Kursk Down Read online

  As part of the antisubmarine warfare activity, missiles were readied for launch. And the flotilla of ships surrounding the Peter the Great tightened their defensive screen. Actual firing could take place at specified times.

  Admiral Popov, according to reports, was annoyed by the incessant NATO, British, and American scrutiny of their activities. Especially bothersome was the daily presence of a Norwegian Lockheed Martin P-3C Orion airsea patrol plane. As the spies were in international waters, there was little the Russians could do about this intrusion into their operations. A few were probably tempted to try their new Anti-Sub Warfare Vodopad missiles on the Americans. A near miss, perhaps? Just to show them their positions were known?

  1103 Hours—Aboard the USNS Loyal

  In addition to using its full array of onboard sonar gear for monitoring Russian activity, the Loyal’s crew had expanded their ship’s capabilities. Besides a towed array of underwater detection devices, they had released free-floating sensors that enhanced their information-gathering/processing techniques. After two days of intense activity, technicians on board were functioning at peak efficiency. Keeping a respectable distance from the action, they were intercepting all manner of radio communications.

  1104 Hours—Aboard the USS Memphis

  Following standing orders, the Memphis had taken station for a regular duty tour in the Barents Sea. As a matter of course, the United States maintains two submarines in this area year round. For the war games, a third submarine, the British Splendid, had been brought in to perform added reconnaissance duties.

  Having so many Russian vessels together in a relatively small zone offered an irresistible intelligence opportunity. One of the most useful surveillance sources for submarines is a library of digitally recorded sounds of individual ships and undersea boats moving through the water. The noise from a given vessel is unique to that vessel. So each electronic “fingerprint” can be automatically accessed and matched against real-time incoming sonar data. These data profiles allow accurate identification, which, in turn, provides information on the combat capabilities of the ship or submarine in question.

  During the Kursk’s Mediterranean cruise, her distinctive sound pattern had been captured. This allowed operators on the Memphis to single her out from background disturbances and readings from other boats. Trailing the Kursk from a safe distance became a relatively simple matter.

  One submarine tailing another while underwater is a dangerous game. According to Russian reports, during the years between 1967 and 2000, there were 11 documented collisions between Russian subs and those of other nations. Eight of those incidents took place in Northern Fleet test areas. The most recent accidents occurred in the early 1990s. The USS Baton Rouge, a Los Angeles-class boat, crashed with a Russian Sierra-2-type boat in February 1992. Both subs were severely damaged. Then in March 1993, the USS Greyling collided with a Russian Delta-3 class. Again, both suffered significant damage.

  In order to prevent such incidents, and to keep U.S. submarines out of the Russian firing ranges, parameters had been established for proximity to other vessels. These mandated a safe margin of distance while still allowing for continuous observation.

  1105 Hours—Aboard the Kursk

  The practice torpedoes were in their loading racks and one would be transferred into its tube and made ready to shoot when directed. The captain had to be mentally focused on the tactics and countertactics of the mock attack. Like the rest of the crew, he undoubtedly craved action. Orders were orders, though, so for a while longer it was a waiting game. And waiting was hard.

  Visual and electronic scans of the assigned sector still indicated no sign of the Peter the Great and her protective cordon of ships. Yet all on board the Kursk knew they were coming and what a reception they were going to get.

  1109 Hours—Aboard the Peter the Great

  Prepping a missile before a shoot is a complex procedure involving three separate teams. The launch party conducts the actual liftoff. While the projectile is in flight, the control party directs its attitude, altitude, speed, and path through the air. The target designation party has the responsibility for precisely defining where the warhead should strike. Bringing all these elements together takes time. If a single person involved in the process is even a little out of practice, the entire operation is drastically slowed. Rehearsal on dry land with simulators is not a strong substitute for performing the tasks on a moving, rocking ship. And sea time had been cut.

  Due to this handicap and other equipment difficulties, the missile parties, by some reports, took longer than anticipated to set up their shots. So they found themselves in a serious situation.

  Operations orders contained a specific time schedule. They were now an hour past the stated deadline. No one wanted to say why they were behind. And no one was eager to take the blame.

  Being late for launching was especially troubling because the delay occurred on the operation’s flagship. Worse, it happened while the Northern Fleet commander was on board. If at all possible, the missile launch had to be completed. Fear of repercussions for not firing could have become stronger than the need to follow the exacting exercise time schedule.

  1120 Hours—Aboard the Kursk

  The real game of undersea stalking and evasion began the instant a sonar operator on the Kursk reported being pinged by the fleet’s massive sonar sweep. This first detection triggered a counteraction to determine the location of the vessel originating the ping. Within seconds, hunter and hunted knew each other’s positions. Moving through the pitch-black sea at a depth of 90 feet, the Kursk immediately took evasive action. The submarine swung onto a course that would take them away from the approaching flotilla. Staying within the boundary of their assigned patrol sector, they slipped toward the zone’s western edge. The idea must have been to disengage, run, hide, and then attack from a new direction.

  Captain Lyachin must have decided that he wanted to intercept the Peter the Great at the earliest time allowed by the rules of the exercise. If all went well, he would shoot his torpedo just moments after the approved 1130 engagement hour. The apparent strategy was to attack quickly to surprise their opponent.

  It was now imperative the Kursk remain undetected. Rigged for silent running, the submarine came to an almost full stop, holding at 90 feet below the surface. Lyachin maintained only enough momentum to give them seaway to maneuver in the slow current. He then ordered ballast adjustments to keep them exactly level in the water, and they waited.

  1127 Hours—Aboard the Peter the Great

  Reports indicate that in spite of the standing operations orders, commands were issued, and firing sequences for three missiles were started. With an ear-straining roar, the first Vodopad-type weapon blazed into the air, leaving behind a white cloud of smoke and steam. Then one more, tail spouting red flame, punched through the remnants of the earlier launch and disappeared into the deep blue sky.

  The third missile, also equipped with an antisubmarine-warfare exploding head that would allow it to seek out a target lying submerged at a shallow depth, was released moments later.

  Later comments claim that Captain 1st Rank Sergey Ovcharenko and his associates followed the path of the last Vodopad and watched it drop into the sea.

  1127 Hours—Aboard the Kursk

  An emergency warning klaxon, reverberating like an electronic car alarm gone berserk, was the first sign of a problem. Shocked, those in the Command Center must have been frozen in place as the first compartment torpedo section leader’s voice came yelling over the intercom.

  One of the liquid propellant torpedoes was leaking. Everyone instantly understood the danger. There was no time to think. Trained action was required. The faulty weapon had to be loaded into a tube. While this was being done, Lyachin reportedly requested immediate radio contact with Northern Fleet HQ. Russian Navy rules called for jettisoning the torpedo as quickly as possible. This one, however, was probably no practice weapon. It was a live combat model and the Kursk was in
relatively close proximity to other fleet vessels.

  With the connection to headquarters made, the captain asked permission to shoot the torpedo and repeated coordinates for a direction he believed safe. The radio contact lasted only a few seconds. With fleet okay, he gave the order to fire.

  1128 Hours

  The long silver body of the Vodopad missile screamed skyward. It had been programed to fly a short trajectory. Its onboard sensors detected nothing, so it had no target. It had been fed no target information. Therefore its circuits were neutral. One particularly clever solid-state bundle of transistors and diodes was mindlessly performing its task, searching for radio transmissions. There was no sound as the invisible feelers radiated from the small antenna and then returned, bearing an unusual signal. At the speed of light, dormant commands may have awakened the system’s homing capabilities.

  The Kursk’s short break of radio silence, created by an onboard emergency and coming at a time after the deadline for weapon launching had passed, could have attracted the missile’s mindless interest. The submarine lay at the end of an electronic guideway. An explosive dagger was aimed at her heart.

  1128 Hours—Aboard the Peter the Great

  According to published quotes, Captain Ovcharenko watched the third missile plunge into the sea. Then, to his astonishment, there was a massive, violent explosion. A huge column of water spewed skyward, creating a small mushroom cloud of steam and mist he described as reminiscent of a nuclear blast.

  Since all eyes on board the fleet ship had been tracking the missile flights, there was every likelihood Admiral Popov and many of his staff members saw the same powerful undersea cataclysm.

  One of the missiles had hit something. An American sub?

  Speculation continued as, moments later, according to a published source, a helicopter carrying Admiral Popov lifted from the deck in a whirlwind of deafening noise. Its destination was believed to be Northern Fleet HQ. Other news sources noted than Popov also ordered radio silence for all vessels in the area.

  1128 Hours—Aboard the Kursk

  In the first compartment, the torpedo crew had to have worked as fast as they were able to lift the leaking weapon carefully into a loading cradle. Next, the fish would have been shifted into a tube and the order to fire given as soon as possible. Once the tube loading door was slammed and locked, a hand would have struck the launch trigger button. There would be a quick vibration as ignition was initiated. Then the torpedo would have been launched.

  One of three scenarios was now played out. Or, perhaps more than one came to pass.

  In the first, the missile from the Peter the Great struck the Kursk. An expert, Captain 2nd Rank Vyacheslav Lohmatov, is quoted in a document saying, “Only a missile could have rammed the submarine.” This position is backed by a translation of a Northern Fleet report that states a two-by-three-meter hole in the Kursk’s hull had its edges curled inside the boat. Metal bent inward indicates a penetration of the hull from the outside.

  A second position has the missile dropping into the water close to the Kursk. The resulting explosion jolted the sub, shaking a torpedo from its storage rack, causing it to leak.

  In the third possibility, highly explosive hydrogen gas from the leaking torpedo filled the confined space in the firing tube. When the order to fire was given, ignition of the propellant, used to shoot the fish out of the tube and into the ocean, lit the gas. With the explosive force of a truck full of nitroglycerin, the weapon exploded.

  It is also believable that a fire from the missile impact ignited the hydrogen produced by the leaking torpedo fuel. In any case, the result was the same. Confined by the strong, solid walls of the torpedo tube, the explosive force blew out both ends, destroying the tube cover on the outer hull and, at the same time, demolishing the loading door. This opening allowed a gout of devastating chemical energy into the compartment. The hot gas, heated to a temperature that would melt steel, followed nature’s law and expanded to fill the available space. The men there died instantly. Any object or material that could burn, burst into flames. Contained by the watertight door closing the compartment from the rest of the ship, the fire was held in the torpedo room.

  Simultaneously a second tragedy occurred with almost the same speed. Through a hole in the hull produced by the missile, or from the blown open torpedo tube, a solid column of water under pressure shot into the compartment. As water fell onto the deck, it drained downward through emergency vents into the space underneath. Unfortunately, the water did little to quench the raging fire. And in the space below, which had also been holed by the missile or torpedo explosion, more seawater was pouring in. The level quickly rose until automatic bladders, designed to seal off the flooded area, activated themselves, preventing this source of water from extinguishing the flames.

  In the Command Center, the men were too well trained and disciplined to panic. The Emergency Stations Alarm would have been sounded. Damage Control division personnel would have raced into the area to assess the situation and suppress fires even though they were hampered by the flooding.

  The weight of the incoming water forced the Kursk’s bow downward. To counteract this momentum, and following standard emergency procedures, Captain Lyachin should have called for an increase in forward speed and an emergency ballast release. This action would pop them to the surface with enough force to bring the submarine half out of the water like a leaping whale. Because other ships were known to be about, a visual periscope scan was now mandated. At the same time, the sonar team, using their passive system, would have reported all clear, with no sounds around them. Both inspections completed, the captain appears to have given the command.

  The huge tanks of compressed air were instantly vented into the ballast containers, forcing tons of seawater out of the submarine and back into the ocean. Lightened, the Kursk’s nose swung upward, toward the safety of sky and air.

  Aboard the Kursk

  For some of the trapped men, deep sleep had become difficult. Heads stuffy from the tainted air and temples throbbing, they would have dozed fitfully. The silence was broken only by the drip of water. Had they been there a day? More? Watch dials showed the passage of hours but time didn’t have the same meaning as before. One belief sustained them. Help was on the way. The Navy would not fail them.

  CHAPTER 4

  12 August 2000—1129 HoursNORSAR Observatory, Kjeller, Norway

  THE VILLAGE OF KJELLER IS LOCATED IN THE ROLLING countryside a few miles outside the capital city of Oslo, Norway. Once a small farming community, the town has become a center of modern technology. A low, unimposing building at number 33 Granaveien Street is notable only because of the array of dish antennas adorning the roof, hinting at serious communications capabilities. There is nothing else to suggest that the organization housed in this facility, which looks more like a factory than an office complex, has gained worldwide acclaim. Called NORSAR, it is a private foundation specializing in seismology and applied geophysics. Founded in 1968 by an agreement between the United States and Norway, the operation functions at the cutting edge of earth sciences. Using seven strategically placed sensing array stations, NORSAR is one of the largest seismological observatories in existence. Through computers and other electronic assistance, NORSAR maintains a ceaseless watch for all forms of seismic disturbances. It can even identify vibrations from underground testing of nuclear weapons. These capabilities make the organization a valuable asset in maintaining world control of military atomic weaponry.

  At NORSAR headquarters, Saturday, August 12, began as a normal day. Technicians followed their ordinary morning activities. Then, readings from several of the instruments showed an event that was anything but routine. At 11:28:27, in the Barents Sea, something had happened. And that phenomenon caused a reading of 1.5 on the Richter scale. Almost before the scientists could react to this anomaly, a second event occurred. That incident was so violent the tracing turned into a solid black smudge. The location was identical to the earlier
disturbance.

  11:28:27 Hours—Aboard the USS Memphis

  Sonar operators in the sonar shack had no difficulty detecting or holding the acoustic picture that was being painted on their glowing screens. First was an undersea explosion. Then, a sub was blowing ballast for what seemed to be an emergency main ballast maneuver to surface the boat in the shortest possible time. Next came a jumble of sounds. Then, another explosion. The second was a blast of such magnitude the men on duty must have been thankful for the recordings that were being made, otherwise many might have believed they were exaggerating.

  11:29:35 Hours—Aboard the Peter the Great

  The sonar watch officer stared at the lines zigzagging up and down on the screen, stunned by their height and frequency. He’d never seen anything like this. To a trained eye, the tracings were as readable as a TV picture. He was viewing an explosion. And from the size of the blast, he knew everyone else in the area was receiving the same signals. Seismic waves from an incident this big were being recorded halfway around the world.

  The precise location was easy to fix by using the reports from a number of ships and triangulation. Working together with the others, he quickly transferred the coordinates to a map, plotted a rough position, and marked it. The assessment of the several reporting sites was the same. It had been a small explosion followed by an enormous second blast.

  NORSAR Observatory

  A quick analysis of the data indicated an initial blast at 11:28:27, which registered 1.5 on the Richter scale. This was judged to be the equivalent of 220 pounds of explosives. A second, far more violent incident occurred at 11:30:42, resulting in a 3.5 Richter scale reading. Best estimates were that one to two tons of TNT detonated underwater would be needed to create an event of such magnitude.

  For the experts gathered at the observatory, those facts presented a bleak picture. They were about to discover their instruments had recorded the death knell of one of the world’s most deadly undersea weapons.