August 10th, 2000.
The time is almost 2200 hours.
We’re standing on the docks of the Zapadnaya
Litsa port in the Ara-Guba Bay - just inside
the Arctic Circle.
We have been here since noon, waiting for
our weapons to be loaded on board, and everyone
is getting restless - we have to be at our
designated position in the Barents Sea by
0400.
We were supposed to be underway hours ago.
Instead, we’re waiting on a crane.
It is not unusual for something as basic as
a crane to hold up operations for Russia’s
Northern Fleet.
Under Yeltsin, the military has fallen into
disrepair and become the laughing-stock of
the world.
All of that is about to change.
The new Prime Minister Putin respects the
navy.
At his command, the Northern Fleet is gathering
in the Barents Sea for war games - a demonstration
of our new power and capabilities.
Carriers, warships - and of course, submarines.
Like the one that’s currently sitting at
the dock and not on its way as it should be.
My vessel.
The pride of the Fleet.
Once we get to the games, we shall show the
world what she can do.
I am proud to be a sailor in the Russian Navy
- but I am honored to be a crew member on
the submarine Kursk.
Less than a year ago, we celebrated the triumphant
completion of our first major mission.
For a month, we stalked an American aircraft
carrier from beneath the surface, travelling
in her wake as she sailed through the Mediterranean
and Adriatic Seas - NATO waters.
And no matter how much money and resources
they spent - including nine submarine-tracking
aircraft - they could not find us, could never
pinpoint our exact location.
They spent millions, all to no use.
After a decade of cutbacks at home and general
disrespect by the world at large, this simple
mission - following an American warship - has
proven that the Russian Navy is back, stronger
than ever.
We returned home heroes - when we docked,
we feasted on a spit-roasted pig right there
on the docks!
Our commanding officer, Captain Gennady Lyachin
was made a Hero of Russia!
And then-acting PM Putin hatched the plans
for this week’s war games.
Three days of mock battles to show not just
our might, but our speed, ingenuity, efficiency.
If only we can get there.
It is almost sunset now at Zapadnaya Litsa.
This is not even our first attempt to get
fully equipped.
Kursk has the capacity to carry 24 cruise
missiles and two torpedoes.
Last week, we could only load up one torpedo
- we call her Fat Girl.
Biggest torpedo in the world, can last up
to twenty years...provided she’s well taken
care of.
I heard from one of the men in the forward
compartments that there’s some doubt about
our Fat Girl.
Bad enough the paperwork ensuring her safety
wasn’t complete - but then these ancient
cranes almost dropped her!
It to two attempts to get her on board safely.
Oh, well.
The inspectors say she’s safe enough, and
that’s good enough for me, otherwise she
wouldn’t be on board.
Still - it should not be taking this long
to get everything together.
We have had to make multiple trips this week,
to try to get our weaponry in order.
They kept saying it wasn’t ready so back
we’d go to the base on Vidyaevo.
And believe me, no one ever wants to go back
to Vidyaevo.
It’s cold, lonely, and barren.
There is no entertainment, no bars, no church
even.
It is so remote that it is not even on any
maps.
By comparison, life on the Kursk - oh, what
luxury!
We have a lounge, a sauna, an aquarium, even
a swimming pool!
And what a feat of Russian engineering - four
stories high and longer than two Boeing jets;
a thick double hull that makes it near-impossible
to detect.
It’s the pride of the Northern Fleet, as
we shall prove this week...if we make it on
time!
Ah finally.
Turns out it wasn’t just a new crane we
needed - the crane operator took his lunch
break.
Only in the Russian Navy…
But now they’re on-boarding the new and
final torpedo - the last of our weapons.
Back I go - down to the seventh compartment,
the turbines, where Captain-Lieutenant Dmitry
Kolesnikov commands.
Warm up the engines - open and shut the throttles.
After 15 minutes - during which the tugs would
have pulled and positioned us northward toward
the Barents - she’s ready to go.
All ahead.
Six knots.
Submerge the ship.
Twenty-eight knots - we have to make up for
the time lost on the pier.
Commander Lyachin gives an order for a fire
drill.
Good exercise, I suppose - after all, a small
fire broke out during the stalking mission
last year - right in my own compartment, actually.
Some of the men were knocked unconscious by
the smoke and fumes, but for the most part,
we handled it superbly, if I say so myself.
This drill is a totally different scenario,
though.
Lyachin wants us to run it as though a fire
broke out in the second compartment, all communication
was cut off between us and the command, and
it’s up to us to rescue personnel and contain
the fire.
The alarm sounds, and we immediately go through
the emergency protocols - grab a hose, shut
the doors, put on protective gear.
All goes smoothly.
Soon after, we receive word from the officers
in charge of the war games exercise: get there
as soon as possible.
Maximum speed.
August 11 - 0900 hours.
We finally arrive.
Some of us were able to get some sleep, but
now we must prepare for the exercise ahead.
From the Vice Admiral onboard the Peter the
Great, we get our orders.
The first mission: fire two missiles at a
target vessel 200 miles away.
The target is a derelict ship; the missiles
are not armed with nuclear capability.
Nevertheless, it is a beautiful demonstration
of our power.
We know the NATO powers are watching - they
always are, making sure nobody slips out in
the commotion for a secret mission...
By 1400 we are done for the day.
Just for the day, though - we have another
exercise set for tomorrow - dummy warheads
launched against Peter the Great, and then
a demonstration of our torpedoes.
August 12 - 0620 hours.
From periscope depth, we are ordered to bring
the submarine to an emergency dive.
As we get ourselves aligned, we begin the
first exercise of the day - the missile assault.
A great success, and when it is over at 0835,
we maneuver to our next position for the torpedo
demonstration.
By 1113, we are thirty miles away.
All we have to do now is wait for the torpedo
crew to do their part.
My God!
What was that?
Came from the front - quick!
Seal the compartment!
Get the doors shut!
Captain-Lieutenant Kolesnikov tries to contact
Control, tries to contact Lyachin - nothing.
Something has gone terribly wrong at the front
- something with the torpedos.
We are sinking fast, nose first!
We slide forward, tumbling atop each other!
Until finally….
We’ve hit bottom!
I can still hear us moving, scraping - sliding
forward across the seabed!
Who knows how far we’ve gone before we finally
stop?
Finally!
At least we’re level again.
We must be at the bottom.
The bottom of the sea.
In just two minutes.
That all it took to sink the Kursk.
Three years to build, two minutes to sink.
Kolesnikov is on the intercom with one of
the forward commanders, Capt.-Lt. Rashid Ariapov
- he’s in the sixth compartment, just on
the other side of the reactor, so that’s
good.
If any explosion hit the reactors, it wouldn’t
just be bad for us - it would leak radiation
throughout the ocean.
I shout for my friends.
They shout back.
At least I know some of us are safe.
But water’s rushing in - cold, icy seawater,
a shock to the system.
I move to secure valves and other openings,
try to stave it off as much as I can.
Kolesnikov is using the emergency intercom
system.
No one forward of the sixth compartment answers.
Control - Lyachin - they all must be considered
gone.
The remaining commanders decide - all survivors
must make our way to the ninth compartment.
It’s a tight space, but there is an escape
hatch.
If a rescue sub comes, they can attach themselves
to the top of it, and save us all.
Or, if things get desperate, we can file in
there one at them: come up the bottom, shut
ourselves in, get used to the pressure, then
unlatch the top and shoot up to the surface.
At least that’s the idea.
In that situation, it’s more likely that
if the bends doesn’t kill us, the cold water
will.
I pray the rescue sub comes first.
Ariapov secures the reactors as Kolesnikov
orders us to take our rations, escape suits,
and oxygen masks to the ninth compartment.
We make our way aft.
Along with everything else, we take the superoxide
cartridges.
If we’re all to stay together, in this one
space, we’ll need oxygen; these cartridges
have chemicals that absorb the carbon dioxide
we exhale, and turn it into breathable oxygen.
Put one into a blower, and we can stay alive
just a little longer.
Once we are all filed in, Kolesnikov takes
roll.
One by one, we shout our names, service number,
position, and compartment.
Kolesnikov jots it all down by the beam of
his flashlight - the emergency lights are
getting weaker.
It takes 20 minutes to get to all of us.
Twenty-three.
That is how many are jammed together here
in a space meant for only three men.
Twenty-three men survive - we left Vidyaevo
with 118.
God, I’m freezing - soaking wet - tired.
Some of the men sleep - good.
They’ll use less oxygen that way, conserve
their strength.
I must try to steady my breathing.
Remain calm.
Don’t hyperventilate.
Keep a clear head.
We have to stay alive as long as we can.
We also have to get word to the surface, let
them know there are survivors.
I remember the emergency buoys - there’s
a lever that will deploy them, sending them
shooting straight to the surface.
Someone will see them!
I approach Kolesnikov - he leans against a
wall, exhausted.
I share my idea: “The buoys, have you thought
of them?”
He shrugs.
He tried the lever that would release the
buoy in our section, but doesn’t know if
it worked or not - it just swung back and
forth.
“What about the ones forward, then?
Could they still be in one piece?
Could they be deployed?”
A look in his eyes.
The buoys forward had a habit of dislodging
at the slightest prevarication.
Our men welded them to the hull.
They won’t budge now.
And that’s if they survived the blast.
We have to do something, I tell him!
Our Northern Fleet, the NATO vessels - someone
must have felt those blasts!
Maybe they’re trying to find us now, coming
up short because of our “undetectable”
double hull?
I take a wrench and crawl up to the escape
hatch - banging the hell out of it.
SOS…SOS….
Surely someone will pick that up.
SOS….SOS….
I wait, listening for some vibration from
outside.
Some telltale sign.
After a while, Ariapov tells me to take a
break - I’m using up energy and oxygen,
and making the other men anxious.
It was worth a shot.
There is nothing to do but wait.
We have enough food supplies to last a while
yet, but I’m sure we’ll only be here another
couple of hours.
We’re supposed to report in every four hours,
and it’s been nearly five since the blast.
They’ll notice our absence..
They’ll come for us.
In the meantime, I better not use any more
energy than I have to.
And I’ve been up for so long.
I just need a little bit of rest.
Just find a corner...and shut my eyes...just
a little bit.
Darker now.
The emergency lights won’t last much longer.
How long have I been asleep?
Doesn’t feel long enough.
Christ, it’s freezing.
I turn on my flashlight.
I’m not just cold - I’m soaking wet!
The water has begun seeping in.
Ankle-deep already!
If we don’t get out, the oxygen, the air
pressure - everything starts changing.
Everything becomes less survivable.
It doesn’t matter how much food we have,
we won’t last long like this.
Cold and pressure be damned, what about actually
using the escape hatch?
Yes, we’ll have to go one at a time; yes,
it will probably take at least 10 minutes
for each of us to get out; but we can wear
the emergency suits!
They have breathing masks!
I rise, but I have to take a moment to gather
myself - I’m already feeling a bit light-headed.
I find one of the commanders.
Capt.-Lt. Ariapov is right there.
“Capt.-Lt!
What about the emergency suits?”
I go with him to take stock of them - we have
them on standby, piled together, away from
the water.
What we find is disgraceful.
Many submarines have been robbed of equipment
for their metal.
It is no different here - the metal belts
for the suits have been stolen - we can’t
attach our breathing devices.
Useless.
Kolesnikov tells me he had already ruled out
the escape hatch.
He says we could never survive the compression.
At least if we stay here, we stand a chance
of rescue by submersible.
It’s why they’ve started banging out SOS
again.
How long have they been at it?
Is that what woke me up?
How are we doing on the superoxide cartridges?
Be careful with them - there’s engine oil
on the water.
If we drop one of the cartridges after breaking
them open that’s it.
Those chemicals will react with the oil and
BOOM - ignite us all.
We must be very careful, especially now that
the water is rising.
Much faster than I thought.
That’s the last of the power.
We already lost the heat.
Now the electricity.
We still have our flashlights, though.
Not very strong beams.
Maybe we should conserve them.
Only use them when we need to get another
superoxide cartridge.
They’ve stopped the SOS - for now.
We wait for a sound from the other side.
Kolesnikov is writing again.
I can hear him scribbling something.
Someone else is writing, too.
Another report?
Or a last will and testament?
How can they write in the darkness?
The three bunks in this compartment are getting
used, at least.
Men sleeping while they can.
I’d rather hear their steady breathing than
what I hear from myself - chattering teeth,
shivering breath.
Have to get a grip.
Don’t breathe too fast.
Don’t poison your own comrades.
Maybe we need to change the superoxides out.
“Anyone?
Anyone want to change out the cartridge?”
I see someone with the beam of my flashlight.
He’s taking care of it.
There’s a stash of them being kept dry - near
Kolesnikov.
One of the young sailors wades his way through
the seawater toward them.
I can’t believe it’s already waist-deep.
The young sailor breaks the cartridge open,
hands shaking.
I see it happening before he does.
All it takes is a second.
But I dive down, head under water, just in
time.
The cartridge hits the water.
A fire engulfs the entire compartment.
I’m under, I turned, but I still feel the
flames against my back!
The cartridge slipped - the chemicals hit
the oil - and then boom.
Just like I said.
The young sailor...Kolesnikov...maybe it was
quick enough to kill them immediately?
I come back up for air.
All I get is a mouthful of smoke.
Whatever oxygen was left is being burned away.
I hear others, too - screaming in pain, praying
for mercy.
I have dropped my flashlight in the water.
The fire is the only light now - and then
it’s gone.
We are left in darkness - with the poisonous
air.
Where is everyone?
Where is the Russian Navy?
We’re being left to suffocate in the dark,
left to choke in frigid water.
We are only 325 feet deep!
You know what we submariners call that?
Shallow waters!
Where are they?
Why haven’t we been rescued?
Where are they?
