Red November Inside the Secret U.S.-Soviet Submarine War W. Craig Reed This book is dedicated to my father, Lieutenant William J. Reed, Retired, who helped devise and deploy the top-secret Boresight program, and to the underwater sailors and civilians who sacrificed so much. The following pages are a tribute to the commitment, courage, and constant vigilance of those who sacrificed so much to ensure that our world did not end by way of fire and fallout. Contents Introduction Author’s Note Chapter One WITH ORDERS TO CONDUCT A TOP-SECRET espionage mission, the USS… Chapter Two IN THE FALL OF 1953, DR. Donald Ross, an underwater engineer… Chapter Three HAVING WORKED HIS WAY UP FROM a seaman to a… Chapter Four WHEN MY DAD, WILLIAM J. REED, reported to NSG headquarters at… Chapter Five DURING THE MONTH OF AUGUST 1962, while a small window… Chapter Six HIS ARM CHAINED TO A BRIEFCASE, William J. Reed counted the… Chapter Seven ON SUNDAY, OCTOBER 21, ABOARD THE USS Oxford off the… Chapter Eight ON THE MORNING OF OCTOBER 23, when Communications Technician John… Chapter Nine EARLY IN THE EVENING OF OCTOBER 25, in a lab… Photographic Insert 1 Chapter Ten HIS FACE RED WITH ANGER, JOHN Scali of ABC News… Chapter Eleven THE EARLY SIXTIES USHERED IN THE next evolution in underwater… Chapter Twelve ON DECEMBER 29, 1964, THE U.S. Navy made a huge… Chapter Thirteen THE SOVIETS FINALLY GAVE UP THE search for their lost… Chapter Fourteen MANY OF THE DETAILS SURROUNDING PROJECT Azorian became public knowledge… Chapter Fifteen WHEN THE SOVIETDELTA-CLASS SUBMARINE ENTERED stage right in December 1972,… Chapter Sixteen BY LATE 1975, SOME AMERICANS HATED sailors. They also hated… Photographic Insert 2 Chapter Seventeen HAVING REPLACED THE HALIBUT AS THE cable-taping spy boat, the… Chapter Eighteen WHEN THE FIRST ULTRA-QUIET SOVIET NUCLEAR-POWERED hunter/killer attack submarine, code-named… Chapter Nineteen THEY SAY YOUR LIFE PASSES BEFORE your eyes just before… Chapter Twenty AFTER OUR FATEFUL COLLISION WITH THE Victor III, while nursing… Chapter Twenty-One ON THE MORNING OF JANUARY 15, 1980, the forty-four-year-old Ronald… Epilogue ALMOST 200 SUBMARINERS, SPOOKS, AND NAVY divers were interviewed for… interviewed for… Notes Searchable Terms Acknowledgments About the Author Other Books by W. Craig Reed Credits Copyright About the Publisher INTRODUCTION In war time, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies. —WINSTON CHURCHILL I N MARCH 2009, BEYOND THE FROSTED windows of an arthritic building in downtown Saint Petersburg, Russia, a callous wind forced its will upon millions of helpless snowflakes. Inside the hotel ballroom, hundreds of Russians ignored the weather as they laughed, danced, hugged, and drank. Vodka flowed. Music blared and platters of food beckoned. I stood at my table as a husky man with playful eyes and Santa cheeks approached. He beamed and introduced himself as Sergei. He said he once served as the commander of a Soviet submarine and told me that NATO code-named his class of boat the “Victor III.” He asked if I recognized this name. I smiled and said that my submarine, the USS Drum, had once come too close to such a boat near Vladivostok. Eyes wide, Sergei took two steps backward. “K-324?” “Yes,” I said. “K-324.” Sergei reached his stubby arms around my shoulders and gave me a bear hug. In my ear he said, “You should be dead.” I nodded and said nothing. Sergei pointed at a shiny pin on my lapel. “U.S. Navy diver,” I said. His eyes lit up again as he tapped a similar emblem on his Russian Navy uniform. He unhooked his pin and attached it to my shirt. I did the same for him. Sergei then grabbed two glasses and filled each with a shot of vodka. He handed one to me and in broken English quoted an old Russian proverb, “After a storm there is fair weather, after sorrow there is joy.” I clicked my glass against his and downed the burning liquid. Before me, and all around me, were former enemies. Submariners who once pointed the barrels of their guns at my head, fingers poised and aims steady. Now, with the passage of time, at an annual Russian event that honors submariners, we laughed and joked about our escapades from decades past. In Russia, submariners are revered and respected, as their profession is considered dangerous, their sacrifice worthy of praise. For this select group of considered dangerous, their sacrifice worthy of praise. For this select group of volunteers, camaraderie runs as deep as their vessels. None care about nationalities, creeds, or skin color. That night, dozens of former submariners treated me as a brother among brothers. Even though we were strangers whose governments once fought as enemies, we greeted one another with firm handshakes, warm hugs, and broad smiles. I felt honored and humbled. After dinner, a small group of submariners walked to the dance floor. Side by side they raised their glasses and voices as they sang a Russian submariner’s song. Though I didn’t understand the words, I felt the meaning touch the deepest part of my soul. More and more submariners joined the throng as the voices reached a crescendo. Tears filled my eyes. Words can never do justice to the feelings that overcame me when I stood alongside my brothers and toasted all submariners, especially those lost at sea who now serve “on eternal patrol.” As I left the event, I wondered if those who consider themselves enemies today could do as we had done that night. Lay down their swords and find a common bond. I realized that until that day, there could be no fair winds, and many in the world were destined to remain captured by the storms of sorrow. If one believes the Mayans, the world will end in the year 2012. Whether by global warming, menacing asteroids, or bioterrorism, we are always on the brink of annihilation. Skeptics voice their doubts, but for those of us who served during the forty-six-year Cold War, such fears are not without merit, for never did we come closer to nuclear self-destruction than in October 1962 and again in May 1968. Conflicts involving U.S. and Soviet submarines were common factors in both. No discernible fanfare marked the final moments of a war that cost taxpayers $8 trillion and the lives of more than 100,000 Americans—almost 87,000 of those in the conflicts with Korea and Vietnam. There were no ticker tape parades, no blowing horns, and no mothers waving flags when the Cold War finally ended. The U.S. Senate voted against the Cold War Medal Act of 2007, which would have awarded official recognition to thousands of veterans who fought secret battles around the world. Now they must remain unsung heroes. Some carried M-16s and trudged through rice paddies. Others listened with breathless anticipation to the secrets revealed in foreign tongues captured from cable taps 700 feet deep. Still others prayed to the gods of their faith as depth charges shattered the ocean and enemy torpedoes threatened to turn their vessels into twisted metal coffins. My father and I were among these few, and this history and personal narrative are long overdue. Most submariners, Navy SEALs, divers, and “spook” intelligence operators, sworn to secrecy, are to this day reluctant to discuss their secret Cold War operations. Many, especially those who worked in compartments outside operations. Many, especially those who worked in compartments outside operational areas or did not have a “need to know,” were unaware of the details surrounding the missions they undertook. A few, like me, recall every second of the more eventful assignments. For the first time ever, these veterans have come forward to tell their stories, perhaps to release the secrets held captive in their minds for decades by official mandate. In 1998 Sherry Sontag and Christopher Drew’s Blind Man’s Bluff captured public attention by revealing many of the details about these clandestine and dangerous submarine missions. Most of us submariners agree that this book delivered an informative, interesting, and reasonably accurate accounting of Cold War espionage operations. However, few submariners or operators gave the authors information about their involvement in top-secret Holystone and Ivy Bells programs. Furthermore, none discussed two other top-priority submarine projects code-named Boresight and Bulls Eye. Red November is the first book to take readers deep inside all four of these programs and reveal firsthand details about the harrowing events that veterans have been reluctant to discuss. While I acknowledge that some submariners, cryptanalysts, and government operatives argue that “insider” details about these missions, which many historians believe were instrumental in ending the Cold War, should remain untold, I believe that history is robbed by this posture. What if the world never knew about the Manhattan Project? What if governments never revealed undisclosed details about the Cuban Missile Crisis? What if these once top- secret historical events remained labeled classified forever? National security demands secrecy, but at some point technological advances and world events make this stance obsolete. Many of us who served frontline in the underwater Cold War signed gag orders to maintain our silence for decades. Our duty to one another also held our tongues until the passage of time could ensure we would not violate our oaths as submariners. Now, for many of us, our days of silent running are over. AUTHOR’S NOTE NAMES USED, INCLUDING THOSE FOR PERSONS, boats, and ships, as well as dates, titles, event details, and geographic locations noted herein, are, for the most part, accurate. A few exceptions occur where memories are incomplete or national security concerns take precedence. No individuals depicted are composite portraits or fictionalized, but some dialogue and details have been reconstructed or paraphrased and time frames compressed.