Colonel Ralph Foch clearly was not having a good jime. He turned away from Masters and checked the data readouts being transmitted to Masters’ launch aircraft from the White Sands Missile Test Range; the data was a collection of sensor readings, meteorological-balloon measurements, and satellite observations about conditions both in the atmosphere and in the region of space that the four NIRTSats would travel. Foch checked several screens of data with a checklist and binders of computer models devised for this launch, then compared the information with corrective actions being reported by Masters’ launch aircraft as well as the data from the ALARM booster itself. Since the launch was, in effect, the ALARM booster’s first stage, the rocket was already “flying” the mission — issuing corrections to the jet’s flight crew, updating its position, and continually plotting its new route of flight — while still within the cargo bay of the converted DC-10.
“You’re right on the borderline, Doctor Masters,” Foch finally said. “But you’re still within the safety margin. Pending final clearance from White Sands, you’re cleared to launch.” Foch swung his headset microphone in place and made the radio call to the missile-range headquarters, recommending clearance to launch. With airborne clearance received, the ground range safety headquarters made a last- minute sweep of the range, alerted Albuquerque Air Route Traffic Control Center to assist in keeping aircraft out of the area, then issued final range clearance.
Masters grinned at Helen. “You’ve got the con, Helen.” He liked to use nautical terms like “con” although Masters had never been near a naval vessel. “Initiate launch sequence.”
“Crew stand by for launch sequence,” Kaddiri sighed over interphone as Masters made his way aft with the two launch technicians. Kaddiri began to read off the fifty-one- item checklist steps, most of which were simply verifying that the computer was reporting the proper readings and was progressing smoothly, with no fault reports. The automatic countdown stopped on step 45, “Final Launch Clearance, Crew Notified,” at T minus sixty seconds, where the computer initiated an automatic countdown hold and transferred control back to Kaddiri. “T minus sixty second hold,” she announced. “Flight controls visually inspected and checked in manual mode.”
Jon Masters liked to accomplish this last check himself instead of sitting up on the launch-control console — it was his last look at each missile before sending it out into the world, like a parent dressing the child before sending him off for the first time to kindergarten.
Both launch officers and Masters checked the long, slender scissor wings and vertical and horizontal stabilizers on the tailplane. When they reported OK, Kaddiri activated the flight-control self-test system. The scissor wings swiveled out two feet until several inches of the wingtips were visible, and the rudder and stabilators on the tailplane jumped back and forth in a pre-programmed test sequence.
“Self-test in progress,” Masters called out.=^X-wing to fifteen-degree position, left wingtip right… rudder right… rudder center… rudder left… left stab up… center… down… center… right stab up… center… down… center.”
The test lasted only ten seconds. Kaddiri canceled the self-test, then manually set the booster to launch configuration. The wings swiveled back to he along the top of the booster’s fuselage. “Verifying flight-control settings for launch,” Masters called out. “X-wing centered. Rudder centered. Stabilators set to trailing-edge down position.” With the horizontal stabilizers in the trailing-edge down position, the nose of the ALARM booster would dive down and away from the DC-10 after launch, minimizing the risk of collision.
“T minus sixty countdown hold checklist complete,”
Kaddiri reported. She checked the navigational readouts. “On course as directed by Roosevelt-One, time remaining in launch window one, six minutes fourteen seconds.” By then Jon Masters had walked up beside her and had taken his seat again, taking a big swig from a squeeze bottle.
“Resume the countdown,” Masters said, watching the TV monitors on the console. As he spoke, the pressure-secure bay doors on the lower fuselage snapped open, revealing a light-gray cloud deck a few thousand feet below. Other cameras mounted on the DC-lO’s belly, tail, and wingtips showed the gaping forty-foot hatch wide open, with the ALARM booster suspended in the center of the dark rectangle. “Doors open. Thirty seconds to go…”
Those thirty seconds seemed to take hours to pass. Masters was about to call to Helen to ask if there was a problem when she started counting: “Stand by for launch… five… four… three… two… one… release!”
