On April 11, 1970, Apollo 13 launched from Kennedy Space Center en route to the moon, temporary home to commander Jim Lovell, command module pilot, Jack Swigert and lunar module pilot, Fred Haise. On April 13, minutes after finishing a broadcast touring the Lunar Module (LM), oxygen tank #2 (of 2) exploded, throwing the mission—and mission control, and the world—into chaos.
1. Written as a joint effort between Lovell (commander of Apollo 13) and Jeffrey Kluger, Apollo 13 is a technically dense narrative of the mission. It contains a high level of detail, but also does its best to balance Lovell's account of the mission with those of ground control and Marilyn Lovell. it also loops back to touch on the Apollo 1 tragedy, as well as Lovell's first lap of the moon on Apollo 8.
I personally liked the tone and the amount of information about the systems and people involved in triaging the situation when shit started to get real: I felt like I understood enough to track the severity of the situation without being overwhelmed and without feeling like I was being spoon-fed the science.
2. That said: holy goddamned shit. The sheer number of issues and problems and hurdles Lovell, Swigert and Haise had to deal with 200,000 goddamned miles away in the vacuum of space is just—phenomenal. Not only did oxygen tank #2 explode, it took oxygen tank #1 with it, as well as 2 of 3 fuel cells that generated power for the Command Module; once ground control figured out what was happening, the astronauts had to completely shut down their command module and take up residency in the lunar module—a ship meant to hold 2 dudes for 2 days to go to the moon. Not, y'know, support 3 dudes for a return trip to Earth. But needs must! Then they had to figure out how to adjust their trajectory to slingshot themselves back to Earth, on a ship not calibrated to fly with the lunar module as the primary engine with the inert command module still attached. And then there's carbon dioxide to deal with. And lack of heat. And lack of power. And lack of water. And exploding batteries. And general drift. And attempting to calibrate their position against stars they can't see because of the MULTITUDE OF DEBRIS FROM THE EXPLOSION.
I mean: god damn. That's SO MANY THINGS. And NASA and the Apollo 13 crew just...dealt with them. One at a time. Need to scrub Carbon dioxide? Okay, take this part and a plastic bag and the hose for your suit's oxygen and some duct tape and the lunar landing instructions you aren't going to use and MACGYVER YOURSELF A SCRUBBER SO YOU CAN CONTINUE TO BREATHE. Can't align your navigation? Okay, we'll just have you calibrate the damn thing against the FUCKING SUN EVEN THOUGH IT'S PROBABLY A LITTLE CLOSE FOR COMFORT, PRECISION-WISE. Need to power on your command module with minimal power? Okay, we'll just write a new procedure for what's usually a 24 hour process ON THE FLY AND THEN READ IT TO YOU HOURS BEFORE SPLASHDOWN.
It's the epitome of divide and conquer and working towards something bigger than the individual pieces. There's a bit about John Aaron straight up negotiating with all these various system owners about turning them on (or not turning them on) in preparation for Apollo 13's return to Earth that puts the entire thing in perspective: there was no room for ego because ego would kill those men in space. And it's just very harrowing and inspiring and strange.
3. I'm sure there are biases I'm not even aware of due to Lovell's personal feelings for NASA and the space program and his colleagues, but it doesn't feel as vitally important as the fact that this program, however flawed or problematic, banded together to bring these men home in the face of ridiculous, impossible odds.
4. I MEAN THEIR GODDAMNED SHIP EXPLODED. IN SPACE. AND THEY SURVIVED! THEY SURVIVED.