Kursk Down (7 page)

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

T
HE VILLAGE OF
K
JELLER 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.

Later, after a detailed report was developed, Frode Ringdair, a scientific adviser, was quoted as saying, “This was the single most powerful explosion we have ever registered in this area.”

1131 Hours—Aboard the Kursk

Commander Lyachin’s desperate effort to surface had momentarily appeared successful. The downward slant of the deck leveled, then slowly began to tilt in the other direction. They were coming up. The boat was sluggish but was answering the helm.

There was no time for elation. Action was their only salvation. Then, in one tick of a clock, action was not enough.

Reports on experiments by engineers at Dagdizel had indicated that the liquid-fueled torpedoes could withstand exposure to fire a little over two minutes. Continued heating beyond that point caused the fuel to boil, vaporize, and release large quantities of hydrogen gas. The resulting explosion would pack tremendous power.

Apparently, their engineering estimate was accurate. About 135 seconds after the first explosion, which started savage fires in Compartment 1, a second torpedo blew up. This blast initiated a chain reaction of explosions, recorded by surrounding vessels and NORSAR.

The force of this exploding arsenal was horrific. A gaping hole was blown in one side of the
Kursk
, lifting back a large flap of steel like a fish opening its mouth to strike. Through this fissure hot gas burst forth into the sea. Water adjacent to the hull turned to instant steam from the explosive heat. The resulting “bubble” shot to the surface, erupting in a geyser hundreds of feet high. Cooling almost as soon as it boiled, seawater flooded into the submarine and was stopped by the emergency watertight sealing systems.

No one in the first five compartments was alive to respond to this devastation.

As before, when the torpedo tube contained the initial blast and directed the hellish energy, the interior of the pressurized hull now assumed the same role. An unstoppable shock wave, accompanied by a fireball of intense heat, flared through the submarine. Watertight doors sealing off the first five compartments could not hold against this insane pressure. As bulkheads were bowed, door seals failed and the explosive force rolled on.

Even more deadly, though, was the incandescent gas that shot through the ventilation system, sending gouts of fire into every compartment of the
Kursk
.

The third-generation nuclear reactors on board were a major advance over their predecessors. As electrical connections melted, the built-in safety features of the reactor modules automatically activated. Before heat could build in the pile, the control rods were shoved to their fully inserted positions, dampening the atomic activity. This action stopped the formation of steam, so the turbines slowed, then spun to a halt, stilling the huge twin props.

In spite of the blown ballast tanks, the submarine was nose heavy with inrushing sea. So the
Kursk
sank bow-down through the chilling water. The heavy vessel struck bottom with tons of force, scattering debris in a wide circle and sending up a thick curtain of primordial ooze. All was silent. In time, the sediment, carried by a small current, spread and settled. The deep now held the
Kursk
in a final embrace.

1133 Hours—Aboard the USNS Loyal

The sensitive undersea pickups deployed by the surveillance team relayed blast information to the many recorders on board. And the crew found no problem identifying the source of the event. In the following minutes, new sounds, easy for trained ears to decipher, told a nightmarish story. As all propulsion died, the noise of propeller cavitation or turbulence was replaced by the almost whalelike chorus of moans and shrill shrieks produced by metal flexing under massive stress.