This is the full text of Vladimir Shigin's latest manuscript about a possible cause of the Kursk accident.

        Submarines are essentially secret vessels and therefore not only their life but also their death are almost always shrouded in mystery. The sea almost never leaves behind traces or witnesses.

        In the post-war years, the Russian Navy has sustained considerable losses in its submarine force. In my time, while scrutinising materials of government commissions which had investigated the circumstances of the loss of K-8, K-219 and Komsomolets, I came across a surprising regularity in suppositions about what had caused the wreck. In all three cases, the list of possible causes was absolutely identical and contained the following points: collision with a surface ship or with a submarine, an internal explosion, and a collision with an old mine. In effect, it is a sort of a “classical” set of standard explanations, which are put forward in the wake of any underwater disaster, when one cannot say anything concrete about it and it has left no living witnesses. Thus, as should have been expected, out of the whole mass of most probable and improbable conjectures about what had been behind the loss of Kursk, the government commission eventually left only three: the same traditional stories concerning submarines that perished with the entire crew and failed to be lifted to the surface.

        Sailors saw the essence of what had happened to Kursk as early as the second day after the tragedy. As far as the original cause was concerned, it was absolutely clear already then that it could be revealed only after the submarine was up on the surface and thoroughly investigated. Yet, despite the total clarity of the situation, the press, with persistence worthy of better application, went on inventing ever new explanations. Moreover, the less a journalist knew of the problem, the more sensational were his or her “discoveries.”

        Let us recall at least in outline the main versions. First, the testing of some super-secret torpedo, which unexpectedly exploded in the compartment. In reality, there were no tests at all. While at the headquarters of the Northern Fleet, I saw the plan of the exercise endorsed by the commander. In accordance with the plan, Kursk was to fire, on August 12, a practice (blind-loaded) torpedo at a formation of surface ships. The entire Russian Navy has successfully used this type of torpedo for about two decades now. The only distinction characterising the torpedo aboard the Kursk was its new, upgraded accumulator battery.

        Second, a sabotage attack perpetrated by terrorists. There are rumors afoot that soon after the loss of Kursk, an anonymous leader of the Chechen separatists claimed credit for the destruction of the Russian submarine. Besides, someone remembered that the same Chechens had long ago promised to sabotage one of Russian atomic facilities. This is likely to be the entire foundation of the so-called “sabotage” version available today.

        In the first place, outsiders are never permitted on board a nuclear-powered submarine. Even authorised personnel are admitted after they present the required documents. According to some rumours, there possibly were kamikaze terrorists among the crew. But it is not too realistic either. A kamikaze works for an idea, not money. How could a fanatical Wahhabite devotee suddenly turn up among the crew? Anyone in that category would have been unmasked in no time had he even appeared. As is common knowledge, Wahhabism urges strict observance of all possible vows and rules of the Muslim faith (repudiation of pork meat, rejection of food during Ramadan, three prayers a day, etc.). Those who have even a remote idea of how closely people communicate aboard ships and particularly submarines would immediately see the absurdity of these assumptions. Yet sensationalism drives out all sense of reality: upon seeing on the crew list the names of two Daghestanis, the press rushed to exploit the “Chechen connection.”

        In fact, however, design engineer Mamed Gadzhiyev and Master Mitchman Abdurkadyr Ildarov were no submarine service tyros. As is only natural, both had no relation to Wahhabism or ideas of the Chechen separatists. Both had years-long records of service with a defense research institute and aboard submarines. Incidentally, it was Master Mitchman Ildarov who, of all the crew, had the Order of Valour awarded him for heroism and high professionalism displayed during a combat mission.

        Yet another version has it that Kursk collided with a big surface ship. As shown by the investigation conducted in the first few days after the tragedy, there were no unauthorised ships in the Northern Fleet’s training range. First, the area was off-limits to civilian ships, of which all those concerned had had prior notification. Second, it has been recently confirmed by documents that no ships ventured into the off-limits area during the exercise. Third, a thorough investigation of the hull of the sunken submarine showed beyond any doubt that a surface ship could not have inflicted that kind of damage. Northern Fleet commander Admiral Vyacheslav Popov is in no two minds about this: “I can assert unconditionally that there were no surface ships in the area. Everything was controlled by our aviation.”

        The next version is about a collision with a mine. Incidentally, it is quite real, although the press tended to shun it on account of its obvious banality. But it is spoken about at sufficient length even at the level of the government commission. The thing is, the yield of the first explosion registered by the seismologists was quite up to that of a WW11 mine. Yet sailors are more cautious about the “mine” version and have sufficiently sound reasons to be that way. First, there is no case on record in the history of the world’s navies where one WW11 mine destroyed a combat ship displacing as much as the 25,000-ton Kursk. More than that, the annals of the Great Patriotic War are replete with facts showing that contemporary submarines managed to get back to base even after hitting a mine.

        There is one more version. The vilest one, as I see it. It is about Kursk being sunk by the nuclear-powered guided-missile cruiser Pyotr Velikiy, which allegedly did it by firing a missile or a torpedo rather than by ramming the sub’s first compartment. But how can anyone force the ship crew to keep silent, how can anyone hide the truth within so small a garrison as Severomorsk? Can it be imagined that there had been not a single honest man in the entire Northern Fleet who would not have told the truth!

        Thus, we have outlined almost the whole spectrum of little probable and totally improbable versions. What else could have happened to Kursk? Apart from the above possibilities, newspapers wrote about explosions of Kursk’s accumulator batteries; about an accidental attack by a foreign submarine which allegedly fired a combat torpedo at it; about some obscure underwater ambush; and about the testing – either Russian or U.S. – of a super-secret weapon. What else can be invented? What is left is perhaps an attack by UFO or an immense water serpent, involvement of supernatural forces, or an impact from a natural cataclysm unknown to science. Even the keenest of fantasies seems to be incapable of more!

        Now let us dwell on the third version – collision with a foreign submarine – which is behind most talk and attracts the overwhelming majority of specialists and witnesses. So, it is clear to everyone today that the submarine was destroyed by a powerful explosion of ammunition in the first torpedo compartment. What is unclear is the primary cause of the explosion. The full-proof ammunition could not have exploded of its own accord. It is only an exceptionally powerful and sharp outside impact, such as underwater ramming, that might have caused the detonation. Specialists have already theoretically calculated that the possible collision was a head-on one and occurred while the Russian submarine was moving up to the surface and the foreign submarine, if any, was submerging.

        This interpretation was delivered by General Valery Manilov in a television broadcast and to a certain extent it was allowed of by the Defense Minister, commander-in-chief of the navy and commander of the Northern Fleet, as well as many other professionals and specialists. What are the facts that permit us to regard this version as preferable to all others, if not proved? First, the very first investigation of the Kursk disaster area revealed two metallic anomalies on the seabed within close distance from each other. The area (the so-called South Murmansk Bank) has been the Northern Fleet’s combat training range for years and sailors know it inside out. Whence the unknown “anomalies?” As it turned out later, one of these was the sunken Kursk. The other one quite possibly might have been a crippled foreign submarine lying on the bottom near-by.

        When I was talking to Northern Fleet commander Admiral Vyacheslav Popov, he confirmed that the “anomaly” had been making international SOS signals and one could well have heard some knocking inside the sub. It might have been the crew fighting for its survival. A few days later, tapes of the knocking were sent for examination, with experts concluding that the sounds had been produced by an automatic mechanism, not people. This information was confirmed in a televised interview by Deputy Prime Minister Ilya Klebanov, who heads the government commission. But Russian submarines have never had equipment that would automatically make SOS signals. Any submariner can confirm this.

        Causing suspicion is also the mysterious disappearance of the second “anomaly.” Where could it have got to? There is no particular need for guessing. The unknown submarine might have limped to base after it had “healed its wounds” inflicted by the ramming.

        One more reservation is in order here. Russian nuclear-powered submarines are so designed that they cannot settle on the bottom. If a Russian atomic sub is aground, it means it is in trouble and unable to emerge to the surface on its own. Unlike these, U.S. and British atomic submarines are able to settle on the bottom. And that a foreign sub sought to get away from the location as soon as possible is more than explainable. It was down with serious damage and with Russia’s entire Northern Fleet on the surface above it. In fact, the submarine itself was spotted. In that situation, what was at stake was even more than its crew’s own security. They were just afraid to surface after the collision. Why? The answer is totally clear. Because they had been spying near the Russian coast. Surfacing would have furnished the documentary confirmation of spying and caused an international scandal. The only solution was to get as far as possible from the place of the tragedy and then, even if forced to come to the surface or compelled to do that on their own, they would be in a position to raise some objections.

        This brings up the question: Why the submarine was able to go away? First, during those first horrible days, the entire fleet was concentrating on how to save the Kursk crew. Second, there was much noise on the surface, with ships coming and going and with Russian submarines submerging time and again and working in the vicinity of the sunken Kursk. Hydrology left much to be desired, too. Soon, however, antisubmarine aviation of the Northern Fleet suddenly spotted a foreign nuclear submarine, which was heading for Norway at a suspiciously low speed of five knots. The vessel was immediately showered with radio buoys. Right away, this brought up the question: What is to be done next? Admiral Popov reported the discovery to Moscow. Moscow diplomatically kept silent. And, indeed, what could it say? To order it destroyed? But no war had been declared on the United States or Britain while the submarine was in international waters and accordingly enjoying protection of all international laws. Besides there was no proof that it had been involved in the sinking of Kursk. Thus, the sub limped all the way up to Norway, and, upon regaining its breath there, dissolved in the Atlantic.

        There were rumours that it was that submarine that had been hauled into the Plymouth docks, so impressive had been its damage. As early as September 4, when most contradictory rumours were afoot about the causes of the tragedy, deputy chief of General Staff Colonel General Valery Manilov unexpectedly announced that “something resembling a conning tower fairwater of the type mounted on submarines of the U.S.A. or Great Britain” had been discovered within 50 metres of Kursk. To quote Manilov, the discovered “conning tower fairwater” was being closely guarded by Northern Fleet combat ships.

        But that was not all! Even prior to Russia’s official announcement of the loss of Kursk, the British rescue forces were put on alert and took to sea. Why the alert? To test own combat readiness? To save Russia’s Kursk? Or were they perhaps in a hurry to save their friends? Why then did they stop halfway? Was it not because they had received a report saying that the crippled submarine was after all heading home under its own power? It is known for fact that there were three foreign submarines in the area where the Northern Fleet was holding its exercise: USS Memphis, USS Toledo and HMS Splendid.

        Immediately after the Kursk tragedy, the Americans started giving a lot of media coverage to USS Memphis’ call at one of the Norwegian ports. It was constantly on television screens and everyone could see with their own eyes that it was quite intact. But no one said a single word about the other U.S. nuclear submarine, USS Toledo, which had also been in the same area. The vessel had never existed, as it were.

        It is common knowledge today that Russian naval representatives asked the U.S. side, as early as September 2000, to let them examine precisely Toledo rather than Memphis, which was being insistently demonstrated to everyone who cared to see. So, what do you think? They got a flat refusal right away. The Americans are traditionally disinclined to admit their mistakes and miscalculations, failing to admit even one single fact of their submarines colliding with ours immediately after the event. This was the case in 1970, when Russia’s K-108 collided with USS Todog and in 1968, when K-129 perished in the Pacific. Judging by all appearances, it was rammed while submerged by USS Swordfish. The same happened to K-219 in the North Atlantic in October 1986, when in all evidence it was rammed and sunk by USS Augusta. February 1992 saw a collision in the Russian training range in the Barents Sea between Russia’s K-276 (later to be named Kostroma) and USS Baton Rouge.

        All in all, there were 21 collisions between Russian and U.S. submarines in the last 33 years. In the overwhelming majority of cases, the blame for the collisions, which happened near the Russian coast, went to the Americans. At least two of them ended in a tragedy, both involving Russian nuclear-powered submarines. Therefore, if the American side is in fact implicated, even unintentionally, in the loss of Kursk, one should not hope for an admission.

        For fairness sake it must be stated that no material proofs of U.S. or British involvement in the loss of Kursk have been discovered up to date. Divers did not lift any single fragment of the hull, which bore traces of a second submarine. All conclusions can be made only after the sunken submarine is lifted to the surface. Murder will out. The truth about the collision, if there was a collision, will sooner or later become known to everybody. But as is evident from practice, today’s sensation will be accepted rather calmly some time later and relegated to the realm of history years after the event, when it will incite no particular worry in anyone aside from the relatives and friends of the perished crew, those who will keep the tragedy of Kursk close to their hearts for as long as they live.

        ends