Kursk Down (11 page)

The “foreign sub” story had to be uppermost in everyone’s mind during this operation, because any hard evidence that could support the collision theory would make that position more believable. So every opportunity to search for “proof” had to be taken.

A well-conceived political damage-control program must also offer other reasonable explanations for the disaster. These help create a diversity of public opinion, thus confusing the issue. Alternate causes also provide failsafe positions in case the main theory does not catch on or cannot be proven. There was only one prime requirement for all the officially recognized possibilities. None could cast blame on the Navy or Russian government.

For certain, the press was going to demand answers. And if enough facts were not forthcoming, reporters would dig until some were found—or worse, use flights of fancy to explain the cause of the catastrophe.

Another burning problem came from the ever-present danger of leakage from a damaged nuclear reactor. While the disaster was bad enough, the situation would grow far worse if there was nuclear contamination. Release of radiation was of immediate importance because the Barents Sea was one of the world’s most productive fishing areas.

The Navy would be in a much stronger position if positive assurances of proper reactor shutdown could be given as part of the initial release. This produced an urgent need to collect samples of seawater and metal from the
Kursk
’s hull. These specimens could then be analyzed to determine if any danger existed. So sample gathering was an important part of the rescue effort.

In the early evening hours of Sunday, August 13, as activity at the
Kursk
site was building, Admiral Popov appeared on Russian national TV. From the deck of the
Peter the Great
, he declared that the Northern Fleet’s sea war games had been a resounding success. No mention was made of the
Kursk
.

Popov’s televised comments of that night would be remembered later and cause a major backlash. The official explanation for this seemingly devious act was that Popov’s remarks had been recorded earlier, before the
Kursk
disaster, and played on the Sunday show. That story is most likely true. No one, however, canceled the use of this prerecorded tape, which plainly shows a tendency to manipulate the news. And inadvertently or on purpose, that is precisely what was to happen.

2240 Hours—On Board the Rudnitsky

AS-32
, the second DSRV, was successfully deployed over the side. Her mission was to get close-up television pictures of the wreck and especially the escape hatch to the ninth compartment.

During the next two and a half hours, the crew, hampered by poor visibility, made several descents. Proceeding cautiously, to minimize damage to their boat if they collided with the lost sub, they searched quadrant after quadrant. In spite of known precise coordinates,
AS-32
, for some unexplained reason, failed to make visual contact with its target.

Pressure to hurry the rescue effort was growing by the hour. So the now-repaired
AS-34
submersible was rushed back into action.

The crew once again managed to locate the downed submarine, but was forced to resurface because of drained batteries. This setback brought about a costly, expedient decision.

In normal conditions, a complete recharge of DSRV onboard batteries takes some 13 to 14 hours. This period can be shortened, but doing so seriously depletes the useful life of the battery packs. Since these are expensive to replace, deciding to do a quick hotshot recharge demonstrates the urgency everyone was feeling.

Back in the water less than 60 minutes later, the crew went directly to the sunken vessel.
AS-34
cautiously maneuvered to the stern escape hatch and made its first attempt to dock. Their goal was to mate with the hatch, open it from inside the DSRV, and thereby establish a dry escape route for trapped personnel.

The crew worked without break for almost three hours, using up much of their breathable air. They were unable to mount a rescue. A combination of poor visibility, undersea currents, the angle at which the
Kursk
rested on the bottom, and damage to the escape hatch docking flange, were all said to have played a role in the failure.

Since the
Kursk
was not lying horizontally, it was decided a later model DSRV, one of the two Bester (
AS-36
) units, would be better suited for the docking job. That model was designed to mate with a surface at an angle up to 45 degrees and could remain submerged a full four hours. An emergency call was put through ordering the deep submersible to the rescue site.

14 August 2000—1015 Hours

A large number of people were becoming involved in the rescue activity—which made keeping the loss a secret from the media progressively more difficult. The telephone censorship placed on Vidyaevo and some of the other villages where Northern Fleet personnel lived was also attracting media curiosity. Fearful of a leak, officials believed the best policy was to control information by making a preliminary press release. It was decided that the initial announcement did not have to reveal the actual nature of the situation. That could wait until the question of radiation leakage was resolved—and, it was hoped, after some evidence was found to back up the collision story.

Two days after the disaster, on Monday, August 14, at 1045 hours, the Navy Press Center issued the first public statement: “. . . there were malfunctions on the submarine, therefore she was compelled to lay on a seabed in region of Northern Fleet exercises in Barents Sea.”

While that account was not, on a word for word basis, a direct lie, it certainly did not reveal the seriousness of the accident. The first release also noted that the incident had occurred on Sunday, August 13, rather than Saturday, August 12.

Further information, this time a bit less truthful, indicated communications with the submarine were said to be working.

Shortly after noon, Vice Admiral Einar Skorgen, Commander North Norway (COMNON), used the red telephone in his office at COMNON headquarters located at Reitan. The facility was built deep inside a nuclear bombproof complex excavated from an Arctic mountain near the Norwegian town of Bodoe. Skorgen activated the direct line to Admiral Popov. This new straightthrough link had been established in April 1999 to further relations between the neighboring nations. It had never before been used. Acting under orders from the Norwegian Ministry of Defense, Admiral Skorgen, through an interpreter, requested details on the
Kursk
situation. He also offered direct assistance as well as a willingness to coordinate aid from NATO.

The Russian response was gracious and clear. Thanks, but no thanks. The matter was under control. No help was required.

At this point, that answer most probably summed up an honest attitude. The Northern Fleet had ample resources on-site and more assistance on the way. If the Navy high command knew the actual condition of the
Kursk
, such experienced men of flag and even lower rank would be able to perform their own damage assessment. Loss of a large percentage of the crew would be a foregone conclusion. The need for even more help would be hard to justify.

Besides, bringing in the Norwegians, or any foreigners at this junction, would have served as the detonator for a news media explosion. Worse, it would be an admission of Russian inability to care for her own men. And almost as bad, asking for help was like passing out an open invitation for any interested party to come and examine the most advanced submarine in their Navy.

1400 Hours—Rescue Site

NTV, the Russian independent television network, broke into its regular programming with a special bulletin. The
Kursk
was down. The submarine’s bow was damaged and flooded. All power generation on board the boat had been cut.

Armed with the Navy Press Office release, reporters had gone to work. At least one, and most likely more people with knowledge of the disaster, talked. Since few knew the extent of damage, there was a good probability that the someone who spoke was a ranking officer.

Two hours after the NTV report, the Navy denied any flooding and again placed the time of the incident on Sunday.

Apparently pressure from the news media developed rapidly. Two hours after the second Navy statement, Admiral Vladimir Kuroyedov, chief of the Russian Navy, admitted the
Kursk
was seriously damaged.

At the site, divers obtained water samples to check for radiation. Thus far, no contamination was detected. That was the only bright spot, because the deep-sea TV camera modules, which carry their own light sources, provided pictures that indicated vastly more damage to the submarine’s front sections than had been anticipated. The Navy made no mention of this distressing fact.

By this time, and because of other Navy press confusion, obfuscation, and falsehoods, their Public Information Office credibility had been damaged. As the evening progressed, the foreign-sub ramming theory was offered as actual fact. There was also talk of an explosion on board. Denials and counterdenials abounded. Offers of help from foreign governments poured in.

Britain agreed to loan its LR-5 DSRV. This rescue vehicle had been modified when it was used to assist a Polish sub. Its escape hatch matched the Polish model, which was much like the Russian design.

The U.S., NATO, and Norway were all quick to volunteer aid. These offers produced another quandary for the Russian group orchestrating how the disaster could best be handled in terms of protecting careers, Navy image, and honor.

To accept help could well be construed as an admission that the Navy was incapable of doing the job. It would also sting national pride.

To refuse assistance might lay officials open to later charges of callous disregard for human life—especially if it was discovered that crewmen on the downed boat lived for days and the rescue work proceeded too slowly to save them.

To further complicate a messy situation, there was the question of equipment compatibility. With the exception of the modified British submersible, fittings of other nations would be incompatible with Russian gear. Therefore time had to be spent determining what outside aid might be useful and how best to employ those resources. Starting such discussions would immediately demonstrate a willingness to accept help, even though that assistance might not, after serious consideration, be beneficial.

The place to review possible help was NATO. Most of the nations offering aid were members and, after all, this was a military, not a civilian matter. Better still, confidential talks could be held at NATO headquarters in Belgium. That would minimize leaks to the Russian press.

A delegation was dispatched to Brussels.

Even with this tactic, the high command faced a sharp reality. If they were able to quickly get inside the sunken submarine, all offers of assistance would be moot. Speed was the key. Every hour that passed without gaining entry pushed them closer to the point where refusing to accept aid would place them in a bad public light.

The rescue operation now took on a dual personality. Those leading the effort possessed information about the extent of the damage to the
Kursk
. These officials therefore had a better understanding of the possibility of finding anyone alive. The Navy was also committed to a path of action. The foreign sub story, in one form or another, caused the least problems and protected the most careers. The officials really wanted to sell it any, and every, way it could be sold. For this elite group, an end to news media coverage and public outcries could not come soon enough.

The many seamen who were actually participating in the operation considered themselves in a race with death to save the lives of the
Kursk
crew. Performing dangerous tasks at a frantic pace, these were the individuals whose unquestioned bravery and devotion to duty were inspirational. Focusing the news media on their courageous efforts helped shift media attention away from the cause of the crash.

1600 Hours—Rescue Site

The order to bring in the newer model Russian DSRV caused several problems. First was the matter of getting it from port to the
Kursk
’s resting place. The submersible
AS-36
Bester model had no mother ship. Its support vessel, the
Herman Titov
, had been taken out of operation in 1994. Since
AS-36
could not reach the rescue area under its own power, transportation was needed.

A floating crane was commandeered. It lifted the 40foot-long minisub into the air. To stop it from swinging because of wave motion, lines were used to secure the bow and stern. One of the Northern Fleet rescue tugs then towed the crane and submersible to the recovery spot. By this point several other support ships had arrived as well, so there was now a small flotilla at the scene.

On-site the weather had turned, making for rougher seas. The floating crane, designed for port and coastal tasks, became difficult to manage in the offshore waves. When the submersible began swaying violently, the men realized something had to be done quickly or the rescue vehicle would be seriously damaged. It was decided that unloading the DSRV into the now-turbulent water without banging it up was impossible.

A tugboat moved into position and pushed the crane and
AS-36
toward Porchnikha, the nearest bay. Once there, they found calmer seas. Improvising, a crew managed to control the worst of the DSRV’s gyrations. Working slowly because of danger from the swinging mass, they got the boat into the water. They then struggled to free it from the crane. The tug pulled alongside the boat, a line was secured, and at a sedate pace,
AS-36
was towed back for use.

The three-man crew boarded the submersible and took their stations. It was decided that a trial dive to check all systems was best. The DSRV submerged and its controls were tested. There was some damage but she seemed to respond adequately. After resurfacing briefly, they went down again.