The Komsomolets, a nuclear submarine of the Soviet Navy, stood as a symbol of naval prowess. It set records in many areas, yet on April 7, 1989, disaster struck. A blaze erupted in the seventh compartment, and the exact cause remained unknown at the time.
In time the submarine was located 980 kilometers from its home waters, resting at a depth of 350 meters. It became a grave for 42 crew members, while the survivors carried the memory of that day for the rest of their lives. Among them was officer Viktor Slyusarenko, who emerged from a depth of 1,000 meters to surface. His rescue was extraordinary enough to merit a detailed account.
“I had just regained some rest when the alarm sounded. I served as a navigation technician, responsible for detecting malfunctions, fires, or other emergencies. The crew moved through the compartments to carry out their duties. Nine men entered the fifth compartment. Suddenly, a valve failed and hot oil sprayed and ignited due to the heat. Some sailors suffered severe burns; others were scorched. A fellow officer closed the valve and found himself isolated, avoiding burns. He rushed to fight the flames, but flames soon enveloped him as well. A rescue team, including me, arrived just in time. After about an hour and a half of firefighting, we managed to exit the compartment and rescue our burning comrades. It was the closest call I had ever imagined.”
That day the crew wore specialized suits and breathing apparatus, providing oxygen for roughly 40 minutes. Second Lieutenant Slyusarenko faced a race against time as the situation grew dire. “The device could not be removed. We needed to reach fresh air by passing through three compartments in total darkness. The submarine was cramped beyond measure, with its enormous 8-meter diameter and 120-meter length filled with machinery and supplies. It is hard to explain, but I found myself running through the compartments, almost losing consciousness. It felt like a miracle when I finally removed my mask and realized I had endured long enough to escape. The oxygen in the apparatus had nearly run out, yet it saved me.”
“The moment was critical. It was a matter of reaching natural air, and we did so through a series of tight spaces in the dark. The craft was heavily congested, and every inch mattered.”
“All. We will be crushed now”
The fifth compartment’s fire was brought under control, but questions remained about the conditions in the sixth and seventh compartments. A decision was made to advance and assess, yet it proved unsafe. In the end, essential documents and equipment were moved toward the upper levels to preserve the core operations.
One crew member chose a different path, returning to retrieve personal belongings. The submarine lurched as the bow rose and then plunged toward the depths. The sailor hurried to his station to find a life jacket. While searching, the vessel tipped further and the exit closed in a hurry. In a moment the submarine sank to a vertical posture and began sinking rapidly. A sudden rush of water struck him as he reached the ladder. He felt the cold grip of the sea and the pressure of the rising water. A moment of fear gave way to relief when the hatch was somehow sealed, stopping the flood.
Comrades pulled him to the exit chamber, where four others were already awaiting. Soon the group grew to five as the chamber endured a heavy barrage of water pouring through cracks. A swift closing of the hatch became essential.
As the water began to surge, bubbles formed and the room filled with air at high pressure. The crew knew that pressure changes could alter their senses, and the goal remained to survive. The submarine started to crack under the strain, with sounds of ruptured compartments and detonations echoing in the hull. The crew understood that only a thin shell separated them from the sea’s depths while they fought to separate the exit chamber from the sinking submarine. The commander calculated that the water above them was more than 1,600 meters deep, far beyond what the camera could withstand. A plan formed to detach the exit chamber using compressed air, a delicate operation demanding precise valve work. An explosion followed, triggered by a battery failure that released hydrogen. The blast severed the camera’s ties to the boat, buying precious moments for the crew.
During the chaos a voice seemed to call out from within the crew, directing them to prepare the breathing apparatus. The moment proved pivotal, even if one man had momentarily mistaken his gear. That misstep, however, did not seal his fate, as the opportunity to don the equipment saved his life. The camera then drifted away with the current, while a single-latch cover tore free, sending a crew member hurtling into the air before landing in the sea below.
One man, Sergei Chernikov, perished due to a fatal lung rupture caused by the device. The others survived, though the incident left lasting marks on many. The rescued sailor, dropped into the open sea, endured the cold and the long hours of exposure. He clung to hope, believing that ships observed his struggle and would come to his aid. Eventually the rescue team appeared on the horizon, and a drifting lifeboat carried many of the survivors toward safety.
Twenty or thirty people were recovered alive from the civilian vessel Komsomolets. Their post-rescue experiences varied widely: some required little medical care, others needed treatment and warmth, while a few later succumbed to their injuries. The ordeal left many with a fever, numbness, or profound fatigue. The lesson, as interpreted by those who lived through it, hinted at the fragile line between resilience and collapse. The sense of well-being proved to be a fragile illusion in the face of extreme danger.
In the years that followed, Viktor Slyusarenko, once an atheist, found a belief in something beyond the tangible. He believed that a higher power played a role in his survival, a conviction he carried forward as a testament to endurance under pressure.