Kursk Down (20 page)
An area equal to three square miles around the sunken
K-141
, plus a long swath following the
Kursk
’s final path, was inspected with the latest scientific equipment. Several metal fragments were collected and proved to be portions of the
Kursk
’s inner and outer hulls. Damage to the samples gave clear evidence of a tremendous onboard explosion originating in the
Kursk
torpedo room. The search revealed no indication of collision with another vessel.
The leader of the accident investigation commission, Klebanov, was to later state that experts no longer considered collision with another vessel to be the most likely cause of the tragedy. Evidently, the “experts” did not include many high-ranking Navy officers, who were far from ready to give up the collision theory. Building on the rumor of the earlier alleged secret conversation with President Clinton, a story was leaked: the
Mir
submersibles did discover debris from a U.S. sub. This “proof” had been suppressed in accordance with the supposed PutinClinton agreement.
2 October 2000
As the twin
Mirs
worked the seabed, Rubin Design was busy selecting the firm that would supply divers and equipment for entry into the
Kursk
. After extensive interviews and discussions of cost, a decision was made. The Russians signed a contract in St. Petersburg, with the fee reported to be $7 million. The chosen company’s spokesperson explained that the low bid would be offset by the high profile of the operation. Rubin Design had hired Halliburton AS, a Norwegian subsidiary of an American energy services company.
With diving soon to begin, testing the water for radioactive materials intensified. The Norwegian Radiation Protection Authority noted no trace of contamination around the boat and they were set to evaluate samples from inside the hull when available. Since no radiation had been detected, there was confidence that all nuclear safety systems were working properly and the divers would not be endangered.
Halliburton delivered a world-class diving team. Don Degener, the only American selected for the
Kursk
job, in many ways typified the experienced diver. During a career that spanned almost three decades, he had worked on oil rigs and a variety of undersea construction projects.
To support the divers, Halliburton AS acquired the use of a platform ship, the
Regalia.
It is a bit strange to call the
Regalia
a ship even though it is a self-powered vessel that has a sea crew of sailors. The
Regalia
looks more like a massive, block-square, floating construction site, complete with metal buildings, a helipad, derricks, cranes, and other equipment. Built expressly for the purpose of serving offshore industries, the
Regalia
is an ideal mother ship. It can handle 18 saturation divers in three pressure chambers, each of which accommodates six men. There are two diving bells, both with three-man capacity. Built in Sweden during 1985, the
Regalia
was designed as what is known as a “semisubmersible” platform, with deep pontoonlike hulls extending down into the water. It is extremely stable and capable of continuing operations in rough weather and high seas.
When Degener arrived, he became part of an 18-man team that consisted of one South African, a Norwegian, and nine British divers. They would soon be joined by the six Russians who were completing their training in St. Petersburg.
On Monday, October 9, 2000, the
Regalia
sailed for Honningsvag, Norway, to collect special equipment.
During early contract negotiations, Halliburton AS engineers had studied the best method of cutting through the
Kursk
hulls. Slicing the thick steel would be difficult enough working in a shipyard dry dock. Doing it underwater made the job far more demanding and dangerous. To further complicate matters, long-term forecasts placed the likelihood of violent storms at almost 100 percent.
After reviewing their options, the technical staff contacted Oil States MCS, Ltd., in England, a firm that provides a unique abrasive water-jet cutting system. The process was originally developed as a means of severing undersea pilings and pipes. Advances in the technology allowed it to be used for cutting through flat as well as curved surfaces.
In the jet system, copper slag, a highly abrasive substance, is mixed with water and pumped through a highpressure hose to the cutting head. The water jet would strike the metal to be cut with a force of more than 14,500 pounds per square inch.
Within days after the contract was awarded, the system was given a six-hour test. A robotic control device was attached to a steel plate similar to the
Kursk
hull. The cutting head was then locked on to the robot arm, which allowed the system operator to direct the cutter’s movement as the cut progressed. The trial proceeded smoothly. An enthusiastic team packed the equipment in portable buildings similar to cargo containers. These modules were then trucked to Honningsvag and loaded onto the
Regalia.
Cruising at a stately six knots, the
Regalia
then set out for the salvage site. While the
Regalia
plowed her way through the icy waves, a series of seemingly random events occurred. Examined one at a time, these incidents do not seem connected. Taken as a whole, they reveal a picture of Russia and the confusion that was engulfing the country.
The Navy high command had decided to boost morale and at the same time display the value of the Navy to the defense of Russia. So on October 11, ceremonies were held to celebrate the 300th anniversary of the founding of the Russian Navy. The public display of honoring past naval heroes generated some interest from the news media. But the event was not the hoped-for success because, in the midst of the celebration, Admiral Vladimir Kuroyedov, head of the Russian Navy, again stated his intention to resign. He also took full responsibility for the
Kursk
catastrophe. The
Kursk
’s dark shadow dimmed the festivities. Reality collided with rhetoric, and reality won.
Next, on Friday, October 13, Ilya Klebanov, the deputy prime minister heading the
Kursk
investigation, formally announced the
Mir
sea-floor search had found nothing, and a collision with another submarine was not the most likely cause of the disaster. That single statement began to unravel the collision theory.
The final event in this period occurred on October 19, when a letter from Irina Lyachina, widow of Gennadi Lyachin, the
Kursk
commander, appeared in
Komsomolskaya Pravda.
She accused Murmansk regional authorities of misusing money collected to aid families of
Kursk
crewmen. And she resigned her position on the commission’s board. In the aftermath, the Murmansk regional governor froze the bank accounts and called for a government audit. President Putin, who must have been wondering if the entire
Kursk
mess would ever fade away, ordered the deputy prime minister in charge of social services to investigate.
If nothing else, these happenings, along with constant statements from ranking Navy officers that the bodyrecovery attempt would be stopped if it became overly dangerous, indicated Russian military and political leadership were in turmoil.
20 October 2000—The Kursk Site
The
Peter the Great
was slowly working a grid pattern, cruising back and forth across the sea on patrol. The practice of dropping depth charges and hand grenades to ward off unwelcome sub-sea interlopers who might be attempting to enter the wreck had continued. In the cruiser’s wake there were explosions that blew columns of water high into the sky. As the
Regalia
approached the area, those on board could see the white geysers and hear the hollow booms made by the explosives.
For October, the seas were reasonably calm. The weather window, however, was closing. Violent storms were on the way and it was feared a combination of wind and waves would make it impossible for the diver-support ship to hold position, forcing work to stop and the entire mission to be abandoned.
Utilizing satellite navigation aids, the
Regalia
was located over the wreck. The ship hovered over the spot on the bottom, 353 feet below, using the power of its thruster-propeller system.
Shortly after the
Regalia
’s arrival, relatives of the lost submariners, civilian dignitaries, and naval officers had come on board. A brief memorial service was held to honor the dead.
In anticipation of beginning work quickly, video and radiation-monitoring devices were lowered to the sunken boat so the divers could study conditions. Even with underwater visibility somewhat limited, the first looks at the sub were awe inspiring. Under bright camera lights the huge shape loomed out of the darkness like a goliath in a Mesozoic sea.
The visual survey completed, plans were laid for making the first cut. And the divers completed their pressurized saturation of the oxygen-helium gas mixture they would be breathing for the coming weeks.
Using Rubin Design’s wire templates, decisions were made on how and precisely where to anchor the cutting nozzle and manipulator arm onto the sub’s outer skin. With all equipment inspected and approved, it was time to begin. Work was once more going to continue on a 24hour basis.
The first crew of three divers went through the airlock from the pressurized habitat into the cramped diving bell. The trio was lowered to the bottom, where one, as usual, remained inside the bell to monitor air, communications links, and heated water supplies sent down from above. The other two slithered out the open bottom and entered the ocean gloom.
Powerful lights on their helmets illuminated only a small portion of the sleek, curving hull. Resting level on the bottom, the
Kursk
towered five stories above them. As they floated next to the submarine at its approximate midpoint, their brilliant lamps could not penetrate the darkness enough to see the bow or stern. Severe destruction, however, was clearly visible on the forward portion of the sub.
They swam alongside the vessel, moving upward until the sail loomed into view and the damage was evident. The masts for periscopes, radar, and radio had been torn away. It was still possible to wiggle into the enclosed lookout station where Captain Lyachin had stood before going to sea for the final time. As they glided back down again, close to the bottom, “marine snow” or fine silt was churned up from the seabed, which reduced vision even more.
Working in practiced unison, the crew rigged racks of floodlights lowered from the
Regalia
to illuminate their operations area. Following the dive plan and using instructions from above to assist them, they located a maintenance hatch. Inside, they singled out the line leading to the compressed air tanks. Severing that pipe would be their first challenge.
Next, they painstakingly fitted the robot that would hold and control the cutting system. Their lifeline umbilicals, extending 65 feet behind each of them to the bell, also contained a return line to recycle the expensive helium-oxygen breathing gas called heliox, so it could be used again.
The men were experienced at getting the most accomplished from every moment of bottom time. Their motions had the appearance of a strange ballet. Each understood it was better to do a task once, no matter how slowly, than to rush, make mistakes, and have to repeat an action.
The tools the divers employed had been specially modified for use in hands encumbered by wetsuit gloves. Even the simplest act of threading a bolt into a hole demanded exaggerated care. And like space walkers in zero gravity, correct body placement was required to exert any leverage on a wrench.
Pressure on their bodies at this depth was ten times that at sea level. Nevertheless, these men, who had spent years learning and perfecting the skills that allowed them to work in the deep, were calm and deliberate. They knew the diver’s most important truth: mistakes on their part were the biggest danger they faced. If a life-threatening problem occurred, it would most likely arise because of their own errors. Do it once, do it right, and don’t foul up. Those were words they lived by.
21 October 2000—Aboard the Regalia
T
HE EXPANSIVE PLATFORM HAD ALMOST 11,000 SQUARE
yards of space filled with marine construction and oilwell work-over equipment. Here and there, steel-sided, windowless office buildings jutted upward several stories high. The
Regalia
was a floating, made-to-order city that never slept.
In a low prefab portable building, constructed on skids and lashed to the deck, Oil States MCS engineer Nick Jones and a technician had readied their system. A bank of television monitors delivered real-time color pictures from below.
The first cuts were to be made for safety purposes. The divers had located and opened a hatch in the superstructure. Inside was access to a thick pipe that conducted compressed air from the storage tank to the water ballast compartment. Severing this key pipe would allow any remaining air pressure to blow into the ocean.
The divers affixed the cutter’s robot control, cutting head, and video camera to the pipe. After ensuring proper placement at the correct angle, the engineer was ready to begin. The divers, who were visible on one TV screen, moved away from the work area. The powerful jet, as one man put it, could “cut your leg off like a light saber out of
Star Wars.
”
Turning the system on was almost anticlimactic. For a moment, it seemed nothing had happened. There was no sound, no brilliant flash of light from a cutting torch. Seconds passed, then minutes. Suddenly the technician reversed his controls. Trapped air violently spewed from the partially cut pipe. Quickly, the line was completely severed. They had gained access to the air chamber and it was almost completely flooded. Everyone was relieved.
Following instructions, the divers moved to the next hatch and airline. Then, working at the same deliberate pace, they disassembled the cutting system and transferred it to that site. The tear-down and setup took time, but making certain the air ballast chambers were inert could save a diver’s life.
