A new digital flight control system was being designed for the F-14 to prevent upright flat spins and crashes like Kara’s. The system had taken longer to roll out than anticipated and was plagued by technical delays and cost overruns. Once our investigation of Kara’s crash reached the conclusion that the new digital flight control system would likely have saved her life, the project was expedited. Soon it was ready to be tested.
Normally, first flights of new aircraft (or significant modifications to existing ones) are flown by test pilots working for the companies that manufacture them—in this case, Northrop Grumman. But because I had flown the Tomcat more frequently in the last year than anyone else, despite being relatively junior, I was chosen by our squadron commander—to everyone’s surprise, including mine—to fly the first flight. The day before I was scheduled to fly, when I got into the cockpit to check out the airplane’s systems, I was testing the trim button on the stick and discovered that using the button caused the flight control surface to move in the wrong direction. The lead flight test engineer, Paul Conigliaro, and I were aghast. I was supposed to take this thing into the sky the next day, and the flight control software was completely screwed up. To this day, Paul remembers my first words to the contractor responsible for the new system: “I can’t tell you how much this concerns me.”
When we checked the airplane again in the morning, it had been repaired—it turned out two wires had been crossed. My RIO, Bill “Smoke” Mnich, and I rolled down the runway that morning not knowing for sure whether this airplane would leave the ground in a controlled manner. At 125 knots, I slowly pulled back the stick and we were airborne. Soon after, we were raising the landing gear and flaps. I pulled the throttles back from full afterburner and headed out over the Chesapeake Bay to begin our maneuvers. After an hour and a half of flying very slowly and methodically, expanding the flight envelope of the new system step by step, we were safely back on deck.
The F-14 was retired in 2006, and airplanes with this system never experienced another flat spin or aircraft carrier landing fatality.
9
June 21, 2015
Dreamed that Amiko arrived here on the ISS. I wasn’t expecting her, so it was a pleasant surprise. She was here for work—she was setting up a public affairs event for Anton Shkaplerov—and I showed her around. It was nice to be able to welcome her to this place I’ve been telling her so much about. We had a conversation about whether we could both fit into a single crew quarters, and we decided we couldn’t. At least, not for sleeping. She was wearing the same outfit she wore to jump out of an airplane.
BEING ALONE in the U.S. segment, I can go all day without seeing another person, unless I have reason to visit my Russian colleagues. The chatter of my crewmates is suddenly gone, and with it the chatter between each of them and the ground. I appreciate the quiet and the privacy, a rare luxury up here. I can blast music or enjoy uninterrupted silence. I keep CNN on all day, at least when the satellites are lined up, to keep me company.
I do sometimes miss having another person to talk to, even if it’s just to complain about the challenging work schedule or to talk about what’s on the news. On a more practical level, I often miss being able to get a bit of help now and then. Many of the tasks on my schedule are doable by one person but would be much easier with another pair of hands at key moments. My workdays are longer when I do everything alone. The cosmonauts would drop everything to help if I needed them to, but they have their own work, and the delicate exchange of labor, resources, and money between our two space agencies is complex. I don’t want to complicate it further by asking for free help.
Today is Gennady’s birthday, and we have a special dinner in his honor. I give him the gift I remembered to pack: a ball cap with embroidered U.S. Navy pilot’s wings. Today is also Father’s Day, so we wind up talking about our children. Gennady has three daughters—two now grown and a twelve-year-old like Charlotte, along with a granddaughter close in age to his youngest daughter. He says he has regrets about missing his daughters’ childhoods because he was so focused on his career. He says he’s a much different father now than when they were younger. We both say we are looking forward to spending more time with our kids when we get back.
After we say our good nights and I go back to my CQ, I find an email from my ex-wife Leslie, which is unusual. She generally doesn’t deal with me directly. She wanted to let me know that she had heard from Charlotte’s teacher. A few days ago, Charlotte’s class was playing a game, and she was first to choose her teammate. Charlotte could easily have chosen one of her friends, but instead she chose a classmate who is developmentally challenged and has never been chosen first for anything. The teacher was so touched, she created a special award for Charlotte for always doing the right thing. Leslie’s email makes me feel both closer to Earth and farther away at the same time. It nearly brings a tear to my eye.
—
I WAKE UP early in the morning, six a.m., and float out of my CQ, through the lab and Node 1, turning on lights as I go. I turn right, into Node 3, where I go into the WHC. I don’t start it up, though—today is a science sample collection day. The process of urination is going to be even more complicated than usual. I grab a urine collection bag, clear plastic with a condom attached to one end. I put the condom on, then wrap it in mesh bandages to prevent leaks. As I urinate, I have to push with enough force to unseat the valve on the bag to allow the urine to flow in—without the valve there, of course, it would just come floating back out. But it’s hard to push with enough force to open the valve without pushing so hard the urine leaks from the condom—and this is exactly what happens. Urine soaks the gauze, then quickly forms droplets that float out to the walls. I’ll have to clean them up later. After I finish peeing, I remove the condom while trying not to liberate more urine. I use sample tubes with plungers to draw out three samples, initial them, mark them with the date and time, and scan their barcodes into the system. Then I head down to the Japanese module to put the tubes into one of the freezers. I will go through this process again and again, every time I urinate for the next twenty-four hours.