on pad 39A. The final nine-minute countdown to launch was about to begin. Closeout personnel, or “Cape crusaders,” had done their jobs, helped the crew into their seats, said their goodbyes, closed and locked the hatch, and finally had evacuated the launch platform by T-minus-twenty-minutes.

Local time at Cape Canaveral was now 11:02 P.M., but at launch pad 39A where Atlantis and her crew waited it was bright as daytime. From every conceivable angle, Sterner Infranor series 595 lamps blasted the shuttle stack and the fixed and rotating service structures. The white solid rocket boosters and the wings of Atlantis glistened and shimmered like a Hollywood starlet bathed in the glow of a billion candelas.

In the adjacent Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge, snow egrets, double-crested cormorants and green-backed herons scampered in their habitat; the light-spill from the launch pad had triggered a fear response in them. It was just another hazard of living next door to such an explosively bright, deafeningly loud, great beast of a neighbor.

Nearly all television programming had been preempted by coverage of the Atlantis launch, except for on some of the more obscure cable stations; but even they added a news bulletin crawl. The Food Network was showing its support for the NASA frenzy; all week long it had been airing special programming on how and what to serve if you were throwing a launch party. The network’s most popular hosts demonstrated how to grill perfect “rocket dogs” and “launch patties.”

Today, mobile camera crews invaded sports bars across the country. No matter the city they reported from, the results were the same: The bars were all packed with people waiting for the launch of Atlantis. Not the least bit camera-shy, these patrons raised their glasses and cheered; they would act no differently if their team was just minutes away from winning the Super Bowl.

On CNN, one of Stangley’s coworkers reported on the worsening traffic conditions around the Cape.

“Thanks, Pat, we’re standing on State Route four-oh-five, just east of the Indian River crossing, and as you can see as our cameraman pans over my left shoulder here, it’s become a parking lot. Now normally it would take a horrendous crash to shut down traffic flow like this, but tonight drivers hoping to catch a glimpse of the rescue launch began abandoning their cars on SR four-oh-five an hour-and-a-half ago because traffic stopped completely. We’re told by local news sources here that U.S. Highway 1 along the Indian River, the Bennett Causeway and the A1A along the Atlantic down through Cocoa Beach also are closed to through traffic, again due to cars being abandoned on roadways.”

People moved in behind the CNN reporter, smiling and cheering and holding up peace signs, trying to get on camera for a few seconds of fame.

“Everyone here is hopeful that the launch will occur soon. Most have been waiting for five hours or more, and so far no one’s complaining. They’re all just glad to be there. We’ve been told by several spectators that the very best viewing sites, well known to the locals here in Florida, began disappearing as early as five days ago. We’re keeping our fingers crossed for a successful launch tonight. Reporting live from State Route four-o-five, June Ridder, CNN news.”

“COUNTDOWN FOR ATLANTIS will resume on my mark,” came the announcement from the Kennedy Space Center’s control room. “Three, two, one, mark. T-minus-nine minutes and counting.”

The countdown clock located in the foreground of the press viewing area finally started moving. It had been stuck on nine minutes zero seconds for the past three hours and twenty-seven minutes.

“Where the hell is Stangley? The clock’s running again, get him in here dammit,” the producer yelled from CNN’s mobile production trailer at the Kennedy Space Center.

Stangley was just a few booths down talking with his colleagues, so it wasn’t long before the message reached him. He jogged the 20 yards or so then burst up the stairs into CNN’s booth. His producer looked up at him but said nothing.

“What?” Stangley said, sensing an attitude from his producer. “You know I’ve spent the past three hours rehashing the same crap over and over, waiting for the clock to restart,” Stangley said, trying to cover his embarrassment over missing the clock restart. “Then I finally step out for some fresh air and a soda,” he continued while scrambling to his seat, “I’m gone what, ten minutes, and the clock starts again. Didn’t we get a heads up from NASA for the restart?” Two production assistants looked at him but said nothing as they checked his hair and dabbed his forehead with a small white cloth to cut the shine.

Stangley unbuttoned the cuffs of his light-blue oxford button-down and flipped them back two turns. He quickly fastened his lapel mike, then took his earpiece from one of the assistants.

“John, I need a level,” the producer said into Stangley’s earpiece.

“Check, check,” Stangley fired back. “I’m ready.”

“Okay you’re on in ten, nine… Oh and by the way, John,” his producer added, “NASA didn’t ask us if we were ready before restarting the clock.”

Stangley smiled and nervously moved his shuttle models on the desk in front of him. In his earpiece he heard the producer continue her count, “four… three… two… one,” then her voice stopped, and a finger just off camera pointed to him.

“Welcome back to CNN,” Stangley said, shifting forward in his chair. “We’re coming to you live from the Kennedy Space Center along Florida’s Space Coast. We continue now with our live coverage of NASA’s historic shuttle launch, NASA’s gallant effort to rescue Columbia’s crew of seven. It’s a little after eleven P.M. here in Cape Canaveral. It’s been a long journey, over twenty days now since we first learned about