Kursk Down Read online

  The controversy over the body-recovery program did have one distinct advantage. The furor helped cloak an important search activity taking place at the Kursk’s resting place.

  26 September 2000

  The Akademik Mstislav Keldysh, a scientific vessel belonging to the Russian Academy of Sciences’ Institute of Oceanology, is registered in the port of Kaliningrad. The Keldysh has been operating for two decades and had made 45 scientific expeditions in 17 areas of the world’s oceans.

  Developed for marine studies, the Keldysh has a number of capabilities. One is its role as mother ship for two Mir deep-water submersibles. These football-shaped, orange and white submarines are propeller driven and fully self-contained. They are capable of operating in depths approaching 20,000 feet and can remain down for 15 hours. Equipment includes video recording, sonar detection, manipulator arms for collecting samples or fragments, and accommodations for passengers.

  After an extended voyage from the North Atlantic, the Keldysh arrived at the Kursk disaster site. The Russian government was reported to have paid more than ten million dollars to hire the services of the vessel and its highly trained crew.

  The mission was carefully detailed. The Keldysh would deploy the Mir craft. Then the mother ship and her minisubs would scour the path taken by the Kursk and the sea floor around the submarine itself. The goal was to find and retrieve debris that would prove or at least indicate a collision between the Kursk and a foreign boat. By combining a sonar search from the Keldysh and rigorous undersea hunting by the two Mir submersibles, the ocean bottom would be subjected to a foot-by-foot examination.

  When Admiral Vladimir Valuyev, first deputy commander, Baltic Fleet, finally revealed the plan to reporters, he noted that when proof was found, “apart from moral liability, there will also be financial sanctions” against those responsible.

  Mir-1 and Mir-2 had experience working with submarines. During 1994 and 1995, the two submersibles had been used on the sunken Komsomolets nuclear sub. The task had been to install plugs in the torpedo hatches to prevent plutonium from leaching out of the atomic warheads into the water.

  For five days at the Kursk site, one or the other or both of the craft were down. The exhausting undersea search required 95 hours of sustained drudgery. Using every instrument and capability, the small, tough craft crossed and recrossed each block of a meticulously laid out search zone.

  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 Fri
day, 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.

  CHAPTER 11

  21 October 2000—Aboard the Regalia

  THE 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.

  While working, the two divers watched each other for signs of “high pressure nervous syndrome.” Individuals who remained below 300 feet for a full shift while breathing the heliox mixture might suddenly develop trembling or other neurological complications that could become incapacitating.

  After four hours of grueling undersea activity, the
first diving team’s shift was up. Another trio descended in the second bell and two exhausted men made their way back to their sea-floor retreat. On the way up to the surface airlock that would allow them to enter their pressurized habitat, they sat shivering in their seats. Helium in their breathing gas conducts heat rapidly, which chills those who breathe it despite the circulating hot water in their suits.

  By the end of the second shift, the divers had completed venting the compressed air ballast system tanks and were ready to begin the real work of making mansized entry openings into the submarine.

  22 October 2000—The Kursk Site

  The divers now confronted a different challenge. The outside of the submarine was coated with a three-plusinch layer of rubberlike elastomer to deaden sound and reduce surface friction while running at speed. This was bonded to the outer hull or superstructure, which was built from steel plate more than a third of an inch thick.

  Cutting through the elastomer proved more difficult than predicted. In an earlier test, the “rubber” material had been dense. On the Kursk, only the top three-quarters of an inch was solid. Beneath that, the substance was honeycombed, which reduced cutting efficiency. The polymer outer coating was going to be a larger obstacle than envisioned, so a planning session was held to develop a strategy.

  It was decided to make two cuts at an angle to the surface. This would create a V-shaped incision through the tough elastomer, almost down to metal. The divers, working with hydraulic chisels, would remove the V-section and then clear away the rest of the material to expose the steel. After fitting the wire Rubin Design template to locate the spot for the first hole, they began to cut.

  This system worked and progress was excellent. With metal now exposed, the robotic arm was repositioned. When that task was completed, the first penetration of the superstructure or outer hull was set to begin.