Choose Strength in Turbulent Times

Character is woven of principle and persistence in the face of adversity. It displays its true spirit during periods of great change and deep unease.

COVID-19 has created optimal conditions to test values and hone resolve.

Two noteworthy but unrelated events remind us that determination, courage and refusing to succumb to fear or accept failure are vital to overcome seemingly overwhelming odds.

Both also show that communicating in the right way at the right time can produce powerful messages that inspire and nurture the choice to be resilient.

Holding Firm Against a Desperate Adversary

Late in World War Two, after months of intense fighting and painful gains made by Allied forces, a furious winter counteroffensive was mounted by the Nazis in the dense forests of the Ardennes region of Wallonia in eastern Belgium.

Commonly known as the Battle of the Bulge, the surprise attack in mid-December 1944 was a last ditch effort by German forces to avoid defeat and force negotiation of a favourable peace treaty. Due to Allied overconfidence, preoccupation with planning and the literal “fog of war” (restrictions on aerial reconnaissance due to bad weather), it initially achieved major success. For American forces, the Bulge was their single largest and bloodiest engagement: they suffered their highest casualties of any operation.

The battle was complex—involving multiple assaults and a moving front across a vast, varied terrain—and continued until January 25, 1945. It included many dramatic twists as Nazi forces fought frantically to turn the tide of the war and the Allies struggled to hold firm. But one encounter earned special renown as an expression of resolute defiance.

In the third week of December, the Germans had encircled American forces in Bastogne, Belgium, enjoyed numerical superiority and were pressing their advantage. The besieged defenders’ food, medicine, medical personnel and artillery ammunition were all depleted. But their lines held. Sizing up the situation, the German commander delivered an ultimatum to his American counterpart: Surrender or face “total annihilation.” Two hours. Then the big guns would begin firing.

The German demand was brought to the acting American commander, Brigadier General Anthony McAuliffe. Accounts are slightly nuanced about McAuliffe’s complete response; however, all agreed it included one, indispensable word.

The general crumpled the order to give up in a ball and tossed it in a wastebasket. His officers searched for the right language for an official reply. Ultimately Lt. Col. Henry Kinnard convinced McAuliffe that, by consensus, his one-word answer spoke for everyone. And so this is what was communicated:

To the German Commander.

NUTS!

The American Commander.

The meaning had to be explained to the confused Germans who were told by the officer presenting it exactly where they should go “in plain English.” (McAuliffe never used profanity according to his aide, so it’s particularly appropriate to be polite in this piece.)

The threatened artillery bombardment never transpired, but German tanks and infantry advanced and were repulsed by American troops emboldened by their commander’s strength of will and how it was expressed. It became an unbeatable morale booster that offset temporary dominance held by the foe and allowed time for reinforcements to arrive.

One word conveyed at the right time, shared with others, and the outlook and outcome changed.

Bringing Three Astronauts Safely to Earth

In April 1970, 330,000 km from Earth and on track for a lunar landing, the three astronauts aboard Apollo 13 heard what they described to mission control in a composed tone but less-than-technical language as “a pretty large bang.”

That “pretty large bang” was an explosion (following a routine maintenance task) that caused the service module’s two oxygen tanks to rip open and rapidly empty. Without oxygen, neither the life systems nor electrical power systems could operate.

Just 26 seconds after the accident, command module pilot Jack Swigert reported: “OK, Houston, we’ve had a problem here.” Asked for clarification, mission commander Jim Lovell said: “Uh, Houston, we’ve had a problem. We’ve had a Main B Bus undervolt.” In layperson’s terms: The electricity supply needed to function had collapsed. The crew discovered that two of three hydrogen-oxygen fuel cells were not working and a cascade of troubles followed. Bits of gleaming debris from the disabled vehicle even obscured the ability to navigate by using the stars.

Originally planned to be the third manned trip to the moon, Apollo 13 was now gravely damaged two days into its mission—closer to its destination than the small planet from where it came. The goal changed instantly from exploring our celestial neighbour to bringing the astronauts home alive.

Lead flight director Gene (Eugene) Kranz quickly advised the crew to secure the oxygen in the command service module (saving it for the final return leg) and to tap into the batteries and oxygen supplies of the lunar module to which it was coupled. That section, which would have landed on the moon, was transformed into a “lifeboat.”

The next priority: Deciding on a route back. The team on the ground had to evaluate various risks, flight times, distances, onboard resource limitations and recovery logistics following re-entry. In the end, mission control opted for a path that would loop Apollo 13 around the moon (unintentionally attaining the record-setting height for a crewed spacecraft of 400,171 kilometers/248,654 miles from Earth). The objective was to return it as soon and as safely as possible: every consideration had its own unique decision criteria.

Apollo 13 curled around the far side of the moon thanks to an accurate engine burn (confirmed by checking its position relative to the sun, the only star still clearly visible) and began its perilous homeward journey. Now other urgent challenges had to be tackled: preserving energy, oxygen and water and—critically—removing excess carbon dioxide.

To conserve scarce consumables, the astronauts reduced life support systems to bare minimums: the temperature inside the damp cabin fell as low as 3°C (37.4 °F); each crew member had a daily ration of 201.1 ml (6.8 fluid ounces) of water. However, stopping the life-threatening build-up of carbon dioxide was absolutely essential. It could be done by connecting equipment in the command and lunar modules, but the units were incompatible.

In a virtuoso technological improvisation that combined real grit, and applied ingenuity, NASA engineers fabricated “the mailbox.” Made from plastic, the covers of procedure manuals, duct tape and other materials, the device could join the mismatched technology and would reduce carbon dioxide levels. Most importantly, it was designed to be assembled using only what was available onboard. And with how-to instructions read to the crew by mission control, it was built. The CO2 levels began dropping immediately.

The dangers did not end there. A series of intricate and formidable technical obstacles had to be solved before the capsule was retrieved and the astronauts were brought aboard the USS Iwo Jima. (An international/Canadian contribution at this stage is worth noting. Bernard Etkin, University of Toronto engineering professor and faculty dean, led the team of scientists who calculated the precise pressures needed to jettison the lunar module before re-entry. And they did it with slide rules.)

Despite constant awareness of the hazards, the frame of mind that motivated mission control and the astronauts never permitted despair. As flight control officer Jerry Bostick said when asked if the ground team felt any panic: “No, when bad things happened, we just calmly laid out all the options, and failure was not one of them. We never panicked, and we never gave up on finding a solution.”

A must-do sense of purpose twinned with a can-do attitude, and the outlook and outcome changed.

The Persuasiveness of Pithiness

The famous reply rejecting capitulation at the Battle of the Bulge may not be broadly remembered today as 75 years have passed since VE Day (Victory in Europe Day, May 8, 1945). But its potency echoes across the decades and its trenchant authority speaks to us. The terse refusal to submit, stated with austere bluntness and colloquial edge, is clear and stirring.

The story of Apollo 13 is likely better known because the events are more recent. It ended to widespread relief (and as a “successful failure” to quote Jim Lovell) on April 17, 1970, a little over 50 years ago. It may be recalled by those who lived through it or has been learned about through various sources since. However, verbatim reports of two pivotal moments—relaying detection of a catastrophic malfunction and asserting that failing was unacceptable—may sound peculiar. If so, these versions may seem crisp and familiar: “Houston, we have a problem.” “Failure is not an option.”

How and why did these succinct sentences come to be regarded as authentic?

Screenwriter William (Bill) Broyles contributed both lines to the acclaimed 1995 movie, Apollo 13. They have stuck in the public imagination ever since. (Per a 2017 Washington Post article, “Houston, we have a problem.” had been used previously but was apparently unknown to the scriptwriters.) “Failure is not an option.” flowed from the interview Broyles and fellow screenwriter Al Reinert conducted with Jerry Bostick to appreciate the atmosphere in mission control. Broyles instantly recognized the essence in Bostick’s account and boiled it down to the memorable declaration ascribed to Gene Krantz (played by Ed Harris).

Both the actual word spoken at the Battle of the Bulge and the crafted dialogue in the cinematic treatment of Apollo 13 derive their strength from pithiness. Though brevity is certainly crucial, pithiness is about more than just being concise. Pithiness—like stickiness—must resonate in the mind and emotions without explanation or elaboration. The message must be iconic, an instantly processed, compelling statement of distinct significance and genuine insight.

The right content conveyed using the right words and the effect can entirely change.

Reflections

Myriad stories could have been chosen to impart the ideas this article aims to share.

Two more contemporary incidents with a rescue theme came to mind, namely the Chilean Mining Accident (Copiapó mining accident, 2010) and the Thailand cave rescue (Tham Luang cave rescue, 2018). Both are exceptionally engaging narratives that also drew international attention with (mostly) positive results. But in both cases the “captives” could do little to escape: deliverance and safety had to come from the sustained efforts of others.

However, for the surrounded soldiers in Bastogne and the astronauts aboard Apollo 13, inaction was not a possibility. They had to be active participants in determining their own fate. In fact, Jim Lovell cited the creation of the “mailbox” as, “a fine example of co-operation between ground and space.” The selected stories therefore align with the primary intent of this piece: To encourage hope, resilience and self-initiative in confronting COVID-19.

Many cross-checked Wikipedia entries provided much of the background information for this article; specific details were verified with outside sources. The author assumes responsibility for any inadvertent error or misinterpretation.

Links to other stories or anecdotes that would be helpful to those contending with COVID-19 would be appreciated and your comments are welcomed.