Kursk Down Read online

  According to the German publication, the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB) issued a confidential report to President Putin. This classified document was said to have been developed under the supervision of FSB Chief Nikolai Patrushev. The contents, if true, were devastating.

  By the Berliner Zeitung account, the report indicated that during fleet maneuvers on Saturday, August 12, a cruise missile, fired from the flagship, Peter the Great, accidently homed on the Kursk. A new model Granit-type missile traveled some 12.5 miles and either an error in the warhead or failure of the friend-or-foe identifier aboard the Kursk caused the hit.

  The newspaper reported that a small blast occurred after the missile entered the water. That was followed by an immensely more powerful undersea explosion. Both detonations were observed from the bridge on the Peter the Great, which had been test firing missiles since August 2.

  There is an implication to this story that requires clarification. A person standing on the beach at ocean’s edge can look out at the horizon and spot objects about six miles away. The curvature of the earth limits line of sight to approximately that distance. Even a powerful telescope won’t help someone see farther. The only way to overcome the Earth’s curve is to gain a higher vantage point. Climbing onto a lifeguard platform 12 feet above the sandy beach provides additional miles in distant viewing.

  The bridge of the Peter the Great cruiser is more than 50 feet above the waves. A lookout stationed there with binoculars could easily see a missile hit the sea 12 miles away. An observer would have no trouble recognizing the geyser of foaming white water that would be thrown upward by an explosion as large as the one that tore open the Kursk. Only those sufficiently high above the main deck, though, would have a sight line enabling them to view a distant strike.

  As noted earlier, an officer on the Peter the Great claimed to be an eyewitness to a missile fall and a great undersea blast. It is possible this account was included in the alleged FSB report. And since the Peter the Great was the first ship to reach the Kursk site, there was talk that members of the ship’s command knew where to search.

  The newspaper story was quickly denied by Deputy Prime Minister Klebanov, as head of the Government Inquiry Commission, and Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev. According to Klebanov, his group was centering on three possible causes: collision with another vessel, hitting an old World War II mine, or just possibly an inadvertent explosion on board the Kursk. Klebanov promised to have a more specific answer as soon as his committee completed its study.

  Despite official denials, other news stories, concerning torpedoes fired from the Peter the Great striking the Kursk, began to appear.

  Another glimpse into the workings of the propaganda machinery was granted during this time period. Several Russian newspapers published an unsubstantiated “secret” story about American President Bill Clinton. During an alleged telephone conversation with President Putin, Clinton supposedly admitted that a U.S. sub had collided with the Kursk, sinking the Russian submarine. To make amends for this accident, Clinton intervened in the Star Wars missile defense program and brought it to a complete stop.

  This was an excellent example of sophisticated damage control. The purported deal between Putin and Clinton was secret. Anyone who believed that story would therefore understand why no physical proof of a collision would ever surface. It was not because there was no evidence. It was because the Russian government was concealing what they had found as part of their confidential agreement with the U.S.

  It would be difficult to find a better illustration of how far officials backing the collision theory were willing to go to establish their position as fact. Not all the military, however, had bought off on the matter.

  On Sunday, September 3, an interview with Admiral Vladimir Yegorov, commander of the Russian Baltic Fleet, was aired on RTR television. In one stunning statement, he declared that the Kursk could have been hit by a missile fired from another Russian ship. Acknowledging such a strike was unlikely during Russian Navy exercises in the Barents Sea, he strongly indicated that such an event could not be ruled out.

  Why the Baltic Fleet commander might have even suggested such a possibility is a mystery. The mere hint that a friendly missile could have been involved was against all official pronouncements.

  One reason for such a severe break with ranks might be money. In a military strapped for cash, there must be competition for funds at every level. Damaging the Northern Fleet’s reputation might somehow assist the Baltic Fleet’s quest for capital.

  Whatever the motivation, having an admiral mention a missile as a possible cause for the disaster did not go unnoticed. In response, efforts to reinforce the collision theory were now more vigorous than ever.

  On September 4, unnamed Defense Ministry officials used the Itar-Tass news service to remake an astonishing claim. A story stated parts of a metal railing that could have broken off the top of a foreign sub during a collision had been recovered from the Kursk site. Admittedly, a hunk of railing is not as spectacular as finding fragments of a conning tower as previously claimed by Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev days before. But since no public evidence of the conning tower wreckage had been produced and no further mention was made of that discovery, a rail was better than nothing.

  In an effort to cooperate with the Russians to the fullest possible extent, President Clinton’s National Security Adviser Sandy Berger met with Security Council Secretary Sergei Ivanov in New York on September 6. In their session, Berger provided the Russian with information about the Kursk sinking that was collected by U.S. intelligence-gathering ships. A U.S. naval officer supplied his Russian counterpart with detailed information compiled from the wide range of acoustical data recorded at the time.

  This conciliatory move was apparently insufficient. Nine days later, two members of the Russian Duma, the lower chamber of the legislature, demanded that the United States allow a close inspection of the submarine Memphis. This despite the earlier photo session in Norway that showed no damage.

  The United States, naturally, refused. Recognizing the ever-ready presence of spies, it was not desirable to have Russian “experts,” supposedly seeking collision-damage evidence, exploring one of America’s more sophisticated submarines.

  While the propaganda wonder workers were busy chopping at each other with words and rumors, important work of another kind was being plotted. All other Oscar-II-class boats had been placed on suspended duty and called back to their home ports.

  Ranking naval officers harbored a degree of fear about what had happened on the lost submarine. Was the explosion an isolated incident? Was there some inherent defect in the torpedoes or their handling and storage programs? Had the catastrophe been caused by sabotage? Did that mean they had to watch their crews more closely?

  The magnitude of the Kursk disaster had dampened the morale of many submariners. There was less enthusiasm for extended undersea duty. And adding to the personnel side of the problem, leaving submarines that cost billions of rubles bobbing at dockside was a total waste of defense capabilities.

  The Russian Navy had a serious need to know what really happened. Gesturing and posturing could continue in public, but privately, answers were needed. And those answers were needed quickly.

  CHAPTER 10

  16 September 2000–5 October 2000

  IN AN ALL-OUT EFFORT TO RESOLVE ITS PROBLEMS, THE Russian Navy was about to launch a major, classified, clandestine activity. The fact that there was no way to hide part of the venture made this extremely difficult. Worse, the function they had to perform in the open was going to attract the scrutiny of the world press.

  Ideally, the total undertaking would have been done in secret. The resources to bring it off, however, were simply not available. Accomplishing the mission required a high level of technical expertise, expensive, dangerousto-use cutting tools, and a specialized ship. A compromise plan was needed, one that would provide an airtight cover story. It was decided to use the stage magician’s old
standby, misdirection.

  A salvage operation, to recover the bodies of the Kursk crewmen, would hold the attention of the news media. While focus was on that project, the secret activity would be done out of sight, under 350 feet of water.

  The Navy wanted Russian divers inside the sunken Kursk. Publicly, they would be there searching for bodies. That was a popular goal. Privately, those divers would conduct a classified four-part mission.

  Part one was a thorough check of the twin nuclear reactors. The divers were to be certain the two units had not been damaged by the emergency scram shutdown. If problems existed, the Russians did not want the world to know. Even if the reactors were all right, it would not do to have the media learn Russian technicians were even looking at them. The resulting stories would cast serious doubt on their repeated assurances of safety. So either way, the inspection needed to be accomplished without attracting notice.

  Part two was the recovery of any remaining encoding devices or books, manuals for operating the boat’s systems or weaponry, and the ship’s log. If these documents had not been destroyed in the blast, they had to be located and retrieved. Past experience had shown that the United States would spend unimaginable sums of money to acquire such information from a sunken hulk. Who could tell what the U.S. might try this time. Drilling a hole through the center of the earth to gain entry via the underside of the submarine was apparently not beyond them.

  Even though the codes had been instantly and automatically changed during the first hours of the Kursk disaster, old codes still had value. NATO and the Americans had thousands of hours of taped transmissions just waiting to be deciphered. Newly interpreted information would give valuable insights into Russian plans and preparedness.

  Part three centered on a hunt for any evidence, no matter how slight, to support the collision theory. Performing such a search openly would be tantamount to an admission of lacking adequate proof to support the accusation. And, if such evidence was discovered, it was better to keep it confidential until the most advantageous moment for revelation.

  Finally, the Navy desperately needed to define the cause of the explosions which they knew had occurred. Determining a reason for the blasts would allow modifications to programs and hardware that would help prevent future disasters. Understanding the cause would restore morale among the submariners and allow the Kursk’s sister submarines a quicker return to sea duty.

  The brief entry into Compartment 9 through the escape hatch had demonstrated an absolute need for additional access to the interior. Moving about had been difficult because of the debris. Going from one compartment to another, due to the closed watertight doors, was impossible.

  Diver safety was also an issue. Every yard a diver stepped away from his entry point meant that another three feet of umbilical, containing the air hose, water line, and power-video-communications cables, had to be played out. If any of these vital connections happened to snag or were damaged, the diver would be effectively out of action. If the air or warm water supply were interrupted, the diver would die.

  The ideal method for gaining access would allow a diver to enter the inside pressure hull through several portals. The closer an opening to the search site, the less the length of his umbilical and therefore a lessened risk of accidents.

  To conduct this extensive operation, the Navy called upon Rubin Central Design Bureau for assistance. Originally responsible for laying out plans for the Kursk and her sister boats, the Rubin Bureau was the logical choice. A team of engineers and marine architects was now given what was for them a sort of reverse challenge. Their usual assignment was to create submarines. Here they were being asked, in a sense, to dismantle one.

  Rubin managers immediately began planning how best to cut through the sub’s outer hull, then slice into the inner hull to gain access. Top Central Design Bureau personnel started a critical review of the submarine’s original engineering drawings with three ideas in mind.

  They needed to locate places to make the outer hull incisions in areas free of bracing and other structural impediments so cutting would be less difficult. Ideally, they would breach the outer hull in places where a diver might move between the two hulls for some distance along the length of the boat. Free access would allow them to make several holes in the inner hull from one opening in the outer shell. Finally, for simplicity, they wanted to find the best locations for piercing the inner hull so as to avoid bulkheads and support members. The goal was to make full-size templates that could then be placed against the side of the submarine to assist in locating the exact cutting sites.

  The Rubin team’s next task was to deal with the divers. Not just any divers would do.

  Each of the mission goals required the skills of trained experts: one in the field of nuclear reactor design, one with an advanced understanding of damage evaluation and marine architecture, and a third with knowledge of explosives allied with arson investigation. Finding divers with this expertise proved to be impossible.

  Since it would take too long to train the needed experts in saturation diving, the decision was made to teach several divers the basics of reactor design, marine architecture, and the rest of the needed specialities. The divers would enter the wreck and conduct their inspections. Video images and verbal comments would be relayed to the real experts who would be on-site in the mother ship. These specialists could then request more information or different views to arrive at their conclusions. Although complicated, this plan was the best available option.

  Divers for the mission were selected from members of the 328th Emergency Search and Rescue detachment of the Russian Navy and immediately began their necessary crash courses.

  Since part of the mission was body retrieval, those who would enter the Kursk needed basic forensic skills. To help each man overcome the emotional and psychological burden of handling dead bodies, volunteers from the diving detachment were assigned to work in a morgue and take classes at St. Petersburg Scientific Institute No. 40.

  Because parts of the operation were clouded by secrecy, a dive plan was developed that allowed only Russians inside the submarine. As each hole was completed, one Russian diver would enter the hulk, equipped with lights, video, and a 60-plus-foot umbilical to allow for freedom of motion. A second Russian would remain at the opening, tending the umbilical, ready to render assistance. All non-Russian divers would stay outside.

  Inside the submarine, body parts would be collected and hauled to the surface in plastic bags. Bodies would be placed in special containers to help preserve forensic information. After a hole had been used, it would be sealed to prevent others from reentering.

  The danger inherent in roaming inside the destroyed sub was evident. As recently as 1986, two Russian divers were killed during an excursion into a surface ship that had sunk in the Black Sea. Every precaution was needed to prevent deadly mishaps.

  While this operation was under way, Rubin was also acting as government adviser on negotiations with Stolt Offshore of Norway. Since Stolt had furnished divers and equipment for the original entry into the Kursk, the company was the first choice for the body recovery assignment. Russian divers were scheduled to depart for the Stolt training base on Saturday, September 16. It was a surprise to many when, with little warning, the divers were told not to go. Their mission was canceled.

  The Norwegian Division of Stolt Offshore was reportedly asking the equivalent of $12 million to perform the recovery work. Rubin estimated the job should cost about $9 million. This price differential may well have been caused by Stolt’s previous experience with Russia’s lack of cooperation during the rescue effort. The two groups failed to reach an agreement on price and negotiations were stalled.

  Wednesday, September 20, marked the fortieth day after the Kursk sinking on August 12.

  A tenet of the Russian Orthodox faith is that the soul of a departed person leaves the body and ascends to heaven on the fortieth day after death. So on this date, from one end of the nation to the other, mourning
services were held. People filled country roadside chapels and huge city cathedrals.

  On the military base at Vidyaevo, priests chanted liturgies in ceremonies attended by families of lost loved ones. The city of Kursk held packed services fortified by the special bond between the town and the submarine.

  In a touching moment, a large granite slab, set in the sand dunes outside the town of Severodvinsk, where the Kursk was first laid down in 1992, was unveiled as a monument to the missing men. It is inscribed, “This sorrowful stone is set in memory of the crew of the nuclear submarine Kursk, who tragically died on August 12, 2000, while on military duty.”

  During the day, in contrast to the churchgoers, crowds of protesters gathered outside the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, demanding an inquiry into whether or not a U.S. submarine had rammed the Kursk.

  The mission to recover bodies was scheduled to begin in less than two weeks. But controversy over risking the divers’ lives, as opposed to waiting until the entire submarine was raised to the surface, grew. Many of the dead sailors’ families sided with safety.

  On RTR television, the son of one of the crew members asked, “Why risk additional tragedies? Why deprive those divers’ families of fathers, as happened in this case?” Komsomolskaya Pravda printed an editorial on the Navy tradition of a sunken ship being the crew’s grave.

  The dispute became a moral issue. In an open letter to Putin, 78 relatives of the deceased Kursk crew asked that any recovery effort be postponed. They did not want any more men to “risk their lives.”

  In a way, the relatives’ wish for a delay was granted. Talks between Rubin Design and Stolt had been abandoned. Rather than announce a termination of negotiations, signing of the contract was postponed indefinitely. This setback had the potential to delay the start date for entering the Kursk. So Deputy Prime Minister Klebanov convened a meeting of government officials and ordered Rubin to make a deal as quickly as possible. A list of eight firms capable of handling the complex job was made and discussions were scheduled with each of the organizations.