Kursk Down (14 page)

Vladimir Shkoda, editor of the Murmansk edition, disagreed. He felt that publication of the list would offer reassurance to many families that their son or husband was not among the missing. According to his statement, the paper had tried unsuccessfully for three days to obtain the list. It was important to tell the families the names of those fighting for survival out there and just who was tapping the SOS on the inside of the hull. Disclosing the full list would keep many from worrying needlessly.

Publication of the roster over the objections of the Navy, and the manner in which the list was acquired, came as a sharp blow to officials attempting to manage the press. And, since no one likes to be scooped, the release was a prod to the other news media to go after stories any way they could. It was also an opportunity for the media with a political agenda to use the disaster as a means of attacking President Putin.

The first salvo in this discredit-Putin game was fired by painting him as uncaring because he did not leave his vacation and immediately rush to the disaster site. There had been murmurs of discontent along that line for the past few days. Now they became angry rumblings that refused to subside.

To deal with the assault, Putin attempted a direct approach. In a newspaper account of a TV interview he gave from the city of Yalta, Putin was said to have appeared calm. He’d traveled to that resort for a summit of representatives from former Soviet republics. During the interview he reportedly explained that when Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev had informed him of the disaster he asked about the crew’s chances. The response he’d received was that there was a very small hope for rescue, but that it was still a possibility.

He also noted he had not gone to the scene because he felt his presence would only hamper the rescue efforts. “Everyone should keep to his place,” was his reply.

Putin’s remarks, although well received by most people, did little to stop his “lack of concern” from being played again and again by certain news sources. Open accusations of other authorities neglecting their duties soon followed. And headlines became vicious: “Putin Robs 118 Men of Four Days.” The story also contained accusatory comments: “By hiding in sunny Sochi, Putin has disappointed many who thought he would be a different sort of leader . . .” and “. . . then those deaths can be directly attributed to the president’s arrogance.”

Commander of Russia’s Northern Fleet, Admiral Vyacheslav Popov, also chose August 18 to make his first public statement since the accident. Looking grave and obviously weary, he insisted that all the fleet’s work had been directed toward saving the crew. He had special praise for the operators of the DSRVs, noting that they were extremely tired but were not going to quit.

In an open admission, Popov discussed flooding aboard the
Kursk
. He raised the problem of incoming water compressing trapped air, thus increasing air pressure on board. This process, he explained, negated the validity of previous estimates concerning how long breathable air inside the submarine would last.

In the same interview, he attempted to reconcile the now-released Norwegian seismograph readings, which were evidence of an explosion, with the official commission theory of a collision with a foreign sub. In a new spin, he said, “There was an explosion inside a compartment of the submarine, but the reason for the blast could be because of something from the outside, I mean a collision, or . . .” He did not mention that “something from the outside” might have been a missile.

Shortly, the official line would be a collision caused the
Kursk
to sink, and impact with the bottom set off the explosions.

To help contradict the collision notion, the USS
Memphis
, one of the American subs that had been observing the Russian sea games, arrived in Norway. On a scheduled stop for crew leave, the boat docked at the Haakonsvern Navy Base outside the city of Bergen.

There was no effort by the American government to deny that the
Memphis
had been in the proximity of the sunken
Kursk
. The earliest reports of the accident made mention of the U.S. submarines. Four Russian Ilyushin-38 surveillance aircraft, following a submarine, almost breeched Norwegian airspace. Two Norwegian fighter jets were scrambled in response. Then the next day, August 18, two more of the IL-38s repeated the near intrusion. These planes were following what the Russians claim to have been the
Memphis.

As a precaution, Admiral Einar Skorgen contacted Admiral Popov to discover why the Russian planes had almost violated Norwegian airspace. He was told there had been a collision with the
Kursk
and the planes had been searching for the submarine involved.

When the
Memphis
docked, an alert U.S. Embassy obtained clearance and quickly staged a photo opportunity. Russian photographers were pointedly invited to participate. The offer was instantly accepted and all photos of the submarine showed no damage. This session did little to set aside the collision concept, but the shots later served to counter a deliberate Russian trick using satellite photos.

17–18 August 2000—Disaster Site

Crews on the various Russian ships watched as Norwegian helicopters zoomed in low and hovered while taking water samples. Testing for radioactivity in air and sea was now being performed frequently by both nations. Results, to everyone’s relief, continued to indicate no contamination.

Russian Deep Sea Rescue Vehicles were diving in rotation. One submerged, attempted as many dockings with the
Kursk
as possible, and resurfaced. Then another took its place and began its series of tries. This pattern gave the men little rest. They were near exhaustion from their intensive schedules.

Finally, on one attempt, a crew met with success. They docked and managed to lock into the emergency hatch. Following procedures carefully, they achieved a partial seal with the hatch. The next maneuver was to pump water from the escape tube under the hatch before opening it. They tried, then tried again, all the while talking with their control officer on the ship above them. With battery power and air running low, they cast off from the
Kursk
and returned to the surface.

With a crew heartened by the successful docking, the next DSRV sank beneath the now-shallow waves. They managed to dock as well but were equally frustrated by an inability to drain the escape route that would allow the hatch to open. This tense, difficult, unending routine was repeated over and over. Yet the hatch remained closed.

Engineers gathered with the DSRV crew members to view videotapes and discuss the difficulties. No one liked either of the two conclusions finally agreed upon.

It was decided that impact with the sea bottom distorted the hatch enough to prevent forming an acceptable seal between the DSRV and the hatch coaming. This lack of a seal made draining the escape route impossible.

Or, and this was a thought that gave everyone present a sense of horror, one of the men trapped inside the
Kursk
had attempted an escape through the hatch. The tube had become depressurized and was now flooded. The body of that hapless submariner might still be in the chute.

The use of divers presented the best solution to these problems. Equipped with the right tools, a team could open the hatch and check the escape chute. Divers, however, could not bring up survivors.

So it was agreed that further DSRV attempts should continue. Expectations were not high. There was only one bitter, but practical, alternative. They could stop operations and await the arrival of foreign assistance.

These were courageous men, with powerful spirits, strong pride in country, belief in their Navy, and an unquenchable will to win. They refused to sit and do nothing.

CHAPTER 8

18 August 2000—Aboard the Normand Pioneer

T
HE
N
ORWEGIAN AND
B
RITISH TEAMS THAT RACED TOWARD
the disaster site were strongly united by their mission to save lives. And they were rapidly approaching the unofficial “stay alive for seven days” rule for submariners trapped in the deep. The 21 engineers, doctors, and rescuers on board the
Normand Pioneer
were scheduled to arrive at 1800 hours the next day. The divers on
Seaway Eagle
would be on station five hours later. When they got to the site, they wanted to be ready to begin operations. So they asked the Russians for information and meetings on board the
Normand Pioneer
while en route. The Russians demurred.

A Royal Navy officer, Commodore David Russell, was the scene-of-action commander for the British diving team. Norwegian Vice Admiral Skorgen personally led the Norwegian contingent. Neither man wanted to be idle during the journey. If the data requested was provided, the transit period could be used to better prepare.

The Russians, possibly to give their comrades more time to gain entry into the
Kursk
on their own, wished to hold off technical discussions and planning until the foreigners arrived on-site. Another explanation for this delay might have been that the Russians knew or strongly suspected all on board the
Kursk
were dead, and one day more or less would be of little importance.

Admiral Skorgen, a highly intelligent, very direct, effective military commander, was so frustrated by Russian resistance that he set a deadline. Russian experts would meet with his people, the LR-5 team, and the divers no later than August 19.

Late on August 18, the Russians finally gave their approval. A team was flown to an airfield in Vardoe, Norway. There, they boarded a Norwegian GKN-Westland Sea King rescue helicopter and were transported to the
Seaway Eagle
. Their arrival set the stage for the first trilateral technical assistance meeting the next morning.

Rescue Site

Even though work by the crews manning the Deep Sea Rescue Vehicles had been curtailed by the engineering report, they wanted to continue. As long as there was even the slightest chance of making a sealed, watertight docking, they were willing to try. Every trip to the bottom was life threatening, but they accepted that risk.

The first DSRV was down almost two grueling hours. Finding the sub was no longer a problem. Little time was wasted in transit, which allowed several docking attempts to be made on each trip.

Nearing exhaustion, rescue workers had deteriorated reflexes. Moving cautiously through the darkness, inching along the outer hull, struggling not to overcontrol, trying to keep the DSRV stable and lined up with the hatch—all were taxing and frustrating. The men continued, however, diving again and again, operating on nerve and pride.

19 August 2000—Aboard the Normand Pioneer

The Russian-Norwegian-British technical conference went well enough. A plan for the diving routine was developed, modified, and approved—with one small omission. No specific time for the divers to start was established. There were conflicting reports about bottom conditions and the sub’s angle of rest. And if the worst were true, divers would find it almost impossible to work.

By 1930 hours, the
Normand Pioneer
and the
Seaway Eagle
had the flotilla in sight. Then the spirit of that morning’s cooperation waned.

Both ships were ordered to stop and hold their positions. When asked why, the Russians replied that they wanted time for their DSRVs to make two more docking attempts. If these failed, they would utilize the deep-sea divers. When would the final Russian effort end? Sometime on August 20, the next day.

Admiral Skorgen had a different concept of his mission. He was quoted as saying, “That has irritated me a little bit, that we have to accept to wait. But this is the fact, this is a Russian operation. We are supporting them and have to accept it.”

Even so, he instantly argued against any delay. Skorgen pointed out that his intention, and that of his team, was to save lives. Playing the role of a passive observer was out of the question. After some debate, a compromise was reached. The
Seaway Eagle
was allowed to proceed to its diving station. The
Normand Pioneer
, with its cargo of the British
LR-5
, was to remain some 20 nautical miles away. At least the divers, who had been prepping themselves, would be in a position to perform the work they had been brought in to do.

Using newly installed satellite navigation gear, the
Seaway Eagle
positioned itself above the wreckage. Once she was in place, computers were locked on to the location by satellite fix. As the ship, displaced by currents, waves, and swells, drifted off station even the slightest amount, sensors detected the change. Electronically, computers started and stopped enormous underwater propellers, called “thrusters,” that maneuvered the ship in any desired direction. This constant relocation allowed the vessel to hover in the water over an exact spot without anchoring. While “dynamic positioning” was being established, the divers were completing the time required to acclimate themselves to the depth at which they were to work.

Saturation diving requires highly skilled, well-trained men, a special ship with pressurized living quarters, and time to “saturate” the divers.

As a diver goes deeper, external pressure on his body increases because the weight of water is greater than that of air. For normal breathing, air must be supplied to the diver’s lungs at a pressure about equal to that around the diver’s body.

Breathing air at higher and higher pressure causes some of the inert gases, notably nitrogen, to dissolve into the diver’s body. If the diver surfaces too quickly, the dissolved gas will form bubbles in the tissues and bloodstream. These bubbles cause acute pain and can be fatal. This condition is known as decompression sickness. If the bubbles form in the body’s joints, the diver “bends” in pain, hence the common name “bends.” The bubbles may cause dizziness, blindness, hearing problems, loss of consciousness, and even result in death.

The process of releasing pressure can be compared to opening a bottle of champagne. Pop the cork off suddenly and you expose the bottle’s contents to normal air pressure. The gas dissolved in the liquid suddenly is freed from the solution. Hence the familiar foaming overflow.