Saturday, 6 August/Sunday, 7 August
SS + 64 h 50 mins
The time was 09.20, and KIL-27 was wallowing in the limp sea. Tugs were pushing the Alagez, a large submarine salvage and rescue vessel that was acting as the command ship, and the KIL-168, a Kashtan-class rescue and crane ship, into position with excruciating slowness. Huge black clouds burst from the tugs’ funnels and water churned from their sterns, but progress was slow. Podkapayev’s plan was that together the two big vessels would hold KIL-27 in position, with the Alagez across the bow with three anchors out and KIL-168 tethered astern with a single anchor stretching from her bow. The several large and small tugs would help with the precision control.
A light wind was blowing from the south-west, accompanied by a slight rolling swell, but essentially the weather was perfect. Wires were attached to both KIL-27’s bow and stern, and stretched towards the Alagez and the KIL-168, but manoeuvring was not easy. There were two little tugs bumping and boring into the starboard side, trying to shove the ship laterally into position.
The Submarine Rescue Service’s initial estimate – made just hours after they’d heard of the accident – had been that they’d make contact with the trapped submersible within 36 hours and now, despite the countless delays, they’d at least made it to the accident site in that time. Commander Riches pulled out one of the three laptop-sized satellite phones they’d brought with them and began to set it up on the deck outside the Scorpio control cabin; he wanted to report the good news to the MOD command centre in Northwood. He twisted the antenna towards the equator, then realised there was an enormous iron derrick in his way. Holding the bulky equipment in front of him he shuffled towards the bow, looking for a spot with a clear view of the sky that wasn’t guarded by the dogs. That’s when he spotted one of the American divers, apparently delivering a report to his CO on an Iridium satellite phone no bigger than an early mobile phone. He felt a flash of envy. Then he remembered where he was. If he was feeling resentful at technology five years ahead of his, how must the Russians feel about being surrounded by gear that was 30 years ahead of theirs?
Gold had asked Podkapayev to put their ship in a position where the trapped submersible would be between 150 and 250 metres off their port beam. They needed their ship to be far enough away to be clear of the Russian submersible if they managed to free it and it came shooting to the surface, but not so far that Scorpio became uncontrollable. The umbilical cable that joined Scorpio to the ship was slightly heavier than water, and if there was too much off the reel it would start to drag the vehicle backwards.
On a vessel with Dynamic Positioning, getting themselves in the right spot, and facing the right direction to deploy Scorpio over the port side, would have been a matter of clicking on the desired spot on a digital map and setting the orientation of the ship. Thrusters would hold the ship on those exact coordinates until they – or the weather – decided it was time to move her off. Dynamic Positioning was like being strapped in one position despite the shifting surface of the sea. Their current, makeshift system of being strung between two ships was more like working from a kite blowing in the wind. If things started to go wrong, they’d go wrong very quickly.
Attaching lines to the two other ships had been accomplished fast, but getting the whole assemblage into the correct position was a different matter. Their tenders were not designed for pulling other vessels, and the resistance from KIL-27’s hull to being dragged sideways through the water was evidently immense.
Just as the ships began to make finer adjustments, an Anoushka-class fast missile boat roared up alongside the Alagez, its distinctive white radar dome and triple torpedo tubes stabbing either side of the bow beaming menace. The Russian top brass had arrived to supervise the situation, including the Defence Minister, Sergei Ivanov. There was now quite a fleet clustered on the surface, though it was nothing compared to the Kursk. Then, 12 combat ships, 21 rescue vessels, two diving ships and five search planes had been scouring the sea, first for the submarine, then for sounds of life, and, finally, for clues as to what had happened.
At 11.15, Podkapayev finally turned up at the Scorpio control cabin and gave the nod. They were in position. The ROV team gathered together around Scorpio while everyone else hung back. In a calm, quiet voice, Gold began to run them through the plan.
‘Let’s all take it nice and easy. We’ve been blessed by the weather, so let’s make use of it as long as it holds. As you all know, our platform is hardly stable. We’re trying something that we’ve no experience of, and we’re still not sure if it can be done. I’m sure you’ve all heard what happened to the Venom that the Russians tried to deploy – they got it all tangled up and now it’s a nasty mess. If we’re not very careful the same thing could happen to us. That’s got to be a major worry, so everyone let’s stay focused on that umbilical the whole time. Will, you’ve got to be on that winch every second, paying out and taking up slack as we shift about – and believe me, we’re going to be shifting about. This time if we get tangled it’s not just embarrassing or expensive, it could mean guys dying. So nice and slow. Yes, we’re in a hurry, but taking an extra minute now is better than screwing it all up for ever.’
With that everyone moved to their stations. Gold stayed beside Scorpio, his hand resting proprietorially on the starboard floatation tank, while Nuttall walked into the control cab, sat down in the pilot’s chair and began a second series of pre-flight checks, running through the lights, camera and thruster functions one by one. Everything was working fine, except for that rogue main camera that was still giving only a black-an-white picture. Will Forrester took his position at the winch’s control panel with the enormous spool of umbilical poised for deployment in front of him, the apparent simplicity of the direction lever and power switch belying the importance of his job. Charlie Sillet stepped up to the half-deck above and slipped into the crane-driver’s seat.
‘You got your extra lifejacket on there, Charlie?’ shouted Nigel Pine, standing beside Will Forrester. Sillet laughed, an edge of nervousness in his voice. When a crane is installed on a UK ship – even if temporarily for an exercise – after all its hydraulic pipes have been inspected it will be subjected to a full load test. Out here all they’d been able to do was put a bit of weight on the crane and stand underneath the deck to see if there was any flexing. Cave had added as much extra metal as possible, but to get Scorpio over the side the crane would be at full extension, putting maximum strain on the fresh welds that held the crane to the rusting deck. He was in position on the deck below, watching for any signs of trouble, but Sillet knew that if something went wrong it would in all likelihood happen too fast for him to get free.
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ said Gold. Riches was about to give a nod, when he turned to Podkapayev. They were guests on a foreign vessel and needed to be sure everybody knew what they were doing.
‘Okay to launch, Dmitriy?’ Riches said and Holloway translated.
Podkapayev gave a half-nod, but held up his hand to say hold it there. He lifted his radio and fired off a quick burst of Russian.
‘He’s asking for permission to launch,’ said Holloway. They waited. Holloway and Podkapayev conversed for a second, then Holloway turned back to Riches. ‘He’s asked the Master for permission to launch, and the Master is now clearing it with the command ship,’ he said, nodding towards the Alagez.