Kursk Down Page 16

  The program called for cutting five circular openings through the outer hull to give the divers ample access. Each hole would be about four feet in diameter. After an opening was complete, a pair would enter the space between the outer and inner hulls to clear away piping, various obstructions, and cable. Uncluttered space would permit the cutting system to be transferred to the thicker pressure hull to make four more apertures. Crews handling the cutting system were also charged with slicing samples from the outer hull for later study. It was hoped these “coupons” would provide clues to the cause of the accident.

  As an added safety measure, a preliminary hole, about six inches in diameter, would be made in the inner hull. A tiny video camera would be inserted into the sub’s interior for a visual inspection prior to entry. Then checks for radioactivity and water content would be completed as well.

  Work progressed rapidly and expectations were high. The operation was ahead of schedule and all would be well if the weather held. It didn’t.

  23–24 October 2000—The Kursk Site

  A northwest wind that had been intensifying during the day built to gale force as evening approached. Waves increased to 35 feet, and the crews on the small fleet of ships prepared for a real blow. As the storm worsened, there was concern that the Regalia might be unable to maintain its position in the water, compromising the mission and risking the divers’ lives. On October 23 at 1715 hours, an emergency call went down to the men on the bottom. They evacuated to the diving bell and were returned to their habitat on board the Regalia.

  Storms in the Arctic have a tendency to settle over an area and wreak havoc for days. This one was no exception. With everyone out of the water, space inside the pressure chambers was tight. Each man had a bunk, which left little floor space.

  Since most of the diving crew were exhausted from their underwater activities, napping helped keep boredom at bay. Sufficient rest, however, opened the door to low spirits. Every minute that passed with nothing done took them further from their goal. Eight hours was enough. By 0145 hours on October 24 a team was back on the bottom. Conditions were abysmal. Bottom silt limited their vision and there was the ever present danger of suddenly being jerked backward and thrown down by the umbilical cord being dragged in a sudden motion of the ship. The divers lasted just over an hour before being forced to return topside to the Regalia.

  Toward what passed for dawn in the high regions, wind lessened and wave heights decreased. The platform ship was once more inside its operational limits and could accurately hold station. As soon as the sea crew repositioned her, the men returned to work.

  The underwater team had developed a system for this job. Each circular opening in the outer hull, after the polymer was chiseled away, required about an hour to cut. When a hole was completed, ragged metal edges were smoothed to prevent ripping a pressure suit or umbilical. For further protection, the entire perimeter of an entryway was cushioned with a rubberized collar.

  Then a cleanup crew went inside the space between the double hulls to clear working room. They removed an astonishing array of pipes, tanks, structural supports, and control mechanisms. This task required major surgery with shears and cutting torches because the designers had filled the area to capacity to reduce clutter inside the pressure hull. Once a sufficient expanse was opened, another team set the Rubin-produced templates as cutting patterns on the inside hull.

  To be certain those templates were accurate, Rubin Design engineers had checked their projections on a sister boat of the Kursk. Evidently, not all the giant subs were built to exactly the same dimensions. One of the patterns indicated cutting at a bulkhead joint. Metal in this spot was several times thicker than in other places because the boat had been made in sections or compartments that extended from bulkhead to bulkhead.

  The divers ran into further difficulty when one of the surfaces to be cut was curved as opposed to flat. Improvising, the divers remained at the cutting site, continuously adjusting space between the cutting nozzle and the hull by hand. With water impeding every movement, alignment required diligence on the part of the dive team.

  While the divers were methodically performing minor miracles down below, politics crept into the recovery project on the surface. In what can only be described as a contrived photo-op event, Russian Navy Chief Vladimir Kuroyedov flew to the site. His mission was to cancel the operation if he felt the divers’ lives might be imperiled in the search for bodies. His public stance served to support the notion that body retrieval was the main purpose of this activity. The admiral was accompanied by two widows of lost Kursk crew members who cast flowers into the waters and presented home-baked pies to the Regalia team.

  Kuroyedov did not stop the project. So shortly before midnight, after hours of hard labor, the first diver-access port through the pressure hull was completed. Now they could enter the eighth compartment. As was customary, a video scan of the inside had been made to locate any potential hazards prior to sending in a diver. Although camera range was limited due to visibility, the area around the new entrance seemed clear of obstacles.

  24–25 October 2000

  Large batteries of lights were set in place to illuminate the opening. Then, as per the dive plan, Russians relieved their non-Russian counterparts. At 1500 hours a Navy diver swam to the portal. He was quickly joined by another man who would provide support.

  It had taken a huge effort to gain access to the Kursk’s interior. Now the way was open. Without hesitation the Russian edged into the newly cut hole and slid inside the dark tomb. Moving about required considerable care because of the massive amount of debris cluttering all available space.

  Water in the compartment was cloudy with silt. Neither the helmet light nor his high-intensity handheld lamp could dispel the gloom. At times, according to reports, visibility was down to inches.

  Swimming cautiously, the diver began an examination of the boat’s interior. Video images he relayed to the surface showed traces of a massive fire and damage caused by impact with the sea bottom. A running commentary supported the pictures he sent.

  The full nature of this first diver’s assignment inside the Kursk is not known. It is logical, however, to assume that part of his duties were exploratory. By providing an accurate account of conditions, he was establishing parameters for planning subsequent onboard activities.

  As the diver moved toward the vessel’s rear sections, the lack of human remains must have seemed strange. Even though the Kursk was a huge, multilevel submarine and visibility was limited, there had been 118 people on board. Not all would have been destroyed by the blast or immolated in the blazing aftermath. So finding the first body must have been both a shock and a relief. The subsequent discovery of three more fallen comrades most likely generated a sense of sadness. As part of his training, he’d been told to avoid looking at the faces of the dead men. That was good advice, but impossible to follow.

  Cold and salt water had preserved the bodies. The many days under pressure from the sea had given them zero buoyancy. They remained static, floating in place until shifted by an eddy or current. This weightlessness made moving the remains through the jumbled interior of the boat a relatively easy task. Considering adverse conditions, three bodies were retrieved in a relatively short period of time. The fourth corpse was trapped behind a mass of rubble and would require further work to collect.

  Special containers were lowered from the surface and each body was placed in one of the sealable units. They would be airlifted to the naval hospital in Severomorsk. There, the Laboratory of Judicial and Medical Examination, Unit Number 1082, waited to perform autopsies and other tests on the remains.

  To aid the divers, six psychologists had been brought on board as part of the recovery group. Now that remains were being recovered, their services might be in demand.

  25–26 October 2000

  Work inside the Kursk intensified. A pair of men had been sent to recover the fourth body. They labored under difficult conditions and had to be
careful not to become entangled in the debris. Adding to their strain was news of more foul weather. It was anticipated the gale on the way would be worse than its predecessor. So as a safety precaution all divers were about to be recalled to the Regalia. The recovery team chose to continue their operation. Two hours were required to free the fourth corpse and more time was needed to pack the body into its container and lift it to the surface.

  While work on the bottom was curtailed, engineers were able to refine their program. Opening the main hatch between the eighth and seventh compartments became the next priority. Templates were selected to cut an entry port into Compartment 7. As soon as conditions improved, clear water would be pumped into Compartment 9 in order to flush out enough mud and improve visibility. In the meantime, all they could do was wait for good weather.

  CHAPTER 12

  26 October 2000—Aboard the Regalia

  THE STORM THAT STRAFED THEREGALIA WITH HAIL AND high winds intensified as the day progressed. Recovery efforts were paralyzed, a planned memorial service was postponed, and all flight operations were canceled. So it was impossible to transport the retrieved bodies to the Vidyaevo Navy hospital. The remains of the four crewmen were placed in the Regalia’s sick bay. The ship had provisions for first-rate medical care. Even though the vessel was better equipped to handle industrial accidents as opposed to postmortems, the facilities were more than adequate.

  Since the intent had been to fly the bodies to shore, the Russian hospital ship that had been standing by in port was not part of the salvage flotilla. There were, however, qualified Russian forensics specialists serving as part of Regalia’s company. Termination of flight activities did not necessarily mean having to wait to identify the bodies.

  In the infirmary, standard military practice was followed. There was no apparent need for secrecy, so the infirmary area was not off-limits to ship personnel. Working with professional coolness, a corpsman laid out the first corpse and removed its clothing. With that completed, a doctor began a thorough examination of the body for visible wounds or other indications of trauma. At almost the same time, an assistant checked through the seaman’s clothes, searching for personal effects.

  The man assigned that duty found a packet wrapped in plastic in a breast pocket. Opening it, he removed several handwritten pages. The edges were charred and the oilstained paper damp, but the writing was legible. Dmitry Kolesnikov’s carefully scribed notes had returned to the land of the living. And they were discovered in front of several non-Russians assisting or watching the physicians work.

  Many experts believe that if Dmitry’s note had been uncovered in the naval hospital at Vidyaevo, its very existence would have been suppressed. Outside of need-toknow officials, chances are that no one, including Dmitry’s family, would have learned of its existence.

  Several people who read Russian saw one or more pages before they vanished into the sealed archives of the commission investigating the disaster. So it was impossible for the government or military to deny that a note existed. From the standpoint of damage control, the best that could be done was to keep possession of the letter and publicly reveal as little as possible. So when the note was dispatched to shore, it was claimed by military prosecutors and classified Top Secret.

  Reports of Dmitry’s final letter reached the news media which forced the Navy to officially announce its discovery. Subsequent leaks allowed part of the text to appear in print. This disclosure caused his parents and wife to begin an active campaign to see the note. The event revived public indignation and brought new accusations of a deliberate slow start to the emergency rescue effort as well as rejection of official statements on the cause of the sinking.

  In an attempt to counter the groundswell, what was supposed to be the “full text” of the note was read on national television. The letter emphasized a timeline that strongly indicated the men trapped in the ninth compartment had come to a speedy end. The new official revelations were met with disbelief. Many publicly argued that the “full text” had been severely edited.

  A number of leaks purporting to reveal additional content appeared in the press. One of the most damning was a report attributed to the Moscow newspaper Zhizn. In the story, one I. O. Griaznov, a military expert from the Severomorsk laboratory, allegedly stated that there was a second note found in Dmitry’s pocket, written on Tuesday, August 15, three days after the sinking. That message supposedly included: “Captain died . . . I am the only chief officer left on board. . . . It hurts . . . Murdered . . . August 15th.”

  The August 15 date was a matter of great consternation because it meant that if a Deep Sea Rescue Vehicle had been able to mate with the escape hatch, there might have been survivors. Northern Fleet officers quickly labeled the Griaznov text a fake.

  Dmitry’s father, Roman Kolesnikov, believed his son’s military training would have come before sentiment. Therefore he was certain there must be unseen pages that recorded whatever information Dmitry had about the cause of the disaster and other technical matters. Based on his statements, Dmitry’s first superior officer on the submarine, the ex-Kursk commander, agreed with Roman on this issue.

  According to a report from Bellona, a science-based environmental organization, two copies of the note were made. One was supposedly for Northern Fleet Commander Admiral Popov. The second was said to have been for Dmitry’s wife, Olga. She apparently did not receive it because The Moscow Times later reported that Dmitry’s father was finally allowed to view the original note and make a personal copy. Dmitry’s wife and mother, despite requests, had been unable to see it. Officials told them the note was being used in the investigation and would be given to them later.

  The Russian military learned a costly lesson from this incident. In terms of maintaining prestige, respect, and dignity, it was better for them to control the news than respond to reports. All further work on the remains of Kursk submariners was carried out in private. When a second note was discovered, its release was handled in an entirely different manner.

  An official announcement of the second note was slow in coming and pointedly did not provide the name of its author. Speculation among the families of those killed in the catastrophe was that it had been penned by Dmitry’s best friend, Captain-Lieutenant Rashid Ariapov. According to a report in Pravda, the Northern Fleet deputy commander verified this to the officer’s family.

  No relatives have been allowed to see this missive and the limited text released for publication was of a technical nature. The comments included a reference to what may be a shortage of the belts used in individual breathing kits and a lack of oxygen-regeneration units. Other quotes include: “Our condition is bad. We have been weakened by the effects of carbon monoxide. Pressure is increasing. We can’t make it more than 24 hours.”

  What else the note revealed is a matter of conjecture.

  27–31 October 2000—Aboard the Regalia

  The storm raged all day Friday without slacking. With operations held in abeyance, there was little for anyone to do except prep equipment and wait for better weather.

  The divers remained in their pressurized habitats so as to be able to start work again as quickly as possible. They knew the Regalia had only been rented for a set number of days and that time lost to inclement weather hurt the operation.

  Discovery of the first bodies and the note indicating survivors had gathered in Compartment 9 made the Navy revise previous plans. They would continue efforts to cut into Compartment 7. At the same time, Russians, with longer umbilical lines, would take the previously explored route through Compartment 8 deep into the ninth. They would be supported by running a suction hose into the compartment from a dredge barge on the surface. It was hoped that drawing out the muddy water and replacing it with clear seawater would improve visibility.

  At 0400 hours on the morning of October 28, the divers went down again. The Russian team entered the watery hell of the ninth compartment. Visibility was only slightly improved. Much of the searching had to b
e done by moving arms and hands before them as they advanced. Hampered by their long umbilicals, they began a painstaking exploration of the area. If Dmitry’s note was correct, many more bodies were waiting to be found in this section.

  In a terrifying world not envisioned by Dante or Edgar Allan Poe, the Russians worked out a search system. Handicapped by debris unseen until they collided with it, they sought and found corpse after corpse. The grisly work went on, day in and day out, until an end was called at 1100 hours on October 31. Further searching had become too dangerous for the men to continue. Eight bodies had been recovered. They knew more were there, but conditions were so deplorable that a thorough search was ruled impossible.

  20–30 October 2000—Mainland

  While the divers continued operations in the Kursk, stories of the families of the deceased submariners began to appear in the news.

  It was estimated that the average Kursk family would receive a little less than $40,000, which exchanged into just over 1,100,000 rubles. That’s enough money in Russia, where monthly salaries can be 500 rubles, to be considered well off, if not rich. In 1999, an average salary was 1700 rubles ($60) per month. Contributions to funds set up for Kursk relatives totaled $4.2 million (118 million rubles). For 118 families that would be a million rubles (about $36,000) each and this was only October.

  One mother, from a collective farm in the Ural Mountains, returned home to find her job had been taken. People thought she wouldn’t want to work now that she was wealthy. The woman managed to regain her position, but when payday came, she received nothing. They thought she no longer needed to be paid. Her 14-year-old-daughter also had a hard time. Her classmates objected to the new clothes her mother purchased for her.

  Her dead son’s father had arrived while she was still at the Vidyaevo naval base. He’d been hiding from her for over ten years to avoid making child support payments and now demanded 25 percent of her compensation. Then she began receiving letters from people with her same last name, claiming to be relatives and asking for money.