Campfires twinkled on the beaches and along the causeways near Cape Kennedy. Nearly a million people had come to watch the launch of Apollo 11. Many had sweated in bumper-to-bumper traffic from Cocoa Beach to Titusville the night before. Even at 3 a.m. on this muggy Wednesday morning, the headlights of almost 300,000 cars cut through the dark-ness, intensifying the excitement. In 6.5 hours, NASA would launch three astronauts in mankind’s first attempt to land on the moon. It was an event no one wanted to miss. In Firing Room I of the launch-control center, the liftoff team was supervising the hazardous loading of 2200 tons of super-cold liquid-oxygen (LOX) and liquid-hydrogen(LH2) propellants into the massive white pillar of Saturn V. Even at rates of up to 10,000 gallons a minute, the operation would take four hours and was so dangerous that the pad, usually crowded with work trucks and men in coveralls, had been ordered evacuated. Hundreds of engineers and technicians were hunched over computer consoles, monitoring the thousands of separate systems aboard the three-stage booster and the Apollo spacecraft itself. The composite vehicle was heavier than a World War II destroyer. It contained six million parts and a total of 91 engines and motors, making it the most complex machine ever assembled. In theory all this machinery had to work perfectly if we were to succeed in our mission. At 4:15 a. m., Deke Slayton, director of flight-crew operations, came to wake Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins and me. In our windowless quarters, we couldn’t tell if it was night or day, or if the weather had held for launch morning. But Deke had a sheath of flapping weather reports. 'It’s a beautiful morning,' he said. 'You'll go.' Deke and astronaut Bill Anders ate breakfast with us. They were friendly and talkative, but also somewhat distant. The three of us——Neil, Mike and I——were going. They were staying behind. What type of writing is the written material?