Kursk Down Read online

  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

  THE NORWEGIAN AND BRITISH 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.

  If the champagne cork is removed slowly over a period of hours, allowing the pressure inside the bottle to gradually equal outside pressure, the gas escapes without forming bubbles. What’s left is an expensive, “flat” white wine.

  A diver must do much the same with his body. To avoid the bends while surfacing, a diver has to slowly lower the amount of pressure on the tissues to finally equal that of the surface. This process, known as “decompression,” requires time. In general, the deeper the dive and the longer the period at depth, the longer the time needed to decompress. Staying only 15 minutes at a relatively shallow 260 feet requires several hours’ decompression. That’s a short work span for a lengthy return to normal atmospheric pressure.

  To overcome such long recovery periods, saturation divers enter a living chamber or habitat aboard the mother ship. Pressure inside the chamber is gr
adually raised to equal the pressure underwater at which the divers will work. In the chamber, they begin to breathe a mixture of oxygen and inert gas, such as helium or helium and nitrogen. As their bodies acclimate to the increasing pressure and breathing mix, their blood and tissues become permeated with the gas they inhale. After about 12 hours, the tissues will accept no more gas. The divers are then said to be “saturated.”

  In this condition, wearing special wetsuits heated by a constant supply of warm water and specifically engineered breathing helmets, equipped with lights, video cameras, and voice communications, divers can enter the sea and work safely for long periods.

  Water entry is made through the use of a diving bell. The bell attaches to a transfer tube, which is connected to the habitat. All locks are airtight. Divers leave the living chamber and enter the bell, which is also pressurized to the same level at which the divers will work. The bell is lowered to the job site where the divers slip into the water. When they finish work, they reenter the bell. The bell is lifted to the habitat and the divers return to their living quarters. They cannot be exposed to surface atmospheric pressure, as it would mean certain death. They must live, work, and recreate at the working-level pressure.

  Divers generally operate in crews of three and work four-or six-hour shifts. One man stays inside the bell, monitoring pressure, air to the divers, communications, and warm-water flow to the divers’ suits. When off duty, they can listen to music through headphones, watch TV through windows in the habitat, eat, sleep, read, etc. Electronic and other devices that might emit a spark and cause a fire in the explosive oxygen-rich atmosphere are not allowed. Immediate evacuation to normal atomospheric pressure would be impossible.

  Most habitats, which are like space capsules, are small. A seven-foot-diameter living compartment has bunks on two sides and a separate “wet” compartment for sanitary facilities. And because helium is a light gas, divers’ voices become high-pitched. Vocal distortion can be so great communications are jeopardized. So each person is equipped with an electronic voice unscrambler.

  At the end of a job, divers remain in their habitat as pressure is slowly decreased over a period of many hours or even days. Once back to normal sea-level pressure, the divers are free to leave the habitat and “surface.” Saturation divers are brave individuals who undergo this process several times a year and work in a hostile environment. They are paid accordingly.

  20 August 2000—Rescue Site

  Before deploying the divers, the rescue group conducted their own TV reconnaissance of the sub. About 0900 hours, a Norwegian specialized undersea TV camera and lighting array was lowered to the wreck. According to a translation of the Russian Navy Museum’s summary report on the Kursk catastrophe, this effort produced a valuable study of the broken boat. A flaw in the coaming plate of the rear escape hatch was noted. Pictures showed that the entire front end of the submarine, including the first and second compartments, was blown open. An engineer described it as being “like a flower.” The petals were hard steel, forced out and backward.

  Russian investigators later scrutinized the video images from that survey with a wide range of electronic enhancements. No evidence of a collision between the submarine and another vessel has been announced. It is most probable that had even the slightest sign of such an event been detected, the resulting publicity would have made headlines around the world.

  Conversely, if the bow video revealed any hint of a missile strike, that news would likely have been suppressed.

  The TV inspection was carried out by the foreign team under Russian supervision. Since the divers were to work on the rear portion of the boat, most of the attention was directed to that area, particularly the escape hatch. This lessened the chance of inadvertent probing for “military secrets.”

  While the undersea TV pictures were being produced, the commander in chief of the Russian Navy, Admiral Kuroyedov, and Deputy Prime Minister Klebanov, head of the Government Kursk Inquiry Commission, were being airlifted to the Peter the Great. Klebanov’s presence at the site allowed the highest-ranking officers involved to hold a face-to-face, confidential meeting.

  In spite of resistance by the Russians, the divers were saturated and on-site. With the TV recon complete, Admiral Skorgen proceeded to execute the dive plan. The first team of three Norwegian divers entered the bell and it was lowered to the Kursk. Following standard procedure, two men were set to go into the sea.

  A series of checks was carefully performed to ensure all systems were functioning properly. A second inspection made certain the flexible neoprene-canvas body suits were okay. After that, the TV cameras and lights could be activated. Then, trailing an umbilical that contains air hoses, water pipes, lifeline tethers, communications lines, and electric power cables, the men entered the water.

  They expected difficulties, so were watchful of the currents that had plagued the Russians. To their relief, they were untroubled. The huge submarine was not lying at some steep angle to the bottom as reported. She rested almost horizontally. And visibility was more than sufficient to work.

  The sea floor is a timeless yet ever-changing place. A current may shift and no longer roil the bottom, leaving clear water. This may explain why conditions at the Kursk were so different from those described by Russian DSRV personnel. Then again, while not totally impossible, such major changes are rather unlikely.

  To learn more about existing circumstances inside the boat, the divers knocked on the outer hull’s polymercoated steel plates with hammers. The sounds indicated the space between the two hulls was filled with water. Conditions inside the inner pressure hull were still unknown.

  Approaching the ninth compartment escape hatch, the divers made an examination of the mating ring and the hatch itself. Contrary to earlier Russian reports, both seemed undamaged. The coaming, as seen in the video, had a small fissure.

  Working as a team, the two men attempted to open the rescue hatch. It held fast. This gave hope that the escape chute below was not flooded. That might mean the compartment still contained air. Excited, they attempted to vent the hatch, following instructions they had been given by the Russians. The procedure did not work. The information they had been provided was useless.

  When their account reached Admiral Skorgen, who was directing diving operations from the Seaway Eagle, he was reportedly furious. Divers were risking their lives and the data they were depending on was utterly false. The current wasn’t there. Visibility was satisfactory. The escape-hatch mating ring appeared serviceable. The submarine rested at a reasonable angle. And they had been given incorrect hatch venting instructions.

  Admiral Skorgen later was reported saying that he telephoned the Northern Fleet Headquarters to state that the rescue mission was in danger unless he was furnished with correct information. His intention was to gain the needed cooperation or end the mission. Further risking of the divers’ lives was senseless.

  Admiral Popov came aboard the Seaway Eagle for a personal meeting with Admiral Skorgen. The two strong military leaders possessed very different temperaments. Popov has been described as volatile, Skorgen as tactful but direct.

  There is, however, a great commonality between military officers who are seasoned leaders. They may be from different nations, but their characters have been forged on similar anvils of discipline and duty. That background gives them a unique basis for communicating with each other.

  To the Russian, the political implications of this meeting were staggering. What if Skorgen terminated his operation? What if he took his small command back to Norway? The Russian media was already criticizing the Navy and the government for being slow to accept foreign assistance. Now, that aid had arrived on the scene. If the foreigners ended their rescue efforts because their divers were endangered by faulty information provided by the Navy, well . . . An enraged press would crucify any and all involved.

  There was also another reality. Russian rescue attempts to enter the Kursk had failed. There was no indication furth
er attempts would produce success. Good military leaders are objective and pragmatic. Chances were slim, but there might be crew members alive. If anyone was still living, time was running out. Survivors could not last much longer. On a humanitarian basis, then, logic demanded allowing Skorgen’s team to do what they had come to do.

  Admiral Popov made a decision that convinced Admiral Skorgen they had matching priorities. Acting quickly, Popov arranged for a helicopter to take two of the group’s diving specialists and an interpreter to the Russian sub base at Vidyaevo. There, they were escorted aboard an Oscar II-class submarine, a sister Project 949-A boat to the Kursk. They received a hands-on demonstration of the rescue system and were able to study the involved mechanisms. After working all night, they were satisfied. At 0600 hours they returned to the Seaway Eagle where they gave a cram course to the divers.

  Meantime, a member of the British LR-5 submersible team was “revolted” to hear the Russians claim they had done everything they could to help the Kursk. Arriving with one of the most sophisticated vessels in Europe, which had been designed specifically for rescuing men from sunken submarines, the English team was excluded from the action. “Bitterly disappointed,” they had no alternative but to hold station miles from the main activity.

  Murmansk Area

  The three-star Polyarnye Zori Hotel, located in the center of the city, was some 40 minutes from the Murmansk airport. With seven stories and 199 rooms, it offered a fine view of the Kola fjord. The hotel was a major center for cultural and business activities. It is sited near the Ice Palace, the theater, the art museum, the Museum of Local Lore, and is close to the Navy Museum. For foreigners, a double room, breakfast buffet included, ran about $100 per night. Russian citizens paid approximately half that amount.

  On August 20, the majority of the guests were non-Russian. Most of the rooms were taken by foreigners. The same was true at the other three-star lodging, the Arktika, and for the rest of the even halfway decent hotel rooms in the city.