Kursk Down (10 page)

As an opposing concept, resignations are offered in Russia for many reasons. One of the best is to determine support levels. Refusing an offer to resign can indicate solidarity or a willingness to work with the person resigning. If the Navy had settled on a strategy of blaming foreigners for the loss of their submarine, refusal might well indicate tacit agreement with that plan.

Even in the face of evidence to the contrary, select members of the Russian Navy upper echelon appear to have taken a stand. Their position was that the
Kursk
was sunk due to a collision with a foreign vessel. It was first suggested that one of the two U.S. submarines had been involved. That was later changed to focus on the
Splendid
, from Great Britain. In either case, a foreign sub was at fault.

13 August 2000—0839 Hours—On Board the Rudnitsky

Driven by a sense of urgency, Alexander Teslenko and his group made good time on their voyage from Severomorsk. Once inside the perimeter of the
Kursk
patrol area, they began an all-wavelength search for radio signals from the lost submarine. By noon they had temporarily anchored to continue this effort.

In keeping with regulations, they realized there was a possibility that surviving crewmen might not know the many reporting codes and radio frequencies. So they started using open-microphone verbal messages in their quest. There was still no response.

At the same time, they were prepping
AS-34
, one of the DSRV submersibles. Further contact with the
Peter the Great
gave them a solid fix on the location of the discovered anomaly. So they hurried to that position, ready to place
AS-34
into the cold, dark water.

Aboard the Kursk

Sitting, staring straight ahead, Dmitry must have realized the constant striving for perfection and total devotion to duty he’d allowed to dominate his life were, in these final hours, of no avail. His last comfort had come from the emotions he’d so avoided.

Loving Olechka had changed him. It was not magic, yet the shift had come overnight. It was as if he’d gone to sleep the ideal officer who placed perfect performance and duty ahead of all else. Then he awakened with the realization there was another, equally if not more important set of values. He’d been touched by a new understanding of what was truly vital in life. His love for Olechka had revealed a fresh horizon. His images of her were soft and fine and beautiful.

One by one, the emergency lights faded from sharp incandescence to reddish brown and went out. Dmitry, shivering in blackness from the clammy, bone-chilling cold, wrote again. “It is dark to write here, but I will try to do it blindly. It looks that there are no chances—10 to 20 percent. We will hope that somebody will read this.”

He must have been momentarily distracted by the constant gurgle of relentless water seeping into the boat. It would have been difficult to ignore the sound and write another line. The air was almost totally contaminated and could not sustain them much longer.

Dmitry, supported by memories that evoked longdenied feelings in his heart, had somehow managed to control his pencil. “Olechka, I love you . . . here are the lists of the personnel of the departments who are located in the ninth section and will be trying to get out. Hello to everybody. Don’t despair.”

Dmitry would have been tempted to add his usual closing line, “Embrace and kisses.” Instead, he turned the paper over and by feel located a place to write one last time.

“Olechka, I love you. Don’t be too upset. Say hello to GV. Say hello to my family, too. Mitya.” She would be pleased he’d remembered her mom, GV.

Dmitry could be glad now for the poem he’d written and included in the package he’d left with his beautiful wife. It contained a promise. In his mind, recall of the final words in the last stanza had to have been clear. “And when the time comes to die, though I chase such thoughts away, I want time to whisper one thing: ‘My darling, I love you.’ ”

In the lonely darkness that was now so full of the love that came from his heart, he probably spoke aloud, in a quiet voice. “My darling, I love you.” His pledge to Olechka had been fulfilled.

CHAPTER 6

13 August 2000—Early MorningBarents Sea

F
LYING HIGH ABOVE THE
B
ARENTS
S
EA, THE
N
ORWEGIAN
crew aboard the Lockheed Orion P-3C/N surveillance aircraft began their regular morning sortie. A direct descendant of the old and short-lived Electra passenger airliner, the Orion is the workhorse of maritime patrols and one of the world’s best antisubmarine-warfare weapons platforms. The term “weapons platform” is used by the military to describe the plane, boat, tank, or other device used to carry various weaponry and deliver that armament to the place where it may be utilized against an enemy. Four powerful turboprop engines allow the Orion to fly search patterns covering thousands of miles without refueling. It can carry up to eight tons of payload composed of electronics gear, sensors, torpedoes, depth charges, and rockets.

On this flight, the plane was not armed for combat. The crew was there, as they had been every day since the Russian sea games began, to observe. The heart of their observation system was called the Tactical Coordinator or TACCO station. Occupying a space on the port side of the aircraft just behind the flight deck, the TACCO operator had all the information being collected by the plane’s many sensors displayed on a single large screen.

The Russian Fleet’s disposition was expected to be similar to yesterday’s. It wasn’t. The ships below appeared to have abandoned their war games.

A radio link to Norway’s
Marjata
electronics intelligence ship, which by some accounts had been leased to the CIA, helped clarify the movement patterns. Many of the vessels seemed to be engaged in a search exercise.

13 August 2000—1615 Hours—On Board the Rudnitsky

The immensely powerful DSRV submersible bore the service number
AS-34
. She was classified as a Briz, which designated her size and capabilities. A little over 30 feet in length and 12 feet wide, she packed a lot of technology into a small space. Her battery-powered motors could drive her slightly more than 3 knots. At a lower speed of 2.3 knots, maximum range was 21 miles. She was also able to lift and carry other vessels weighing up to 60 tons.

The
AS-34
could dive to a maximum depth of just over 3,000 feet and remain submerged between two and three hours. Those capabilities were more than enough for this mission.

Being lowered into the water from the deck of the
Rudnitsky
was a trying experience. As noted previously, the mother ship had originally been designed as a lumber carrier. Extensive modifications had been made to allow it to perform its present mission. And while the conversion was adequate, the seamen had to exercise great caution to prevent damage to the DSRVs.

Once safely floating in the sea, the
AS-34
crew hurried to submerge. The shape of their craft made it susceptible to wave motion while surfaced. Pitching and rolling were acute. Working quickly, they established a radio link with the
Rudnitsky
, performed the balance of their prediving checks, and were ready.

Motors whirring, the minisub gently slid beneath the waves. As the boat descended, light from the sky above began to fade from clear to a gentle violet to deep blue. At a depth of 200 feet, there was total darkness. Even with the running lamps and main spotlight, vision was limited because of stirred silt. The crew knew that nearer the bottom it would be even worse.

Several electric heaters kept the inside of the rescue sub reasonably warm. As she went deeper, it would grow colder.

In reporting conditions to the surface, comments were made about the low visibility. All were thankful they had an electronics trick that could lead them to the
Kursk
. Otherwise, they might spend days hunting blind.

Flying the small submersible required constant attention because of variable undersea currents. The ride, though, was smooth, and changes in direction or depth were as easy to make as in a light plane.

The pilot was searching for a place with negligible current at a depth of about 200 feet. When he found it, he aligned the boat by compass so that it was pointing in the same direction as the
Rudnitsky
, far above them on the surface.

Easing back slowly on the throttle and adjusting their buoyancy brought the DSRV to a complete stop. To execute the plan, the minisub would lie quiet. Experts on board the
Rudnitsky
would then send out a strong sonic probe or ping and a radio signal. There was an automatic acoustic station on board the
Kursk
. If the probe hit it right, there would be a response ping from the sub. The crew would then record and home on that signal.

With the motors stilled, it was quiet inside
AS-34
—so quiet in the deep it was possible for the men to hear their own heartbeats. Then the
Rudnitsky
’s probe, ringing like the metallic ting of a spoon hitting a crystal goblet, was loud in the minisub. At 1620 hours, there was a solid response.

Working frantically to intercept the contacts being traded between the
Kursk
and
Rudnitsky
,
AS-34
powered cautiously forward, then back, then to one side. All the while, the electronics specialist on board tried to align his equipment with the generated signals. It took over an hour. At 1748, they had their lock. It was tight enough to give them a proper fix.

Easing ahead through the blackness was like driving a car on a strange road at night in a dense fog. Their lights were absorbed by the silted water. At times, visibility was less than a yard.

Speed was now measured in feet instead of miles per hour. Then the sonar indicated a monstrous shape dead ahead.

Disaster struck at about 1830 hours. With a horrendous steel-slamming clang, the minisub gave a jolting lurch. They had hit the
Kursk
. Their impact point was, as best they could tell, on one of the sub’s large steering wings.

Fear of serious damage caused a hasty safety assessment. Fortunately, only a few leaks were found. Their hull remained intact.

In spite of calling the situation an emergency, they made another pass. This time they lucked into a clearer view. With this visual confirmation, they contacted their mother ship. A satellite fix was taken on their location and the rescue fleet had the
Kursk
’s precise coordinates. After recording the depth, water temperature, and the angle between the sub and the sea floor, they were satisfied they’d done all they could on this first trip and surfaced.

After a few minutes of jockeying for position, the
AS34
submersible was hooked onto a crane and lifted from the water back to the
Rudnitsky
’s decks.

According to a statement attributed to Alexander Teslenko, the exact seabed location of the
Kursk
was established in 6 hours and 27 minutes after the search party had been dispatched—a commendable feat.

While the crew quickly made their reports, a repair team swung into action.
AS-34
would be needed again in this rescue mission. As work proceeded, two other operations were given top priority.

The
Rudnitsky
once again changed locations. The ship now assumed a position over the site of the wreck. The second DSRV, registered as
AS-32
, was readied for use.

Other ships had been arriving, including the rescue team’s tugboat and the
Altay
, which managed twice to deploy a diving bell. Shaped like an early space capsule, a bell acts as a kind of undersea elevator. Divers breathing normal air can remain at depths of more than 300 feet only a few minutes due to the pressure on their bodies. They ride in the bell, which is kept at the standard one atmosphere and lowered quickly. Once on the bottom, they venture out for the allotted maximum safe period. Then they reenter the bell and are lifted back to the surface.

Since the bell on the
Altay
was used, the Russians clearly had divers on or near the
Kursk
. Contrary to published reports insisting the high command of the Northern Fleet did not yet know the actual condition of the
Kursk
, the presence of divers, along with other evidence, indicates the opposite. Divers were sent to survey the damage and, by hammering on the hull, attempt to determine if there were any survivors.

Sea and weather conditions remained good and the early success boosted morale—as did a rumor. Some were saying there had been sounds from the
Kursk
. The knocking was like someone hammering in Morse code on the inside hull. The tapping was weak and reportedly read “SOS. Water.” Recordings were made for better analysis. No one was sure if these sounds were actually signals. The possibility brought hope.

Aboard the Peter the Great

A very thoughtful Admiral Popov, who had assumed overall command of the rescue operation, had returned to his flagship, the
Peter the Great
. The decision had been made to focus on recovery of personnel aboard the lost submarine. It is possible and even probable that certain individuals already knew any rescue activity was a lost cause. Even if they did, sending aid was the best option. When word of the disaster reached the news media, it would be imperative to have more than the appearance of an effort to save lives.

Press notification merited top attention. The first question that would be asked by the news media was obvious. What had happened? The initial answer to that query was established. The
Kursk
was lost because of a collision with a foreign vessel—probably a submarine. When the time came to inform the press, the collision response had to be introduced by high-ranking individuals. This would serve to increase the veracity of that position. No less a personage than Deputy Prime Minister Ilya Klebanov, who was soon to be named chief of the government commission appointed to investigate the disaster, was one of the earliest, if not the first, proponents of the collision theory in the media.