Don't Trust, Don't Fear, Don't Beg: The Extraordinary Story of the Arctic 30

TWO

The portholes are screwed shut. The doors are closed. Nobody is allowed on deck. Not yet. To the coastguard officers defending the Russian oil platform three miles across the water, the Arctic Sunrise is sleeping.

But the Russians are wrong. It’s 3 a.m. and every one of the crew of thirty is up and awake. Wide awake. Frank is pacing the hold, checking his watch. He’s wearing a yellow drysuit under a life jacket and he’s carrying a crash helmet with a transparent visor. Every few minutes he asks the British video journalist Kieron Bryan to join him at a porthole, where they lift the lid just a fraction and peek through, searching for sight of the sun, waiting for enough light to film the protest.

The sea isn’t as flat as Frank had hoped it would be. He can hear waves slapping against the side of the ship, and when he looks over at the oil platform – lit up like a shopping centre – it sometimes disappears behind a swell of water.

Now the crew is making last-minute checks. Phil Ball, who will occupy the pod with the young Argentine Camila Speziale, is patting his chest, yanking karabiners, adjusting his helmet. Have I got everything? Is it in the right place? Is it comfortable? Can I still grab hold of it if there’s a water cannon firing in my face?

At 3.30 a.m., through the porthole, Kieron sees the lip of the sun. Frank asks him if there’s enough light to capture the action.

‘I think so. Just.’

The crew is clustered together in teams, whispering to one another, checking the plan and checking again. ‘Okay,’ Frank announces. ‘Everybody!’ They look up, expectantly. A pause, then, ‘We’re doing it.’

Frank watches the activists blow out their cheeks and shake hands with each other. In front of him, Sini Saarela and Kruso Weber – a Swiss climber – are standing face to face, checking the other’s kit one last time. Frank needs these two to perform today. If they can get up the side of that oil rig and hold their position, this thing might happen. He looks around. The activists are nervous, they’re bouncing on their toes, their eyes are darting around the hold.

The boat drivers creep out onto the deck, using stairs and barrels for cover, thinking, as long as we stay low, as long as we can’t see the coastguard ship, then they can’t see us. Slowly, silently, the first RHIB – called Hurricane – is slipped into the water and moves up to the pilot door. Welshman Anthony Perrett helps the video journalist Kieron Bryan and the climber Kruso Weber to clamber in. Kieron presses ‘record’ and raises his camera, the black inflatable bow of the boat lifts and suddenly they’re tearing around the Sunrise into open water. Ahead of them a spotlight breaks the dawn. The beam is coming from the coastguard ship Ladoga and within seconds it’s sweeping across the rolling water towards them. Now the activists are bathed in blinding light, but they’re still going full tilt, the boat is crunching through the waves. Already they can see the Russians launching their own boats.

A few seconds behind them a second Greenpeace RHIB – Parker – is rounding the bow of the Arctic Sunrise. In that boat are Frank and Sini. From the deck of the Sunrise, the pod – white and blue, built specifically for this moment – is being lowered into the water. Watching through binoculars from the bridge of the Sunrise is Dima Litvinov. He lifts a radio to his mouth and barks, ‘Prirazlomnaya, Prirazlomnaya, this is Arctic Sunrise.’

There’s a crackle of static, then, ‘Arctic Sunrise, this is Prirazlomnaya.’

‘This is a peaceful action, a non-violent protest against oil drilling and the threat that it represents to the Arctic environment and to the climate. There is no risk of damage to your property, we are in unarmed boats, we are not going to attempt to take over your platform. This is a peaceful protest. I repeat, this is a peaceful protest.’

An officer on the Ladoga breaks in. ‘Arctic Sunrise, halt all activity. Raise your boats!’

The Russian RHIBs are in the water now, but the activists’ boats are already pulling up under the platform. It’s huge, 120 metres long on each side. Anthony Perrett stands up in Hurricane and raises a catapult. It’s more than a metre long, with a rubber sling that fires a lead shot attached to a bag of sand that pulls a thin line.

His first shot misses but his second shot arches over three metal bars then slowly slips down as a coastguard RHIB roars through the water towards them. The rope is four metres above his head, now three, he flicks it, it’s nearly there. The Russian boat is close now, they can hear it rounding the corner of the platform. Anthony reaches up and grabs the line, attaches a thicker climbing rope to it and starts pulling on the other end, watching the rope rising higher and higher. He goes to pass it off to Kruso, it’s a metre from the climber’s hand, he’s a second or two from clipping in and starting the climb when the coastguard RHIB tears around the side of the platform, white surf churning from its motor. It ploughs directly into their boat, then a masked Russian commando lunges at the rope with a knife and cuts it clean through.

Out in open water Suzie Q – the biggest of the campaigners’ RHIBs – is towing the pod towards the platform with two smaller boats flanking her. But the pace of the flotilla is painfully slow. The boats are struggling through the water, it’s like they’re stuck in honey, and in the distance they can see a coastguard boat ramming a RHIB below the platform. Then suddenly – thwack! – Suzie Q lurches and a rope whips the water. The line has broken. Phil Ball looks back and stares at the pod, floating forlornly, pathetically unattached.

Silence, a static buzz, then Frank’s voice on the radio. ‘Dump the pod and get here. Now! All boats to the platform. All boats!’

The bow of Suzie Q lifts in the water and a moment later they’re tearing towards the Prirazlomnaya. A few minutes later they’ve joined the action and, through a spray of water, Phil can clearly see two Russian boats carrying soldiers wearing black balaclavas over their faces, bodies camouflaged from top to bottom. Suddenly one of them pulls a knife and lunges at Kieron, trying to grab his camera, but the camera is attached to his chest by a cord. If the guy gets hold of it then Kieron’s going to be pulled out of the boat. The Russian falls short, he leans down and stabs Parker’s rubber inflatable rim, then he reaches for his hip and pulls a gun. He points it at Kieron then swings it round so it’s pointing at the chest of Italian activist Cristian D’Alessandro, who is standing at the bow of Suzie Q. The Russian is screaming something but nobody understands him. Cristian thrusts his arms into the air and shouts, ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!’ A wave lifts both boats, their eyes are locked, the barrel of the gun is a metre from Cristian’s chest, both of them are shouting at each other, then the wave dissipates and the boats fall and drift apart. Suzie Q throws up a wall of spray and pulls away with Hurricane just behind her, leaving the Russians in their wake.

Out at sea the pod is being retrieved by the Sunrise, but the activists are still determined to secure a climb team on the side of the platform. If they can get Sini and Kruso onto the rig they can unfurl banners and focus global attention on Gazprom’s plan to drill for oil in the Arctic. They’ve lost the pod, but they can still make their stand.

On the eastern side of the platform Parker pulls up under a mooring line. Sini aims a catapult and fires a rope over it, checks it’s secure, clips in and pulls. But a moment later a Russian boat speeds in, a coastguard officer pulls a knife and in a flash the rope above Sini is cut and she falls into the water. Her life vest inflates with the hissing sound of pressurised air. Frank reaches over the side of Parker and pulls Sini into the boat. She falls back, gasping.

On the other side of the platform Hurricane is pulling a huge sweep around the rig, with the chasing coastguard in her wake. Anthony spots another mooring line. He thinks he can get a rope over it. Hurricane pulls up, Anthony raises the catapult and fires a perfect shot. The rope is twenty metres up the side of the platform, Kruso grabs it and starts climbing.

Parker has abandoned the east side and a minute later is alongside Hurricane. Sini grabs the rope and clips in.

‘Do you really want to go?’ Frank shouts. ‘You were just in the water – are you okay to climb?’

‘It’s all right, I’m fine. I feel good.’

Frank nods and a second later she pulls and swings out over the water.

‘I’m coming after you,’ she shouts up at Kruso. ‘I’m just behind you!’

Below her the coastguard boat pushes against Parker. A Russian officer grabs Sini’s rope and starts yanking it, swinging her from side to side. She unclips the safety knife from her harness, reaches down and cuts the rope beneath her. The officer stares at the rope falling into the bottom of his boat in a little heap. He pulls a gun. Sini looks down, she can see it. The guy’s pointing the pistol at her and shouting in Russian. Adrenaline surges through her body, her arms wrench her up the rope, as far away from that gun as she can get.

The coastguard boat is ramming Hurricane now. The officers are still eyeing Kieron’s camera; it’s obvious they want to seize it, they’ve already grabbed at it four or five times. Frank makes the call to get Kieron and his footage back to the Sunrise. ‘Kieron, we’re coming to get you!’ Parker swings around so Frank is five metres from Hurricane. Frank shouts, ‘It’s time to go!’ Kieron unclips the camera and throws it over the water. Frank fumbles it but manages to keep hold. ‘That’s great,’ he shouts, ‘but I need you too!’

By now the gap between the boats is about a metre and the waves are washing them up and down in a deep sweep. Kieron screws up his eyes and hurls himself over the water, falling into Parker. Frank slaps him on the back as the driver opens the throttle, the bow lifts and they tear away from the platform and towards the safety of the Arctic Sunrise, leaving the other RHIBs to watch over Sini and Kruso.

Suddenly the climbers are being pummelled with water. It freezes their brains and seizes their limbs. The platform workers are using high-powered jets to spray Arctic water over them. The higher they climb, the more pressured the water is and the harder it is to see or feel or hear anything. Sini is just below Kruso on the rope now, but the water is incessant. Freezing. She pulls out a banner – ‘SAVE THE ARCTIC’ – but it attracts multiple direct jets and disappears in a riot of spray.

They each have a VHF radio plugged into their ears. Anthony, still below them, is looking up, gripping his own radio, convinced they have to get out of there. He shouts, ‘Just get back down, get back down quickly!’ But the climbers can’t hear him, they’re being hosed in the head. Even things that are attached to them are flying off in the torrent of water.

Sini can feel Kruso shaking. She’s known him for more than a week, long enough to know he’s not scared, that this is early hypothermia. Then bang bang bang. Gunshots. The guards in the RHIBs are firing over the side into the sea a metre from the Greenpeace boats. The activists are hit by the splash from the bullets. Anthony grabs the radio and cries, ‘Shots fired! Abort abort, move away.’

Above them the climbers are trying to descend, but because Sini cut the line when the coastguard was swinging it, the rope now doesn’t reach the water. They have to attach a new line to the rope they’re hanging off, all the time under the cascade of freezing water from the platform workers above them. Eventually Sini descends far enough for the Russians to forcibly grab her and pull her into their boat, and a minute later Kruso’s next to her.

The Greenpeace RHIBs are bobbing in the water a hundred metres away. Suddenly a coastguard officer pulls a gun and fires over their heads. Anthony shouts, ‘Go go go!’ and the boats swing around as two more shots are fired. ‘We need to go, we need to go!’ And the activists’ RHIBs rip out into the sea.

A few minutes later they’re piling into the hold of the Sunrise, pulling off their helmets, unzipping their drysuits.

‘Fucking hell, did you see those guns? It was crazy out there.’

‘What the hell just happened?’

‘Did they shoot at you? I thought I saw them shoot.’

‘What happened to Kruso? Is Sini okay? We saw her fall in.’

‘They came down. They’re safe. We stayed out there till they were down.’

Sini and Kruso are taken to the Ladoga and marched onto the deck. It’s swarming with armed men. Kruso is ordered to kneel, hands behind his back. Sini falls down and hugs his shaking body. She holds him as tightly as she can. A soldier reaches down and pulls at her drysuit; she holds Kruso even tighter but the soldier wrenches her away.

Sini is marched across the deck and pushed into the mess room. She waits to be reunited with Kruso but soon realises they’ve taken him to another part of the ship. A guard brings her two big blankets and offers her a cup of tea. As she sips from the mug she listens to the ship’s internal radio on a speaker and hears the captain of the Ladoga issuing commands to his crew. She can’t understand what he’s saying, but she can tell he’s angry.

On the bridge of the Arctic Sunrise Dima has the radio receiver at his mouth. ‘You have illegally detained two members of our crew. We demand that you return them to us immediately.’

‘Heave to and take on board our inspection team.’

‘We have absolutely no reason to let you on board. We’re in international waters, you have no jurisdiction here.’

‘You are in Russia’s Exclusive Economic Zone.’

‘Well, that’s right. So if you suspect us of illegal fishing, please let us know. Because that’s the only reason you can legally come on board our ship. Unless you think we’re pirates.’

‘If you do not submit to inspection, we will use all means at our disposal.’

‘You are not allowed on board. We are in international waters.’

‘We will use all means at our disposal, including warning shots at your vessel.’

Dima looks at Pete Willcox, the captain of the Arctic Sunrise.

‘Warning shots,’ says Pete, shrugging. ‘Okay, let’s see.’

The coastguard vessel is coming closer, and through his binoculars Dima can see the Russians taking the cover off a cannon at the bow of the ship.

‘You will be shot at unless you immediately stop.’

‘Officer,’ says Dima, ‘I want you to think very carefully about what you have just said to me.’

In the mess room on the Ladoga, Sini has been listening to the increasingly demonic shouting on the internal radio. Suddenly there’s a bang and the ship shakes. Her tea sloshes in the mug and the surface breaks with ripples. On the Arctic Sunrise the activists see the muzzle flash, there’s a burst of smoke and a thud overhead.

‘Shit!’ cries Dima. ‘They’re actually shooting!’