Kursk Down Page 4

  Prior to scheduled launch time, Captain Lyachin, following exercise orders, is known to have radioed Fleet HQ requesting permission to make the scheduled test launching. The response, “Dobro” (Good), gave him the required clearance to proceed. At 1235 hours, the crew reported being ready for the shoot.

  At 1236 hours, Captain 3rd Rank Andrey Silogava, missile officer, and Senior Lieutenant Boris Geletin, launch party commander, according to regulations, had to confirm two separate go codes and unlock the firing guard. Following an exact sequence at 1238 hours, a series of switches, one after another, was clicked on. The missile came alive, the control panel was hot, and the men in the Combat Command Center were on full alert. At 1239, commitment was made to the last electronic position plots. These were fed into the missile’s logic circuits. Based on the dictated Northern Fleet time schedule for the actual missile shoot, Lyachin gave the go for launch at 1240. This final command opened the 23-foot hatch that covered a pair of missile tubes.

  Blown from the tube by gas, the slender, finned projectile was propelled upward to the surface. Once free of the water, a solid-propellant boost rocket ignited, creating a maelstrom of fire.

  “Pusk!” (Shot away!) was the coded signal passed from Lyachin to the Kursk’s communications section and on to Northern Fleet Command.

  The missile accelerated, thrusting itself into the sky. Higher and higher it climbed, passing 10,000 feet, 20,000 feet, then roaring through the 30,000-foot marker. At 50,000 feet, the steep climb began to level off. Approaching an altitude of 60,000 feet, the rocket fuel had been consumed and the engine died. This automatically shifted propulsion modes. Its KR-93 turbojet engine sputtered into life with a roar louder than a freight train.

  The digital inertial guidance system bled in course corrections, and traveling at supersonic speed, the missile hurled itself toward its preselected target. Final course corrections were received from a manned aircraft as planned, and with one deadly last shriek, the ram-jet engine quit. The weapon, now in a prescribed free-fall path, homed on the target from a high angle.

  To more accurately simulate a vessel the size of an aircraft carrier, the small target ship sported a number of dish antennas. These gave the missile’s radar guidance system an electronic readout like that coming from a much larger ship. The dummy warhead contained sufficient explosive force to allow observers to determine the exact strike point—if it hit home.

  Aboard the Kursk, more than a hundred miles away, there had to have been relief over a perfect launch and wide-eyed, world-class worry because much could still go wrong. Improper coordinates might have been entered or their position might have been incorrectly calculated. Hell, the damn thing could even ingest a bird on the way up, blocking the ram-jet’s air intake.

  Missile Officer Captain 3rd Rank Andrey Silogava’s job required him to call time hacks, announcing seconds until impact. The pride, personal satisfaction, and reputation of the entire submarine rested on this single shot. So much had been done right, exactly by the book. Yet so much could go wrong in the next few heartbeats.

  The missile officer ended his count. “Popadenie!” (Impact now!)

  Seconds ticked away. A helicopter, zooming in from the safety zone, would be flying at full throttle toward the derelict target ship to assess damage.

  In the third compartment, a radio crackled and announced “Tsel’ porazhena!” (Strike!)

  The signal officer, Captain 3rd Rank Andrey Rudakov, would have instantly relayed the news to the Command Center.

  That quick message had to have broken the tension. They’d done well. The best boat, and the best crew, had once again proven their worth.

  After accepting brief congratulations from the five Northern Fleet HQ observers, Captain Lyachin would have spoken a few quiet words of praise to the missile party.

  Always the commander, the captain was forced to think ahead. The next responsibility would go to Senior-Lieutenant Aleksey Ivanov-Pavlov, the torpedo officer. They had a difficult hide-and-seek game tomorrow and were to shoot one fish.

  The sea-games flagship, Peter the Great, was to use standard NATO tactics and duplicate the movements of a carrier task force. Surrounded by support vessels and employing its own powerful sonar as well as other electronic countermeasure devices, the cruiser would be a difficult target—especially against an attack run with a single torpedo limit. Captain Lyachin wanted the kill. It was going to be tough and would require perfect timing. His crew was capable of that, and more.

  The single worrisome note was the selection of torpedo to be used. The presence of the Dagdizel weapons plant team and the dummy practice warhead to be fitted indicated they might be called upon to fire the ultra-high-speed Shkval. And if that were the case, there was no room for even the slightest hesitation or error. When the firing command was given, that weapon would sit for an instant inside the torpedo launch tube. This interval allowed time to generate the gas for the bubble that gave the fish its extreme high speed. As that gas was produced, pressure in the special launch tube would immediately increase to dangerous levels. If the shot went perfectly, that gas was released harmlessly into the water. If anything went wrong, or firing procedures fell seconds behind, pressures could increase to the point where the tube would rupture, releasing the gases and intense heat into the boat.

  Since they’d been unable to remove their armament after the last cruise, the Kursk carried her full arsenal of explosive weaponry. It was a dangerous load for war games.

  Aboard the Kursk

  Four hours had passed since the explosions. There was no question now that they were the only survivors.

  A dull lethargy had overcome some of the men. Activity would help break this affliction. Activity would also use their breathable air faster. And the group knew oxygen was their main obstacle to survival. The limited food, water, and lighting could be stretched. When the last of the oxygen in the air was exhausted, though, they were done.

  The sea was still seeping into the boat. Every man was aware of this because occasionally a trapped air bubble on one of the decks below squealed like a live creature. It was squeezed by rising water until forced whistling out through small apertures in seams broken by the sub’s impact. The same cold, incoming water was also chilling the boat. All metal surfaces inside the sub were coated with droplets of condensation.

  The moaning and crying from those who were injured had finally quieted. Talk was less frequent. Conserving oxygen left every man alone with his thoughts. The resulting silence allowed them to hear the ceaseless drip and gurgling sounds of flowing water.

  Dmitry took his pencil and paper and began a solemn roll call. In his careful hand, he wrote the name of every man in the group. Next to each, he marked a small, neat cross to indicate that person was still alive.

  There was little left for them to do except wait. The Navy would come. Would they be in time? That was the question. The survivors must have believed every passing second brought help closer. And carried them nearer the end.

  CHAPTER 3

  12 August 00—0240 HoursNorthern Fleet Exercise

  ON THE BARENTS SEA, A SUMMER SUN OFTEN SHINES AT midnight, sparkling the waves with liquid silver. The long days may be pleasantly mild, with cloudless skies, temperatures in the mid-60s, and gentle swells. As mariners know, the weather can switch from tranquil to turbulent with little warning. So a continuous storm watch played a vital role in the Northern Fleet maneuvers. All participating vessels monitored the reports.

  Surface conditions were of little concern to those aboard the Kursk. Cruising in her designated patrol area at a depth of 90 feet, the sub glided silently through untroubled waters.

  On board, despite the late hour, activity in Compartment 1 must have continued at an urgent pace. The successful missile launch had placed added stress on the torpedo crew. Their need for a model torpedo shot was intense. Working under the precise instructions of the Dagdizel engineers, the team had used the automatedhandling equipment to load and unload o
ne of the torpedo tubes with the required practice ordnance. When the attack run commenced and they were given the order to make ready, they wanted to break the boat’s record for launching a fish.

  Throughout the sub’s interior, reddish-orange lighting used to protect night-vision capabilities gave instruments and people an unearthly appearance. On this day, before 1800 hours, they would work their way in close, running silent and deep, then sink the mock aircraft carrier. One shot was all they had. One shot was all they would need. The Kursk was going to be the sub that made the kill.

  0800 Hours—Aboard the Pyotr Velikiy

  Fifty miles from K-141’s patrol zone, the Peter the Great, fleet flagship for the exercises, progressed full throttle at 30 knots. The day was clear, and a turbulent wake churned by the cruiser’s twin screws left foaming white streaks through the blue water. As the sleek vessel began a turn to port, her escort ships changed course accordingly, altering positions to maintain their tight, protective screen. Executed with the precision of a close-order drill team, the flagship’s convoy created a naval ballet that blended graceful, coordinated motion with raw energy.

  First laid down in Baltic Yard 189, St. Petersburg, in April 1986, the cruiser was launched three years later in 1989 and named the Yuri Andropov. Political tides and times saw her rechristened Peter the Great. At 826 feet long and only 93 feet wide at the beam, she is a narrow, slender vessel. The first nuclear Russian surface warship, Peter the Great utilizes an odd auxiliary oil-fueled system to superheat steam from the reactors to produce added propulsion. In an emergency reactor shutdown, the vessel could continue to maneuver, using this secondary, nonatomic power resource.

  Before construction on this ship was complete, work was stopped because of funding shortages. A presidential order was required in order to complete the vessel in time for the 300th anniversary of the Russian Navy.

  Normal ship’s complement is 82 officers, 644 seamen, and 18 aircrew members. For this exercise, an additional number of high ranking observers were present.

  Designed to strike carriers, other surface vessels, submarines, and aircraft, this Kirov-class battle cruiser was fitted with a massive variety of missiles, guns, torpedoes, antisubmarine mortars, and electronic countermeasures. As an added feature, she could also hit targets out of sight over the horizon by using satellite controls for her Shipwreck missiles. These rockets could be launched in salvo or, as the Russians say, rip-fired, one shot right after another. A lead missile would climb to a high altitude and serve as a target spotter. It electronically exchanged information with the others, which flew in a pack only a few feet above the waves. If the pathfinder missile was destroyed, one of the others could be directed to take its place.

  The Peter the Great also housed three Ka-27 Helix helicopters for surveillance, weapons delivery, and supplemental missile guidance activities.

  Standing in the cruiser’s bridge, officers could feel the steel deck vibrate as they completed their turn and began an arc in the opposite direction. Use of a zigzag course was standard procedure for a fleet in enemy-infested waters. It was too early for the mock sub attack, but even so, full protective measures were being practiced.

  The Northern Fleet commander, Admiral Vyacheslav Popov, watched the activity intently. His service career had begun in 1971 at a remote station. During the next 29 years, he completed 25 long-range cruises and spent 96 months in the submarine service. In January 1999, a presidential decree advanced him from Navy chief of staff to leadership of the Northern Fleet.

  A barrel-chested, muscular, round-faced man with a full head of dark reddish hair, Popov wore a sharply creased summer uniform shirt with shoulder boards to designate his rank. He smoked cigarettes using a holder.

  The flotilla should have given him a sense of satisfaction. The exercises were going well—especially the Kursk’s missile launch. Lyachin had been precisely on time with his shot and scored a devastating hit on the target.

  Popov had personally seen the enthusiasm generated among his officers and men by the war games. Admittedly, the maneuvers were straining the budget, but the expense was worth it. These simulated military operations were particularly important with the talks in Moscow continuing. An excellent showing in the final hours of the effort would go far to help the Navy’s position.

  Admiral Popov was inspired by the loyalty of his men. In spite of missing paydays and enduring adversities too numerous to mention, they stayed in the service. And somehow, they maintained their proficiency. That took dedication—which was another point to make in Moscow. His Northern Fleet could be the finest Navy in history. The desire was there, the will was there. Only the funding was missing.

  While a man of his rank did not take sides, he must have wished the Kursk luck in her final hunt. Demonstrating the ability to defend an aircraft carrier against a determined submarine attack was fine. However, Russia only had one carrier on active service. With operating expenses for a carrier so high, it was a miracle they still had one afloat. The Navy did have submarines, though. So a successful sub attack on the carrier was, politically, a far better outcome.

  A submarine sinking a carrier would show that the Russian Navy was capable of protecting the homeland. More, it would demonstrate that carriers were not as vital to modern naval warfare as most believed. If, that is, the enemy was confronted with vessels as deadly as the Kursk. The ability to nullify the usefulness of the West’s aircraft-carrier-based fleets was a blow struck at the heart of their tactics.

  It would be unfair to aid Captain Lyachin in some way. Lyachin was a highly capable man and needed no assistance. Even so, one could hope for the most beneficial outcome.

  By rules of the simulated war games, Captain Vladimir Kasatonov and the crew of the Peter the Great would consider themselves in hostile seas and under potential attack from 1130 hours to 1800 hours. At the end of that time frame, all precautions would be dropped and they would stand down, with the exercise completed.

  The Kursk, as an additional safety measure, would then depart her defined attack area, break radio silence, and report to Fleet Command.

  The procedure was straightforward. The Kursk was not to leave its perimeter during the operation and could not attack until the Peter the Great entered the prescribed zone.

  If everyone followed the rules, the program was safe. Still, as any military man knew, there were dangers in coordinating huge submarines and ships in close proximity.

  To make matters worse, American, NATO, and Norwegian vessels were also operating in the area. The Russians maintained a running tally of all foreign assets deployed for observing their activities. The result clearly demonstrated the interest other nations were taking in the Russian games. The U.S. had two subs, the USS Toledo and the USS Memphis, working near the maneuvers. And there was a U.S. TAGOS electronic surveillance ship, USNS Loyal, gathering underwater acoustical data, about 200 miles away. A Norwegian research vessel, the Marjata, also in the hunt, had similar capabilities. Finally, they had traced the British submarine, the HMS Splendid, as well. Five spies on and under the water plus more eyes in space and a sea floor dotted with hydrophones to catch their every move. That degree of attention was irritating. Then again, if the Kursk’s attack was successful, it would certainly be a demonstration of Russian submarine capability.

  The most critical part of the exercise would start in a matter of hours. As an experienced submariner Admiral Popov could easily have pictured the activity inside the Kursk. Concentration. That was the watchword. The crew needed to focus attention on every detail, especially in the first compartment torpedo room. The tin fish were dangerous.

  0848 Hours—Aboard the Kursk

  In the Combat Control Center, Captain Lyachin would have been busy, taking reports from his many section chiefs. In just a few minutes he had to meet the requirements of the maneuvers orders by making a mandatory position and status report. At 0851, the Kursk contacted the onshore Northern Fleet Operations Center. After providing the necessary informa
tion, Lyachin formally requested permission to load and fire a training torpedo. The reply from the Ops Center was again “Dobro!”

  Armed with this permission, the crew had two and a half hours before the 1130 start time for the exercise. While the torpedo room party made final preparations, Lyachin directed the sub to patrol his assigned 300square-mile area. He ordered the Kursk south, to the extreme edge of his sector, as a navigation proficiency problem. Running in combat patrol mode, the boat then turned to the northwest. On this leg, the vessel slowed to a speed of about eight knots, ran as silently as possible, and ascended to a depth of 60 feet.

  After extending the periscope, Lyachin must have ordered the radio antennas for communications as well as their satellite global positioning system raised. And as an added precaution, he utilized the snorkel air intake to fill their high-pressure air tanks. If they had to surface fast, compressed air could instantly be shot from these reservoirs into the water ballast tanks. The “blow” would eject tons of water in seconds, giving the mighty sub greater buoyancy and popping her to the surface. With those preparations complete, Lyachin held course. Next, he posted a visual watch to spot their targets, which at this point were moving toward the designated war zone.

  1058 Hours—Aboard the Peter the Great

  The Kursk’s request to Northern Fleet HQ to load and fire a torpedo had been quickly relayed to Admiral Popov and his group. The “enemy carrier” understood. Captain Lyachin was moving the K-141 into an attack mode.

  With the mock combat about to begin, a “Vse po mestam!” (battle stations!) signal was given. This set fullalert scanning of all radar, sonar, and other electronic submarine-detection devices into motion. Designed with submarine hunting as part of its total mission package, the cruiser was well equipped for that purpose. Her position, still some 30 miles from the engagement zone, meant she was over-the-horizon from the Kursk. So they had no visual contact with the now-hostile sub.