Kursk Down Read online

  Then there had been the second mother of all blasts. It must have been the torpedoes stored in Compartment 1. A detonation of that intensity would have ruptured the bow area, which would explain their steep descent to the sea bottom. There was little comfort in that explanation. He could recall the roar of ballast tanks being blown. If this indestructible submarine still went under, even with negative ballast, damage was extensive.

  What else had happened? No klaxon had announced problems with the nuclear reactors. They apparently had gone into emergency shutdown mode. That fail-safe seemed to have worked. But it left them without power.

  Logic dictated their course of action. If they had guessed correctly, the crippled Kursk was not deep. The explosions had to have been detected. Therefore help was on its way and a DSRV could reach them. That was logical, true, and simple. The men would believe it.

  The Deep Sea Rescue Vehicles were their best hope. Two trips by even one of the smaller, older model DSRVs would be able to transport the survivors to the surface. What they must do was hold out. The Northern Fleet would come. They had to come, if Dmitry was ever going to see Olechka again.

  Slowly the survivors had to have realized it was growing colder. With no electricity there would be no heating. Eventually, the sub would assume the same near freezing temperature as the water surrounding it.

  Dmitry Kolesnikov knew maintaining a positive state of mind was a critical challenge. It would be easy to slip into depression. So probably he and the rest of the men sought cheerful memories. Dmitry must have remembered his 27th birthday, two days before.

  He’d reported for duty on board the Kursk. They would be 96 hours at sea. That was the good part. Time underwater was becoming more difficult to acquire.

  Money had not been such a problem in his father’s time. His dad had been a 1st captain on a nuclear submarine—one of the early atomshiks. They had no equipment shortages. The Navy got the best in those days, and the nuclear sub fleet better than that.

  His father, Roman, had visited the Kursk. He had been impressed, especially with the spacious crew quarters. Accommodations had been considerably more cramped on those earlier boats.

  His father had not pressured him to join the Navy. Being a submariner was a glamorous job. You were respected. Roman had told him he would never get rich on Navy pay and that it was an unhealthy, thankless life. The friends you made, though, would be just that—true friends for the rest of your life.

  Dmitry had spent two days in his room, avoiding other people, thinking through what he wanted as a career. The submarines had won. For him, it was almost a religious calling. He would dedicate his life to the Navy. With that decision came a characteristic determination. He was totally committed.

  When the medical section of the Navy examining board had decided he was 13 pounds overweight for his height, Dmitry responded immediately. He dieted on cucumbers and yogurt for almost a week, was reexamined, and accepted.

  He’d graduated at the top of his class—which was how he’d been assigned to the Northern Fleet and earned a berth on the Kursk.

  Dwelling on pleasant thoughts must have been harder for the men because of the horrid metallic moans made by the sub’s bow as it settled deeper into the bottom sludge.

  The lights seemed dimmer. They had pulled all the battery packs from the emergency illumination systems in the other compartments and were using as few at a time as possible. Each of them had already sampled the terrible darkness. No one wanted to contemplate what it would be like when the final lamp died.

  CHAPTER 2

  10 August 2000Barents Sea—Northern Fleet ManeuversAboard the Kursk

  Teams of sailors had worked through the night loading supplies and performing last-minute chores on K-141. By 0500, with the northern sun above the horizon, they were done. One by one, the necessary forms were checked and signed. An old Navy joke maintained that while the world thought Russian subs ran on nuclear power, they were actually fueled by paperwork.

  The morning was clear and clean with a promised high of about 60 degrees. By 0930 hours, all departure preparations on board the Kursk were complete. A senior delegation from Northern Fleet HQ had filed down the gangway and lingered on the dock. Elderly men, wearing their peaked officer’s caps and bundled against the early morning chill, they carried themselves with pride. Each had at one time commanded a vessel. Now they were more like diplomats or government managers.

  From their comments, Captain Lyachin had learned the maneuvers had taken on a political light. On August 11, the next day, there was to be a high-level conference in the Kremlin to determine future Russian military policy. In a real sense, the meeting would help decide which branches of the armed forces would receive additional funding. From that, the Northern Fleet might obtain much needed financial assistance. A good showing during the exercises was now doubly important.

  The admirals’ departure produced a more relaxed atmosphere throughout the submarine. Having top brass on board always placed extra strain on the crew. And today, the men did not need any added distractions. Excitement ran through the massive vessel like an electric current. Intent men hurried along the corridors inside the Kursk, minds focused on the job at hand. The hull and bulkheads silently vibrated with an energy that transmitted itself to those in every compartment.

  Shortly before 1000 hours, a classic order, “Otdat shvartovy,” to cast off all lines, was given and they were under way. Deck crews scurried over the polymer-coated steel plates, heavy hawsers splashed into the oily water, and the Kursk slowly inched forward, pushed by her twin propellers. The requisite tugboats stood by to assist as required during the short trip down the channel into the sea.

  In the seventh compartment, Captain-Lieutenant Dmitry Kolesnikov and his team of eight monitored the turbine speeds. It was a relief to be moving, as opposed to nervously waiting like an expectant father. The sooner they saw action, the better.

  Traveling on the surface, the Kursk was ponderous and slow to answer to her helm. Only half of her great rudder was submerged and the streamlined shape of her curved belly presented little resistance to the water. So special care had to be taken with every maneuver and each turn in the channel had to be managed with precision.

  Captain Lyachin, along with his complement of officers and men, had commanded the boat from stations inside the conning tower high on the sail. After reaching the open ocean, they remained topside until the vessel was well clear of land. When reports from the navigation and depth-finding teams indicated the submarine had attained a safe position, he led them down the maze of ladders and through corridors to the boat’s Command and Control Center. Also known as the Combat Command Center, or “CCC,” this was the nexus of the boat’s operational capabilities. Information from hundreds of sensors was read, interpreted, and fed into the CCC. Orders, based on that data, then flowed out and were executed. This endless process continued minute by minute, around the clock without letup. To satisfy himself all was ready to perform at peak efficiency, Lyachin would have personally verified the latest compartment status reports. The next task was one every person on board had anticipated.

  Warning klaxons would have reverberated throughout the vessel. The enormous black shape that had plowed so ponderously through the waves gently slipped under the dark sea. Once fully submerged, the behemoth found a new life.

  More than twice as long as a Boeing 747 jumbo jet, she handled with the agility of a fighter plane. That analogy is fitting, because the Kursk was “flown” through the ocean depths using controls much like those on an aircraft. Vertical and horizontal stabilizers, set at the extreme rear of the boat, made the sleek vessel turn, climb, and dive. Gliding at maximum speed, she was capable of maneuvers few other submarines could equal.

  In Compartment 1, far forward in the bow, the two Dagdizel experts probably wasted little time before beginning their work. Mamed Gadzhiyev, chief of the Dagdizel torpedo design office at the plant in Kaspiysk, Dagestan, was assisted by his deputy, Senior Li
eutenant Arnold Borisov. They had been enthusiastic about sailing with the Kursk, as the short cruise would give them an opportunity to test new ideas. Their first project was to fit an improved battery to one of the older electric-powered torpedoes. Hoping for a major performance enhancement, they unpacked their gear.

  Loosening screws and unsealing the various panels that needed to be removed for access to the power-supply module took some time. They had no reason to hurry and behaved in their usual secretive fashion. With this pair, security was a way of life. So it was strange that the two men were openly angry when they discovered the special battery they’d brought with them was too large to fit the allotted space.

  Despite attempts to keep it quiet, that news must have brought curious looks to many faces as it spread through the boat. Two top engineers, from a factory with such a high reputation, and they didn’t know what size to build a battery. More than one finger was rubbed against a nose in a knowing manner. Clearly, that pair was along for something else altogether. And that something else obviously had to do with the liquid-propellant torpedoes. Or perhaps it was a secret weapon. Or maybe it involved a major safety modification to the Shkval-model torpedoes. Theories abounded.

  What many knew for certain was that in 1998, the Kursk had visited the Sevmash Shipyards in Severodvinsk for alterations to some of its torpedo tubes. The military newspaper, Red Star, had even printed a story on this conversion. It was also known on board that for the sea maneuvers, the submarine was carrying three types of torpedoes.

  First, there were the model 65-76 long-range antisurface ship units designed in 1976. Torpedoes, when first used on submarines, had been called “tin fish” and the name, in shortened form, “fish,” stuck. This 65-76 fish can alter its path through the water, seeking the target it has been deployed to destroy. In case of a miss, it is capable of using its homing sensors in a reattack mode. During a reattack, it recognizes when it has missed its target, turns, and initiates a new assault to deliver a 450-kg warhead. This model is driven by a liquid High Test Peroxide (HTP) system that produces highly volatile and explosive hydrogen gas. The gas drives a turbine that furnishes quiet power to twin screws. Once loosed, the projectile makes excellent speed and has a more than adequate range. Safety tests indicate this torpedo could resist exposure to fire for a little over two minutes before exploding. Two minutes does not give fire suppression teams much time to act before disaster strikes.

  The far safer USET-80 weapon, also stored on board, dated back to 1980. It relies on a silver-magnesium battery that utilizes water to produce electricity. The driving propeller is then turned by an electric motor. While its top speed is under 50 knots, the USET-80 is extremely reliable. Exposed to fire in a combat situation, these can take three times more heat than the 65-76s before exploding. This margin greatly enhances chances for crew survival.

  Finally, the Kursk was equipped to handle the Shkval-class torpedoes. Shkval means “squall” in English. This weapon, designed in 1977, caused a storm of amazement when its existence became known after the collapse of the old Soviet Union. The Russians had managed to keep the Shkval and its revolutionary technology secret. When fired, a Shkval, which is rocket-propelled, emits a large volume of gas that encapsulates the entire torpedo. This gas bubble drastically reduces friction between the metal of the projectile and the water. Traveling in its envelope, this undersea missile can reach a velocity in excess of 200 miles per hour. Speeding five times faster than any other torpedo in history, the Shkval can strike a target before evasion or countermeasures can be used as defense.

  This silver bullet, in its early form with a tactical nuclear warhead, was a kind of suicide weapon. It had three drawbacks. First, it could only travel in a straight line. Second, it had limited homing capabilities. Third and most alarming, its range was a mere ten miles. An underwater atomic explosion, even a small one, can produce a shock wave strong enough to destroy the attacking sub within ten miles of blast center.

  An improved Shkval, with a conventional explosive warhead, was tested in the summer of 1998. Still newer prototypes were known to exist.

  The Shkval requires special torpedo tubes that must be built to withstand the very high pressures involved during launching. This explains the modifications to the Kursk two years earlier. Many Russian sources believe the pair of engineer-designers from Dagdizel, which is located on the Caspian Sea and manufactures Shkval’s propulsion system, were present to test new modifications to the Shkval.

  Rumors about some type of secret weapon on board the Kursk abounded long before the boat sailed. On honest review, these stories seem dubious. The Russian Northern Fleet Command was well aware that its at-sea war games would be extensively monitored by U.S. satellites, surface electronic surveillance ships, and submarines. English and NATO forces would also have “eyes” on the activity. Testing a revolutionary, highly classified weapon under such scrutiny would be self-defeating.

  Cruising at a comfortable 20-plus knots just below periscope depth, the Kursk, following regulations, trailed a long-range radio antenna, monitoring on-air traffic between ships of the maneuver flotilla. Communications links by satellite also connected the sub with Northern Fleet HQ and the operation flagship, the Heavy Nuclear Missile Cruiser Pyotr Velikiy (Peter the Great).

  Captain Lyachin had been briefed on procedures to be used during the exercise. He, in turn, had made certain the appropriate officers on his staff completely understood all directives that would be in effect.

  During the sea exercises, only dummy warheads would be used. Despite this, there was still a considerable degree of danger. All military combat training activities were hazardous because they involved weapons specifically designed to kill, maim, and destroy. Even the simplest exercise was like juggling bottles of nitroglycerin. One careless mistake could cause a lot of harm.

  To alleviate at least some of the risk, an intense level of planning had been done by the Northern Fleet staff. Strict rules, along with elaborate checks and balances, were created. These regulations determined where individual vessels would be, timing for all missile launches or torpedo firings, direction of a launch, and other protective issues. No deviation from orders would be permitted. The safety of every submarine, plane, and ship in the operation rested on strict compliance with these man-dates.

  Operational zones had been established for each of the 30-odd vessels that were to play various roles in the games. In addition, flyways, as well as airrestricted areas, had been established to keep helicopters and planes out of each other’s paths.

  In short, every precaution in keeping with a hazardous military exercise had been taken. If all participants played exactly by the rules, and, as always the case in these matters, there was a little luck, there would be no casualties.

  The Kursk had been assigned a 15-by-20-mile patrol area. This 300-square-mile strip of open ocean had a fairly constant depth of about 350 feet. Relative to the sub’s length of just over 500 feet, this meant great care had to be taken in terms of violent dives or quick vertical movements. With that understood, lack of deeper water presented no real handicap to the boat’s freedom of operations.

  In addition to other tasks, the Kursk had two main responsibilities. The next day, on Friday, August 11, her crew was to launch one of her Granit-type cruise missiles at a naval target. A direct hit would gain the boat high marks. Their second and much more difficult challenge would come on Saturday, August 12. Working inside specific time limits, the Kursk, along with other submarines involved in the training program, would carry out a torpedo attack on a fleet of combat ships acting as the “aggressor” or “opponent.” The cruiser, Peter the Great, would assume the role of an aircraft carrier and be the primary target. Reports indicate two or more of the Shkval units had been modified for practice firings by removing their warheads. Other sources maintain that the Shkvals had improved propulsion systems that were still experimental.

  As the Kursk arrived on station, detailed accounts note that Captai
n Lyachin made the necessary radio calls to verify he was in his assigned patrol zone. His officers would have continued repetitive training sessions to improve missile-launching skills, and each system on the boat would have been checked for readiness. All considered, it was a long night for the crew. And the next day had every promise of being even more hectic.

  11 August 2000 —1155 Hours

  Submariners in every Navy face a dilemma. They practice endlessly for battle. Yet the only instance in history of a nuclear-powered submarine actually attacking an enemy vessel occurred in 1982. A British boat, the HMS Conqueror, followed the Argentine cruiser, General Belgrano, for 48 hours during the brief Falkland Islands dispute between those two nations. The Conqueror fired a shot and sank the Belgrano.

  So if history was a reliable indicator of the future, training to fight was probably as close as the crew of the Kursk would get to using their vessel for combat. God willing, they would never have to go to war. If matters came to that, however, they were known as the ones most likely to do it right.

  Hitting a moving target several hundred miles away with a missile fired from a submarine running underwater is a challenge. To accomplish this precision feat, two requirements are mandatory. The weapons officer on the sub must know his exact geographic position, speed, and direction of travel at the moment the missile leaves its launch tube. And second, that same information is required for the target. Missiles can and do use radar and other devices to “home” on their intended victims. These systems, however, are defeated if the missile is not in reasonable proximity of its target.

  For decades, American subs could fire when submerged, while Soviet boats had to surface before shooting. It was necessary for the Russians to bring the launch tubes out of the water and take a final electronic fix to pinpoint positions. This deficiency was corrected some years ago. So the Kursk was fully capable of loosing a full salvo of its 24 Shipwreck cruise missiles while remaining hidden in the depths.