Mission Possible and One Take - Part 1
Imaging a Spacecraft on Re-Entry from 41,000 Feet
There's a moment when you're riding in a NASA Gulfstream III at 41,000 feet, surrounded by advanced imaging equipment, a server rack, and ethernet cables draped throughout the cabin, tracking a hypersonic capsule's fiery re-entry through Earth's atmosphere, that you realize: this isn't a dress rehearsal. Unlike Hollywood productions with their endless takes and do-overs, scientific missions like this one operate on a different principle entirely. You get one shot.
My recent participation in the ECCO-2 Mission Possible in Kauai with NASA SciFli drove this reality home with crystal clarity. As the Mission Network Specialist supporting two of the imaging sensors on gimbals with gyroscopes, and troubleshooting as issues arose, I found myself at the intersection of cutting-edge technology, process, and human performance under pressure—tracking The Exploration Company's Mission Possible capsule as it blazed through the atmosphere at Mach 25 on re-entry.
The Stakes
The NASA ECCO-2 mission wasn't just another test flight, it was a historic first of its kind between NASA and a European startup.
The Exploration Company had packed their Nyx demonstrator capsule with 300 kg of customer payloads—real experiments from organizations that had paid for microgravity exposure and expected safe return. The capsule was on the SpaceX’s Transporter 14 Rideshare mission launched from Vandenberg.
This wasn't a simulation; it was a commercial service with real stakes.
On mission day, as I watched our screens light up with telemetry and imagery data, I understood we were documenting a pivotal moment in European space capability. The capsule had to execute five critical phases: launch, orbit, de-orbit, re-entry, and splashdown.
Our job? Attempt to capture every millisecond of that re-entry phase—the most violent and data-rich portion of the journey.
The Weight of "One Take"
Coming from a world of software development where version control and rollbacks are safety nets, the finality of airborne scientific missions was initially jarring. In our domain, we iterate, we test, we deploy, and if something breaks, we fix it and redeploy. But when you're tracking a spacecraft returning from orbit, there's no "git revert" for a missed data capture.
This realization fundamentally shifted my perspective during our three training flights leading up to mission day. Each practice run wasn't just about technical proficiency—it was about building muscle memory, establishing verbal communication patterns, and creating redundancies in our human systems. We weren't just learning to operate equipment and making sure the pilots hit our waypoints with split second precision; we were learning to operate as a singular, cohesive unit.
A recent drama, Adolescence, did an amazing job of employing the one take method in their filmmaking. The suspense and storytelling that this brought about was astounding, made even more so as you understand the level of work and precision this takes to accomplish.
Just as Adolescence required its actors to know not just their lines but every movement, every camera angle, every beat of timing, our mission demanded similar choreography. The filmmakers couldn't yell "cut" if an actor flubbed a line twenty minutes into their take—they had to complete the entire episode in one flowing sequence. Similarly, we couldn't pause the capsule's re-entry if our systems glitched. Both endeavors required:
Exhaustive Rehearsal: Adolescence reportedly ran through each episode dozens of times before the actual take. We flew three full dress rehearsal missions over 5 hours each before mission day.
Contingency Planning: Just as the show's crew had backup plans for technical failures (hidden cut points, alternate camera routes), we had alternate operation modes for every system.
Trust in Team: In a continuous take, every crew member—from camera operators to sound technicians—must execute flawlessly. One person's mistake becomes everyone's retake. Our mission operated on the same principle.
The Electricity of Mission Day
The atmosphere during our training flights was professional but relaxed—we knew mistakes were learning opportunities. Mission day was different. Walking into the aircraft that morning, you could feel the energy shift. Conversations were more focused, equipment checks more deliberate, and the team's collective attention was sharp.
This palpable excitement wasn't nervousness—it was the crystallization of weeks of preparation into pure focus. Every team member knew their role, their backup responsibilities, and most importantly, how their piece fit into the larger puzzle. The exhaustive preparation had transformed us from a group of specialists into a synchronized organism.
I've experienced pressure in server rooms during critical deployments, but this was different. In those scenarios, the worst case is usually downtime or data loss that can be recovered. Here, we were capturing a unique moment in spaceflight history—data that could never be recreated if we missed it. The Exploration Company had one chance to prove their heat shield design, their parachute system, their entire re-entry architecture. And we had one chance to document it.
Embracing Controlled Chaos
One of the lessons came from observing how our team handled the inevitable surprises. Despite meticulous preparation, issues arose—they always do.
What struck me was how our response to these challenges looked chaotic from the outside but was actually highly orchestrated improvisation. Team members seamlessly shifted roles, communicated in abbreviated technical shorthand, and made rapid decisions based on shifting conditions. This wasn't the chaos of panic—it was the dynamic flexibility of a well-prepared team adapting in real-time.
This reminds me of some of the best high performing agile teams I have had the opportunity to work with, where dealing with the inevitable chaos of business and systems is what makes you great. Flexibility while staying true to your mission is what drives success.
More to Come…
This is just the beginning of the tale. The story of tracking Mission Possible from a NASA jet isn't just about the minutes of re-entry we strived to capture. It's about what happens when preparation meets opportunity, when failure teaches as much as success, and when opening our world and inspiring others might be the most important mission of all.