Frank Pope - 72 Hours - The First-Hand Account of a Royal Navy Mission to Save the Crew of a Trapped Russian Submarine

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 .

Nuttall appeared at the door of the control cab with a question on his face, but a look from Gold sent him back inside.

Five long minutes later, Podkapayev’s radio crackled and he nodded to Riches.

Riches passed the nod to Gold, and added, ‘Good luck.’

Gold motioned to Sillet with a circling motion of his finger, indicating to start lifting Scorpio. Gently the crane took the load, and everybody’s ears braced for the telltale shriek of tearing metal. Nothing. The welds were holding. Gold’s hand rested on one of the vehicle’s yellow floats to stop it from swinging as David Burke and Alan Hislop cleared the deck of the wooden blocks Scorpio had been sat on. Gold gave Scorpio a little pat. Ten years together and now this was their chance to prove themselves.

Sillet began to dip the boom over the water, and a dull bong sounded through the deck as a piece of metal flexed. Riches’ heart was in his throat, but Cave’s voice came up from the deck beneath saying everything was holding.

With Scorpio clear of the deck, Gold gave the thumbs-down.

‘Okay, Charlie, down on the wire,’ Gold said, and Sillet started spooling out. At 11.30, 28 hours after they’d set out from Glasgow’s Prestwick airport, Scorpio’s frame hit the water, and soon seawater was washing over its bright yellow floats.

‘In water, Pete, power on,’ he said. When the current started flowing, each of the lights flashed on and one by one the thrusters whirred into life before spinning to a halt once more. When everything checked out, he lifted the switch mechanism he held in his other hand. ‘Releasing the block,’ he said, and pushed a button. A signal travelled down the crane’s thick armoured flex and on to the coupling that held Scorpio, and with a heavy clunk the vehicle dropped free into the water.

‘Bit of starboard lateral,’ Gold said, as the vehicle swung slightly to port. The yellow umbilical was snaking loosely up on to the deck and into Pine’s hands, and was now the ROV’s only connection to the ship. Connection was not the issue at this stage, however. Scorpio was dangerously close to the ship’s hull. Gold needed to guide it out of danger as soon as possible, and kept feeding instructions to Nuttall until the yellow floats were 50 metres away.

‘Okay, Pete, clear to dive. Go and get it,’ Gold said into his boom mike. Most of their time with Scorpio together had been on simulated mine-recovery exercises for the Navy, and the terminology had stuck.

With a chopping snarl, the sea between Scorpio’s two floats erupted into a distant fountain of white water and the yellow flash of Scorpio faded into the gloom.

‘Diving,’ came back Nuttall’s voice from the control cabin. ‘Fifteen feet now. Sixteen. Seventeen.’ Like the C17 they’d flown in on, Scorpio was of American manufacture, so everything was in imperial units.

‘Okay, out of sight of surface,’ said Gold and he began walking over to the control cab. With Scorpio launched, he would now leave deck operations to Pine and Forrester.

Inside, Nuttall was sitting at the control desk. Mounted in front of him were the four screens and a series of other coloured displays showing sonar readouts and battery levels. On the flat area were his flight controls, all centred around the joystick. Gold came in and stood behind Nuttall, while Podkapayev and Riches stood alongside, flanked by one of the interpreters. Even with only five inside it was already crowded. It was almost midday, and there was not a hint of breeze to dissipate the sun’s heat.