Many years have passed since the day when I last saluted the ship's flag and bid farewell to the fleet forever. Much has changed since that glorious time when I was proudly called a North Sea submariner: marriage, childbirth, perestroika hysteria, seizures of publicity, "delights" of the era of underdeveloped capitalism, gaining independence … Life went right off the bat. It would seem, what kind of sentiment is there? Live for today, think about tomorrow more often. Let the past remain in the past!
But how can you forget your ship, on which you have traveled more than one thousand miles, which is familiar to you from keel to klotik? How to forget the guys with whom you shared everything: from a cigarette butt to a breath of air?
It's a strange thing - human memory. How selectively acts! I can spend half a day looking for the glasses that I myself stuck somewhere yesterday. And at the same time, I remember well every ladder, every fence, every hatch. I still remember my actions in the event of an emergency alert and my place on the combat schedule for an urgent dive.
Sometimes it seems to me that even now I could go to sea in my previous position. Alas, this is impossible. And not only because I now live in another state - in March 2002 the RPK SN "K-447" made its last trip to the sea and was sent for disposal. Cut on pins and needles … However, this is already personal.
You ask, why are you so moved, guy? The fact is that my friends gave me a CD with the movie "72 meters". If you want to get an idea of the service of submariners, do not watch old Soviet films in which the political officer is always the central figure. Moreover, do not watch American underwater thrillers like "K-19". They cannot cause anything but bitter laughter. Look at "72 meters" …
I would like to share some episodes of my service in the Navy. I warn you right away: if you are waiting for horror films, it is better to close the page right away - nothing of this will happen.
The "circus", called the naval tavern in the fleet, began already on the train taking us to distant Leningrad. The eldest of our group, the captain of the 3rd rank, got drunk to the position of the robe and lost all political and moral character, as soon as the last lights of Chernigov disappeared in the distance. He lied until Peter himself, regaining consciousness only to take another dose. His assistant, the foreman of the 1st class, did not lag behind the older comrade, but did not cut himself out - the irrepressible naval prowess demanded an exit, for which the door and window in the vestibule paid for.
We, left to ourselves, also drank, ate, wandered around the carriage with wild cries of "left rudder", "right to board", "drop anchor", etc. a cheerful pirate gang: drunk, arrogant, ragged (at home, experts warned - the "old men" will take everything away, dress worse). I'll tell you right away - upon arrival at the half-crew on Krasnaya Gorka, they forced us to send all our clothes home.
On the half-carriage, the circus continued: we were given a uniform. I, for example, size 54, height 4, besides, I wore 48-3! If the issue was still being resolved with trousers: I twisted and fastened my belt tighter, then with the Dutch woman there was just trouble: the neckline reached my navel, and the shoulder straps hung on the sides like the epaulettes of Prince Bolkonsky! In addition, with every movement, she strove to move off her shoulders and turn into something between a straitjacket and a Scottish skirt! I had to suture the cutout to reasonable limits (nothing else was allowed to be sutured, and so they went around like stuffed animals).
From the textbook, the feeling of constant hunger was most remembered: the young body demanded its own, and the norms of content were calculated, apparently, for babies. They found a simple way out: after supper, they sent one person to the galley (for some reason, he always turned out to be an eternally hungry guy from Gus-Khrustalny named Solnyshko), and he dragged a full gas mask bag of bread. Of course, there was a buffet, but how much can you walk around at 3.60?
We must pay tribute, we were taught well, there was even a DEU (operating power plant), only it worked not from a reactor, but from an ordinary boiler room.
I have always remembered the lessons on HDL (light diving training). The very first dive added gray hair to my short-cropped head: I did not have time to dive to the bottom of the pool when water began to flow into the SCS (diver's rescue diving suit)! Of course, the depth there is only 5 meters, and there is a belaying cable, and experienced instructors are standing at the top, but then you would try to explain it to me! In general, they pulled me out on a rope, like a frog on a fishing line, tightened the valve tighter and - go ahead with songs!
What else I remember in the training was the first trip to the bathhouse. Firstly, it was the first exit to the city (and there is something to see in Kronstadt), and secondly … When we finished washing, we were given fresh linen - priests of lights! Here it is, the promise of experts: vests - as if torn after a battle, cowards - as if a grenade was wrapped in them and the pin was pulled out, socks - I won't say anything. But we were worried in vain, the “buyers” who came to pick us up checked everything in the most meticulous way, and we left for the North like new kopecks. And about what happened there - in the next story.
The closer the training completion date approached, the more we were eager for the fleet, for real warships. The very thought that you could be left in the training school, to be in command of the same squads as we were six months ago (yes, in all honesty, and continued to remain), was terrifying!
There is no worse word for a sailor "berbaza" - you wear a naval uniform, and you see the sea only from the shore. Looking ahead, I will say: even having got to the fleet, one of our guys still did not escape this sad fate - for the remaining 2, 5 years he served at the division headquarters. God, how he envied us!
But this is so, lyrics, so that you understand our state when the "buyers" finally appeared. It did not take much time to receive and transfer personnel, saying goodbye to the rest (two entered the naval school, one preferred training to the hardships of the naval service), foremen, midshipmen and officers, and now - again a train taking us further and further north … The trip was somewhat reminiscent of the path half a year ago from Chernigov to Kronstadt: the same unknown ahead (a submariner, what kind of ship will you get on? And will you get on at all?), Unfamiliar landscapes outside the window … However, landscapes in speed ceased to interest us … Only this time we were not allowed to roam too much, but we still managed to "stroke the path".
And the thing is that our guides either did not pay attention, or simply did not want to draw him to the “fifth column” in the person of the conductors: “Boys! Cookies, waffles, chicken … "- and in the basket under the cookies, waffles and chicken there are bottles with little white! Of course, sailors are not rich people, but before the release, relatives came to many of us (how, the child for the Kudykin mountains, they are exiled to the Arctic!) And, of course, the "backbone" ones left. And how much does a sailor need who has not tasted beer for six months?
Finally, do not wash it like that, another half-crew, now in Severomorsk. Compared to him, Krasnaya Gorka began to seem like an earthly paradise: all day on the parade ground, food - there is nowhere to be nasty, and even God knows how many shifts: they had breakfast at 4.00, and dined after 24.00. And so for almost a week.
And here is the distribution - the Kola Peninsula, the village of Gremikha. Hmm … Gremikha … Hu from Gremikha? Although - what's the difference, the main thing is - we know where! They rejoiced like little children. Then, stupid, did not hear the naval joke: "If the entire Kola Peninsula is taken for an ass, then Gremikha is the very THAT place."
When the young officers were offered Gremikha on assignment, they tried to disown such "happiness" by hook or by crook. Then they have a choice - Yokangu! The officer was happy to agree, not knowing that Yokanga … just the old name of Gremikha!
However, the conditions for officers there are really not the best. For us, sailors, the barracks is our home, but young warrant officers and officers also live with us, in the barracks, in four-seater cabins! All this is proudly called an officer's hostel, but it doesn't make it any easier for them!
And the climatic conditions leave much to be desired, we joked: in Gremikha the wind blows wherever it goes - all the time in the face. In tsarist times, political prisoners were exiled there, there is even a monument - a dugout, lined with human skulls.
But, be that as it may, Gremikha is so Gremikha. We left Severomorsk late in the evening. I must say that within a radius of 400 kilometers from Gremikha there is no housing, and no roads lead there, neither highways nor railways. There are two ways left: by sea or by air. Air disappears by itself - only a helicopter on a special mission. Marine - motor ship "Vaclav Vorovsky" every four days, and that one from Murmansk. But in the Navy for such cases there is a fail-safe tool - BDK (large landing ship). Here it was provided to us!
And during loading, I saw the northern lights for the first time. At first, I did not even understand what it was, took it for the glare of a lantern. The sailors from the BDK explained. I looked mesmerized! It really fascinates, you know, like a fire - you look and look and you cannot tear yourself away … Imagine a huge, light, like an air curtain, suspended in irregular zigzags right above your head. And here this curtain vibrates, as if under light gusts of wind, and behind it many people run with candles in their hands, and from this light stripes of different widths and intensities move along the curtain in different directions. They then intersect and run on their way, then collide like balls and scatter in different directions … Then I saw a lot of lights, brighter, more colorful, but this, the first - faded, some green shades, became like a family to me, and I will not forget him until the end of my days …
… Finally, they slammed my mouth shut, turned me in the direction of the ladder and gently kicked me in the butt with my knee - it's time to board! Placed us, of course, like armored personnel carriers and tanks - in the cargo hold. Personnel cabins and landing rooms - for officers and foremen.
Well, yes, we were not particularly offended: the new unknown life, into which we entered, overflowed with an abundance of impressions. We broke up in groups of acquaintances, chose a drier place (water was walking here and there in the hold) and - to rest, there was a long march ahead.
One thing is bad: we were cheated with food - instead of the dry ration required in such cases, they put several bags of sea crumbs. Have you tried sea biscuits? No? Lucky you. These are not salty crackers for beer - a hefty crust of brown bread two fingers thick, dried to the point of being smashed with a sledgehammer. In fact, they can be soaked in boiling water, but where to get it? So we gnawed them, almost breaking off our teeth, and it seemed to us that we had never tasted anything tastier in our life.
… The howler barked - Gremikha! We unloaded from the BDK - father of the light! Surely many of us remembered Ostap Bender with his "we are strangers at this celebration of life." It was impossible to call what we saw a holiday even with great stretch: gray dull sea, gray dull hills, gray houses, even people at first seemed gray and dull … and many years later I will dream of "gray dull" sea and hills?
But there was no time to be discouraged and sad - we were taken to the barracks: a standard five-story building, of which there are many stumbled across the expanses of the former USSR. Only these standard buildings turned out to be not quite adapted (more precisely, not at all adapted) to the conditions of the Arctic - in winter, snow lay on the windowsill up to half of the window. From the inside. Perhaps the high authorities decided that the hardships and hardships of military service were not enough for the submariners? Who knows the dashing course of bureaucratic thought?
How we were assigned to the crews would not be worth telling - the usual naval-bureaucratic routine, if not for one "piquant" detail - it was Saturday. And what does every self-respecting crew do on Saturday? That's right - a big tidy! For lack of another place, we were placed on the carriage of Rear Admiral Efimov, which the local sailors did not fail to take advantage of - we licked their barracks, it shone like cat's eggs. To justify the guys, I’ll say: no one was spreading rot, they didn’t drive, they just helped their youth.
By the way, by the way. There are no spirits, scoops, grandfathers, etc. in the navy. Naval "table of ranks":
- up to six months - crucian carp;
- from half a year to a year - cut off crucian carp;
- up to one and a half - greyhound crucian;
- up to two - one-and-a-half;
- up to two and a half - fit;
- up to three - years old;
- well, from above - civilian.
According to this report card, everyone, up to and including the one-and-a-half workers, is doing the cleaning. Those also do not walk - they refill their bunks, etc. Type - cosmetic repairs. Podgods sometimes appear from the smoking-room, observing the order, well, so that the older ones are not particularly greedy and do not spread rot young people.
Well, after - a solid lafa! The officers and the midshipman (by the way, in the naval jargon, the midshipman is a chest, but we did not call ours that way - we respected) scattered to their homes, who remained in the "officer's hostel" did not pay any attention to us, the officer on command also retired to them and we were presented to themselves in the truest sense of the word. And what should a sailor do in glorious Gremikha? You will not go to the self-propelled gun - there is nowhere, the "self-propelled" starts immediately behind the front door of the barracks, ie. I want to say that there was no territory of a military unit in the usual sense in Gremikha - no fences, checkpoints, etc. etc. Only the piers are fenced off, and even then the usual "chain-link" netting with several rows of thorns at the top, neither give nor take - a garden plot.
Of all the entertainment available to us, the most popular was cinema. Cinema … Cinema from the submariners of the 41st Division … Each crew had its own cinema installation - "Ukraine" and its own projectionist. And after the end of the big tidying up on Saturday and all Sunday we watched a movie. The day before, the projectionist received a couple of films at the base, we quickly watched them, then changed with other crews (11 of ours, plus 4-5 of the third division, plus several ships of the OVR brigade) and watched and watched and watched …
And on Monday we were assigned to the ships and finally it happened - we are leaving on OWN ship (no one goes anywhere in the fleet, in the fleet they decrease). Before that, we had already seen him from the window of the barracks, and it seemed to him that it was very close, some 5 minutes walk. But it only seemed. The fact is that Gremikha is located on the hills, and the road resembles a mountain serpentine, so the path can be very deceptive - you can walk half a day to the point that seemed close, and it takes only half an hour to go to a seemingly very distant one. So it took more than an hour to get to the ship.
The sight of him just stunned me! Of course, after training, I knew its technical characteristics: length, width, displacement, and so on, and so on … I was even on a submarine, small, diesel. But what I saw!..
It became even creepy - such a colossus! We climbed the gangway aboard (not forgetting, of course, to salute the flag), then into the wheelhouse fence, along the ladder to the bridge and into the hatch. Over time, I learned to fly down the upper ladder in the blink of an eye, as they say, "to fall." The very first time, as the seascape writer Alexander Pokrovsky aptly put it, I was crawling like a pregnant cuttlefish on thin ice.
The path to my eighth compartment resembled the path to the ship: it would seem, go straight and you will come. It was not so! Up, down, left, right. No wonder to get lost! Then I walked this path, not even noticing it, but it was later, with gaining experience, when all the movements were worked out to automatism, but for now … While I was rolling through the bulkhead doors, like the same pregnant cuttlefish.
I want to say that the art (namely the art!) Of the passage of bulkhead doors is not as easy as it might seem at first glance. For some reason, a person, if he needs to crawl into some hole, necessarily sticks his head in there, absolutely not thinking about the fact that he has a chance to get through it with something, even the same bulkhead door!
They don't walk through bulkhead doors like that: first the leg, then the body, and only then the precious little head. And experienced sailors grab hold of the rack with one hand (this is a handle for sealing the door), with the other - at the edge of the hatch, jump with their feet forward - and you are already in the next compartment!
But here I am already in the eighth. First - the DEU remote control. Mom dear, will I ever be able to figure out this intricacies of signal lights, switches, switches, faucets, valves and other chiaroscuro ?! For a moment I wanted to go to the shore, to the pigsty … But there is nowhere to retreat, we will have to figure it out.
Next is the engine room. Again a vertical ladder, again a pregnant cuttlefish and … Wow! A turbine, a gearbox, a turbine generator capable of supplying power to a medium-sized town, huge flywheels of directional valves, equally huge air conditioners that someone's clever little head placed right above the aisles. How many times on a hike during a storm I counted them with my head! But you can't do without them: during the "Silence" mode, when all unnecessary mechanisms are turned off (including air conditioners), the temperature in the compartment rises - where's your Sahara!
But this is all later, but for now the dream of a young sailor is a hold. Yes, a sad sight … I thought - is it really all mine? Of course, not all, but in the first months of service - mostly. There are a lot of things stuck there, capable of incredibly "please" a sailor. And so, actually, nothing, the hold is like a hold.
The only embarrassing thing was that in the very near future it was necessary to study the placement of all mechanisms no worse than your own face, so that at any moment you could find any valve, any kingston or pump in pitch darkness and not cut your head against the one standing next to you.
And this study was called passing the test for self-management of a combat post. Oh, what a credit! Then I had to take a myriad of various tests, but this one … You are given two "sheets": on one dozen three questions about general ship systems, on the other - the same amount on personal supervision. And you start to learn …
This is how it is done. Let's say I need an ATG oil system. I crawl into the hold, find the right tank, pump and crawl along the pipeline. Suddenly, what the hell - another pipeline blocked my way, and there was no way to crawl over it! I put the flashlight on "my" pipeline and zigzag around the obstacle. I find "my own" by the light of the flashlight and crawl further. And then, having studied, I go up to the required officer and tell him what I learned, prudently omitting the accompanying "adventures" - he himself knows, he also crawled.
Without this, it is impossible, otherwise in front of the combat number on the pocket of the robe there will be a shameful "0" showing that you are still not a submariner. How, you say, and not here yet? Alas, not yet. The sea makes the submariner, the first dive.
First out to sea, first dive - what can you compare them with? Hard to say. My favorite writer A. Pokrovsky, a submariner himself who has 12 autonomous units on his account, compared this with the first woman. I do not know. I don't even remember her name, but I remember the first dive in almost every detail. I would personally compare this with the first parachute jump (fortunately, there is something to compare with): I want to, and it pricks!
And it all started very prosaically: with the loading of an autonomous stock. A very exciting, I tell you, occupation. And it is not easy: such a benefit of civilization as a crane does not take part in this process - it is believed that ordinary ropes and a crew will suffice. This has one small, but very pleasant but: during the loading of an autonomous (ie, must ensure that the boat remains at sea for 90 days) stock of food, resourceful sailors manage to replenish their personal "autonomous" stocks. And they help out so much during long shifts!
Then there was the transition to the ship. This is also worth looking at: bent under the load of mattresses, pillows, knots with simple sailor belongings, a black snake stretched towards the piers. For local residents, this is a clear sign - the crew is leaving for the sea.
Finally we are on the ship. The navigator "starts up" their gyrocompasses, the movement division - the reactor, the last preparations and - now the tugs have come to our side. It's time! A siren howled, a command sounded: "Stand in places, get off the mooring lines!" In the sea!
After passing the narrows, the alarm was cleared, and for the first time I was able to climb onto the bridge to smoke. Of course, we have done this countless times in the database. But then in the base! Everything is different at sea, even the taste of a cigarette seems different. With eyes stunned with happiness, we peered into the gray ribbon of the distant shore, into the waves rolling through the nose, into the wake stream spreading in a long, wide fan, we breathed in the fresh sea air slightly smelling of algae … Soon we will have to forget its smell for a very decent time.
Then - the first meal on the ship. Such an abundance then could only be found in a chic restaurant: sturgeon balychok, Finnish cervelatic, red caviar! I'm not talking about sweets: the jams are very different (before that I did not even imagine that there was jam from rose petals), Bashkir honey and, of course, the weakness of a sailor-submariner - condensed milk.
But then the howler barked an urgent dive, we rushed as fast as we could through the combat posts, the commands fell, and the boat began to sink into the depths … how fear began to arise in my soul - you have come to the wrong address. None of this happened. And not at all because I am a notable brave!
Afraid of the incomprehensible is the one who does nothing and can concentrate on his feelings, on what is happening overboard. We just had no time to do such nonsense, we worked. And when we were able to pay attention to our own person, it turned out that there was nothing to be afraid of! Everything is fine, everything is working as usual, comrades are laughing and joking around. And really, what is there to be afraid of? You need to rejoice: I am a submariner! Hurray, comrades?
No, not yet hurray, the most important thing remains - initiation into submariners. This is something akin to christening, only there they pour water over them, and here they drink it.
On the "chestnut" (general ship loudspeaker communication) announced: "Depth - 50 meters!" We climbed into the hold. Some of the guys unscrewed the cover from the emergency lamp (such a small lamp, about 0.5 liters), someone poured outboard water into it … I had to drink in one gulp, without stopping. Strained - drink again.
I take my first sip. The icy cold immediately burns my teeth - the temperature overboard is 5 degrees, no more. But you have to drink at all costs! It burns my throat, stomach, teeth are gone, I just don't feel them. The three of us remain: me, the ceiling and the water. The brain drills one thought - to finish it, be sure to finish it! I throw back my head, shake out the last drops into my mouth … That's it! I am a submariner!
Consciousness is gradually returning. Guys crowded around, friendly smiles, cuffs, pats on the shoulder … It was done!
Then there was more than one trip, including full autonomy, and with the breaking of the Arctic ice by the hull of the boat, and with rocket fire, and much more. But this first trip will remain in my memory for the rest of my life. Yes, this is understandable - he was the first!
The unique, undoubtedly unique hike, which I want to talk about in this part of my notes, was made in the summer of 1981, when the first submarine of Project 941 "Akula" with reinforced buttresses for surfacing in the ice with a wheelhouse was just undergoing sea trials.
In fact, they walked under the ice before: both the Americans in their Nautilus and the Soviet K-3 Leninsky Komsomol floated into the ice, but those were torpedo submarines. But missile submarine cruisers have not been there yet, because the main task of ships of this class is to launch ballistic missiles. Is this possible in the Arctic ice?
The attractiveness of this method of carrying out combat duty is that in such conditions, the missile carrier becomes invulnerable to any means of enemy anti-submarine defense. Considering the difficult acoustic environment under the ice, it is not only amazed, but also unrealistic to detect.
In the fall of 1980, the crew of Rear Admiral Efimov went on reconnaissance. They were given the task of passing under the pack ice, finding a suitable wormwood and surfacing. At first glance, the task is not particularly difficult, you just need to get into the wormwood. But this simplicity is deceiving. The fact is that without a move, the boat cannot stay in place, it either floats up, having a positive buoyancy, or, having a negative buoyancy, sinks. To the very bottom … It's like a predator of the seas - a shark. These fish, unlike the rest, do not have a swim bladder and are forced to be in motion all the time.
This is where the dilemma arises: either it will stop and drown, or crash with all the foolishness into the edges of the hole, and how it will end for the boat and the crew - only Neptune knows. But a way out was found long before this campaign and it was called modestly - the "Shpat" system. What is the essence of this system? And the essence, like everything ingenious, is simple: as soon as the boat starts to fail at a stop, water begins to be pumped out of special tanks by pumps of the "Shpat" system and the boat floats up. Automation immediately switches the pumps to pumping and the boat fails again, etc. etc. That is, the boat does not stand still, it "walks" up and down, but we did not care - the main thing was that there was no forward movement. Looking ahead, I will say: you would know how we were muzzled during training by these endless "Spar" without a move! ", Because such maneuvers are performed on alarm, which means that the resting and shift shift are forced to hang around at combat posts …
But back to Efimov's crew. We, the K-447 crew under the command of Captain 1st Rank Kuversky, learned that they brilliantly coped with the assigned task while returning from combat service in the Atlantic. Of course, we were happy for the guys, and what a sin to hide, we were a little jealous of them - still, such a trip! They envied and could not even imagine that a little more than six months would pass and our turn would come. Moreover, the task for us will be rather "savory" complicated: we have to break the ice with the hull and fire a salvo of two missiles into the area of the Kura training ground (Pacific Fleet).
The campaign itself was preceded by several months of grueling training, the delivery of onshore tasks, a checkout to the sea, the loading of an autonomous reserve, in general, an ordinary naval routine preceding the implementation of the main task. In the meantime, about a dozen "eggheads" arrived on the ship - scientists seconded for the trip, who immediately installed special devices on the hull to measure the load on the hull when surfacing in the ice. But finally, the transition to Okolnaya Bay for loading practical missiles, and then - a course nord and forward over the corpses, no prisoners to take!
To the edge of the ice field we were accompanied by a nuclear submarine of project 705 - a small high-speed submarine stuffed with automatic equipment, do not spoil a miracle with a crew of several dozen officers and warrant officers. Why, there was also a conscript - cook. Well, then we went on our own.
The transition to the given area was not remembered by anything special - everything is as always. The only new thing was the ice overhead and the understanding that if something happened, we would have nowhere to emerge. But I didn’t think about it. It was much more interesting to hang around MT (marine TV, several of its cameras were installed in the upper part of the case) and look at the ice from below. Although - I'm lying, there were a couple of funny cases.
The first case. Some of our midshipmen (I'm afraid to lie, sort of like a boatswain, but I'm not sure), according to the stories of colleagues from the Central Committee, not satisfied with the "People's Commissars", invited one of the scientists, took out the shrunken (hidden in naval jargon) NZ, they made a nice trick and decided to smoke. Right in the cabin! Of course, the watchman of the 5th compartment heard the smell of smoke - we have developed an excellent sense of smell, because only an atomic bomb can be worse than a fire on a submarine. Even six months after demobilization, I could hear the smell of a burnt match while in another room. In general, the watchman politely but insistently asked to put out the cigarettes.
They put it out, but I want to smoke! Especially after the accepted sotochka, or maybe not one. In short, these "sea wolves" did not think of anything better than to go for a smoke on the bridge, the ladder to which is located exactly opposite the CPU. The midshipman climbed first, followed by the scientist. But the ship is in a submerged position and the upper and lower deck hatches are battened down! This is what the midshipman, who had lost all political and moral state, did not take into account. And with all the foolishness I crashed my head into the lower conning tower hatch! As the watch's CPs told, first there was a dull blow, then the most selective mate, then the noise of two bodies falling from a three-meter height, and again the most selective mate. I think, if they were sober, they would definitely break. And so - nothing, only the commander remembered for a long time this campaign to the midshipman to smoke …
The next incident happened to your humble servant, and for me it was not at all funny - I had a toothache. But the tooth is nonsense - the dock ripped it out quickly and quite professionally (ship doctors - they are). The trouble is that the flux on the floor of the muzzle still did not want to go off and my distorted appearance caused sympathetic smiles from the crew for a long time. And the most offensive, he did not get off after the ascent, and therefore, taking pictures on the Arctic ice, I was forced to hide the right half of the face behind those sitting in front.
Well, about the ascent itself. Once again, the alarm was played, the already sore mouth was heard, "Standing in places, under the" Spar "without a move!" and it began … It was possible to break the ice only after several attempts, the whole process was accompanied by rolls, trims, cracking of the ice overhead - the hull seemed to crack … The feeling was not a pleasant one. But after surfacing!
I have never seen such whiteness before or after. In the first minutes after the fluorescent lamps, we from the side, apparently, resembled the Japanese, so we had to squint. The sight of the boat that surfaced was also well remembered: all around was snow of extraordinary purity, and in the middle of this whiteness there was a black colossus with chopping rudders hanging like an elephant's ears (they were turned 90 degrees so as not to break off on the ice). The sight is amazing and a little ominous.
Then photography, traditional football, scientists took samples of ice and water and, finally, why we actually came here - rocket firing. The entire compartment was gathered on the upper deck at the clock, again the alarm, the chief officer for combat control announced a five-minute readiness, then readiness for one minute. We wait. A minute passed, then another second, a second and suddenly - A low, uterine growl, turning into a roar … I don't even know what to compare this sound with. I heard an An-22 flying at low altitude, a Ruslan taking off - all this is not the same. Finally the boat swayed and the roar began to recede. A few seconds later, the second missile also left.
And then there was a return, again ascent, this time the usual, usual, incomparable smell of fresh sea air … At the edge of the ice field, we were again met by the already familiar anti-submarine nuclear submarine of the 705th project and escorted to the base. And in the base - flowers, an orchestra, a traditional roast pig. Not without some jokes.
The first joke almost ended with a heart attack for our commander when he saw this little "Lyra" mooring at full speed. We were slowly and majestically being dragged to the pier by two tugs.
And the second joke a lot amused our mooring team, who came out to take their mooring lines. After all, we have a boat of more than ten thousand tons with a displacement, well, and the corresponding mooring lines are steel cables with an arm girth. You can't take such mooring lines with your bare hand, the guys wore oiled canvas mittens, the slingers at the construction site are purely for you. And then they threw neat, white nylon cords three fingers thick!
For this campaign, the commander of the ship Leonid Romanovich Kuversky was nominated for the title of Hero of the Soviet Union. In addition to him, four more senior officers received military orders, the rest of the crew escaped with gratitude from the Commander-in-Chief of the Navy and the pennant of the Minister of Defense "For Courage and Military Valor."
Received my Gold Star and one more "comrade". The future commander of the Russian Black Sea Fleet, and at that time the commander of our division, Eduard Baltin, went with us as a support officer of the division headquarters. I don't know what he provided there, but according to the guys who were on watch in the central one, he acted more on the commander's nerves.
But after the incident of several years, already in the days of "glasnost", I managed to see an interview with the commander of the Russian Black Sea Fleet E. Baltin. What did he not say! And that it was his idea, and that it was not even known in Moscow that the ship had left for firing from under the ice … Who served on the submarine knows that a ship of this class will not start a reactor without the knowledge of Moscow, and even more so will not enter sea, not to mention firing rockets.
It remains to add that this ascent was not in vain for our boat,
