Capítulo 4
Fatal Flaws: The Reactor's Hidden Dangers
The Chernobyl plant was originally designed to use VVER reactors (Soviet equivalent of American PWRs), which were extremely safe-if coolant circulation failed, the reaction would effectively shut down. However, these were replaced with RBMK reactors that were more powerful (1,000 megawatts versus 500), cheaper to build and operate, and could run on less enriched uranium. Most critically, RBMKs could be constructed from prefabricated components made by non-specialized factories-a key economic advantage in the resource-constrained Soviet economy.
Despite their chief designer Nikolai Dollezhal expressing serious concerns about building nuclear stations in Europe's populated areas, the economic advantages won out. Dollezhal's 1979 article in Kommunist warned about inadequate safety measures compared to Western practices and proposed building plants in sparsely populated northern regions instead. The academic establishment, led by Anatolii Aleksandrov who claimed RBMKs were "as safe as a samovar," dismissed these concerns. Ironically, Soviet-built reactors in Eastern Europe used the safer VVER design, not the RBMK type installed at Chernobyl.
Ukraine's energy minister Aleksei Makukhin, concerned about reactor safety, was shocked to learn from engineer Grigorii Medvedev that RBMK reactors emitted up to 4,000 curies per day compared to just 100 from VVER reactors. Nevertheless, with the Council of Ministers' approval and Aleksandrov's endorsement, construction continued.
The KGB played a dual role in plant oversight-sometimes helping highlight supplier problems, while also reporting construction flaws. In 1979, KGB chief Yurii Andropov reported serious construction defects to the Central Committee, including improper hydro isolation and walls built 15 centimeters off their intended locations.
Despite these issues, the plant's most serious accident before the disaster occurred in September 1982, when a fuel channel burst during reactor restart, releasing enriched uranium and raising radiation to ten times normal levels. The chief engineer lost his job, but Briukhanov survived, as Chernobyl's accident rate remained lower than at similar plants. The following year, Briukhanov received the prestigious Order of the October Revolution-a reward for meeting production quotas despite safety concerns.
Problems persisted at Chernobyl despite its relatively good safety record. In February 1986, while Briukhanov attended the party congress, the KGB reported serious construction defects in Unit 5, where improper crushed stone created concrete with dangerous holes that could lead to "accident-threatening situations." This warning received no response.
Meanwhile, journalist Liubov Kovalevskaia published an expose in Literaturna Ukraina detailing construction problems, including 3,200 cubic meters of undelivered concrete and 6,000 cubic meters of defective concrete. Her warnings went unheeded until after the disaster-one of many missed opportunities to prevent the looming catastrophe.
Capítulo 5
The Night Everything Changed
As April 25, 1986 arrived, Prypiat residents eagerly anticipated their weekend after the previous Saturday's obligatory unpaid "Red Saturday" labor commemorating Lenin's birthday. The weather was unseasonably warm in the 70s, perfect for the outdoor activities many had planned-picnics, hiking, and fishing along the Prypiat River. With the upcoming holiday stretch including May 1st (International Workers' Day), Orthodox Easter on May 4th, and Victory Day on May 9th, Friday was the last chance to complete unfinished business before the holiday season began.
Unit 4's scheduled shutdown for repairs would include system tests at low radioactivity levels. One critical test concerned the steam turbine and was designed to improve the SCRAM (Safety Control Rods Activation Mechanism) emergency system. The test aimed to solve a safety gap: during an emergency shutdown, the plant would lose electricity needed to pump coolant into the overheated reactor, with emergency diesel generators taking 45 seconds to activate. Engineers from Donetsk had proposed using the residual momentum of the turbine generator to produce electricity during this critical gap.
The test required disabling automatic shutdown mechanisms to simulate a power failure, creating some risk, but managers considered it necessary to activate an additional emergency safety system required by ministry instructions. After a failed earlier attempt due to turbine malfunction, everything now seemed ready.
However, the shutdown was unexpectedly postponed when the Kyiv power grid requested Unit 4 maintain its current output until evening due to another nuclear station going offline. This frustrated operators, especially since they had already disabled the emergency water supply system-a lengthy process involving manual valve closures. The grid dispatcher finally approved the shutdown for 10:00 p.m., creating tension among staff who had to wait hours with safety systems disabled.
As the night approached, the Chernobyl plant awaited the arrival of Anatolii Diatlov, the fifty-five-year-old deputy chief engineer responsible for reactor operations. Born in Siberia and educated at Moscow Engineering Physics Institute, Diatlov had previously worked testing nuclear reactors for Soviet submarines. Unlike Director Briukhanov and Chief Engineer Fomin who came from conventional thermal plants, Diatlov was a true nuclear expert.
At the plant, Diatlov was known for being difficult but effective. Colleagues described him as direct and uncompromising, never changing his opinion to please superiors yet rarely considering subordinates' views. He would harshly discipline anyone who tried to deceive or conceal violations. Despite his argumentative nature and occasional rudeness, his bosses valued his ability to get things done.
At midnight, Aleksandr Akimov's crew took over from Trehub's shift. The thirty-three-year-old Akimov, bespectacled with a fashionable moustache, had only been a shift head for four months. His reactor operator, twenty-five-year-old Leonid Toptunov, was even less experienced-only three months in his position. The handover was rushed, with up to twenty people crowding the control room-old shift, new shift, managers and engineers involved in the test or simply curious.
The reactor shutdown proceeded until an emergency signal indicated low water supply. While addressing this, Toptunov accidentally caused the reactor power to plummet from 520 MWt to just 30 MWt at 12:28 a.m.-nearly shutting it down completely. With Akimov and Trehub's help, Toptunov manually withdrew control rods to revive the dying reactor, raising power to 160 MWt within four minutes. Diatlov, returning to the control room, approved continuing the test at just 200 MWt-far below the 760 MWt specified in the program, a dangerous deviation that everyone followed despite the risks.
Capítulo 6
The Moment of Catastrophe
Determined to complete the test, Diatlov ordered operators to block emergency signals and adjust water flow, further destabilizing the reactor. The low power operation caused xenon-135 poisoning, requiring withdrawal of nearly all control rods to maintain power. By 1:22 a.m., only 9 of 167 rods remained in the core. The computer showed alarming power increases as water boiled into steam, reducing neutron absorption, but Akimov focused on starting the test. At 1:23:04 a.m., the turbine test began. Thirty-six seconds later, with power levels spiraling out of control, Akimov ordered Toptunov to press the AZ-5 emergency shutdown button.
The AZ-5 button, meant to save them, instead triggered disaster. As 178 control rods began descending into the reactor core, their graphite tips displaced neutron-absorbing water, momentarily accelerating the reaction-the fatal design flaw of RBMK reactors. Rising temperatures fractured fuel rods, jamming the control rods when only one-third inserted. Power surged from 200 MWt to over 30,000 MWt-ten times normal capacity. The fuel disintegrated, releasing uranium into the cooling water and creating a massive steam buildup. Those in the control room heard an unfamiliar low moan, followed by increasing shocks. The steam explosion blew the 200-tonne concrete shield ("Elena") through the roof of Unit 4, leaving an opening that freely "spat" radiation into the atmosphere. A second, more powerful blast followed, destroying much of the containment building and throwing radioactive graphite blocks onto neighboring roofs and surrounding land. The graphite caught fire, sending radioactive particles skyward. Nearby fishermen witnessed the explosions but continued fishing, unaware of the nuclear catastrophe unfolding before them.
For the firefighters of Specialized Military Fire Department No. 2, the evening had been quiet until they heard steam releasing from the power station, followed by two explosions. Looking out the window, they saw a fireball rising above Unit 4, with a red column of smoke turning blue as it ascended into a black cloud. The siren sounded, and three fire trucks sped toward the plant. Lieutenant Pravyk immediately radioed alarm signal no. 3-the highest level, mobilizing all firefighting units in the Kyiv region. "Well, Mikhailovich, it's going to be hot for us," Pravyk told Leonid Shavrei. "We'll really have to work here." The time was 1:28 a.m., just five minutes after the explosion.
The firefighters faced extreme danger on the reactor building's roofs. Shavrei and Pryshchepa discovered the bitumen-covered roof was melting and littered with mysterious silvery debris that spontaneously ignited. These were actually radioactive graphite and fuel fragments, irradiating everything around them. The firefighters had no radiation measuring instruments or protective gear, and with rising temperatures, they even removed parts of their regular equipment. Within an hour, the firefighters began experiencing severe radiation sickness symptoms-nausea, weakness, vomiting-and were evacuated to Prypiat hospital.
Twenty-eight-year-old Dr. Valentyn Belokon was the only doctor on duty in Prypiat that night. Initially expecting burn victims, he instead encountered patients with headaches, nausea and slurred speech. At first suspecting alcohol poisoning, he soon realized they were suffering from radiation exposure and requested potassium iodide to protect their thyroids. The plant operators themselves were in denial, ashamed of vomiting and attributing their symptoms to shock rather than radiation.
Capítulo 7
Denial and Deadly Silence
Viktor Briukhanov, awakened by a phone call at 2:00 a.m., rushed to the plant to find Unit 4's top completely gone. Immediately recognizing his career was over, he became rigid and withdrawn. Despite not understanding what happened, he ordered all managers to the plant and activated the highest level emergency protocols. Though he saw graphite pieces on the ground, he dismissed their significance. As managers arrived, Briukhanov established a command post in the underground bunker and took on the grim task of notifying officials in Moscow and Kyiv.
Anatolii Diatlov, in charge of the turbine test, was bewildered by the explosion. Initially fearing the emergency water tank above had burst, he ordered evacuation to the emergency control room, but operators remained fixated on their erratic instruments. Discovering zero water flow to the reactor and control rods jammed one-third of the way down, Diatlov desperately ordered "Cool the reactor at emergency speed." He sent interns Proskuriakov and Kudriavtsev to manually insert the control rods-a futile mission that would cost them their lives.
When Diatlov reached the turbine hall, he found apocalyptic devastation-"A picture worthy of the pen of the great Dante!" The roof was breached, girders hanging down, and hot water bursting from damaged pipes onto electrical equipment. With 200 tonnes of machine oil leaking onto the floor, engineers fought to redirect it to underground reservoirs while removing hydrogen from nearby turbines to prevent further explosions.
In the underground bunker, Briukhanov asked Diatlov what happened, but the deputy chief engineer could only spread his hands helplessly, saying "I don't understand it at all." Meanwhile, engineers Sitnikov and Chugunov, sent to investigate, discovered the horrific truth-the reactor was destroyed, with graphite blocks and fuel rod fragments scattered about. Yet they continued following orders to supply water to the non-existent reactor. Akimov and Toptunov, ignoring Diatlov's order to leave, worked until they collapsed with severe radiation sickness, their faces and hands swollen dark brown. "We did everything right. Why did it happen?" a bewildered Akimov asked, later admitting, "It really hurts, Vitia. We really screwed up."
When Vorobev returned to the bunker and reported radiation exceeding 200 roentgens per hour near Unit 4, both Briukhanov and party chief Parashin refused to believe him. Briukhanov dismissed Vorobev despite protocol requiring a radiation emergency declaration at just 0.05 milliroentgens. The actual radiation around the reactor was later estimated at 10,000 roentgens per hour-with 500 roentgens over five hours being lethal.
Meanwhile, Prypiat residents remained unaware of the danger-holding seven weddings that day while children played outside and adults sunbathed, despite radiation levels reaching 80,000 times normal background levels by evening. The Soviet government maintained strict information control, refusing to inform citizens or the international community about what had happened. This secrecy followed established patterns from previous nuclear accidents, particularly the 1957 Ozersk explosion that released 20 million curies of radioactivity and required resettling 12,000 people.
Unlike Ozersk, Chernobyl couldn't be contained as a secret. The explosion released 50 million curies and was located near the USSR's western border. On April 28, Swedish dosimetrists at the Forsmark Nuclear Power Plant detected alarming radiation levels, eventually tracing the source to the Soviet Union. Swedish officials publicly pressured the USSR for information.
The Soviet media finally broke its silence at 9 p.m. on April 28 with a brief TASS announcement, revealing minimal information about the accident. The Politburo had debated releasing even this limited information, with Gorbachev pushing for disclosure while others urged caution. When they made this decision, they believed contamination was limited to Soviet territory, unaware radiation had already crossed international borders.
Capítulo 8
Exodus: The Human Cost of Nuclear Failure
As Prypiat's evacuation began on April 27, residents received a radio announcement instructing them to prepare for "temporary evacuation" with essential documents and food. Despite the urgency, most people didn't grasp the situation's severity-children were still eating ice cream just 90 minutes before departure. For 36 hours after the explosion, authorities had provided no reliable information or safety instructions, despite radiation levels that legally required public warnings.
Local filmmakers captured surreal scenes of normal life continuing-weddings, soccer games, children playing-juxtaposed with military personnel in protective gear patrolling streets. The film itself bears radioactive scars. By 4:30 p.m., the evacuation was largely complete, with 44,460 people relocated to 43 nearby settlements. Some remained behind: plant workers managing reactor shutdown, young lovers enjoying empty apartments, and reluctant elderly residents. The evacuees unknowingly spread contamination to their temporary homes, while the buses that transported them returned to regular Kyiv routes, spreading radiation throughout the city of 2 million.
Ukrainian Interior Minister Ivan Hladush first learned about the accident around 2:00 a.m. through secure communications, while local police commander Major Kucherenko's initial reports from the plant were met with disbelief from Kyiv officials. By 5:00 a.m., General Hennadii Berdov, deputy interior minister, arrived in Prypiat with senior officers, taking command of over 400 policemen dispatched to secure the plant and nearby Yaniv railway station.
Civil defense authorities initially dismissed Serafim Vorobev's urgent warnings about radiation levels exceeding 200 roentgens per hour as alarmism. Ukrainian Prime Minister Liashko, despite skepticism from Party boss Shcherbytsky, ordered transport mobilization for potential evacuation by early afternoon on April 26, securing approval from Soviet Premier Ryzhkov. By evening, 1,200 buses and 240 trucks were positioned outside Prypiat, though the evacuation order wasn't given until the following day.
Meanwhile, families of firefighters began leaving independently, aware of the radiation danger. The most severely affected firefighters and plant operators were hastily evacuated to Moscow's specialized Hospital No. 6 late on April 26, under the care of radiation specialist Dr. Angelina Guskova, who had been treating radiation victims since 1949.
As radiation spread toward Kyiv, Soviet authorities focused more on controlling information and preventing "panic" than protecting citizens. Despite dangerous radiation levels, they proceeded with May Day celebrations in Kyiv, reducing participation numbers but insisting the parade continue to project normalcy. Party officials were instructed to bring their families, including children, to demonstrate safety.
Radiation levels in Kyiv became increasingly dangerous, reaching 1,700 microroentgens per hour by noon on April 30 before temporarily subsiding. By 8:00 a.m. on May 1, just as people gathered for the parade, levels began rapidly rising again, reaching 2,500 microroentgens per hour-the day's highest reading. Despite Volodymyr Shcherbytsky's concerns about holding the parade in this location, Gorbachev allegedly threatened him with party expulsion if he canceled it. Ukrainian leaders proceeded with the parade, standing bareheaded on the reviewing stand while citizens-completely uninformed about the danger-marched below with their children.
Capítulo 9
Taming the Reactor: Heroes and Hubris
On April 27, helicopter pilots began their perilous mission dropping sandbags into the damaged reactor. Without protective gear, pilots hovered over the reactor for about four minutes per trip, receiving 20-80 roentgens each flight. Despite these dangerous radiation levels, they continued missions for eight days, with most original pilots hospitalized with radiation sickness in Kyiv by early May.
Scientists debated whether Shcherbina and Legasov's strategy was correct. After detecting neutron radiation near the reactor, Legasov personally took measurements to determine whether the reactor was still active. His team concluded it was in "subcritical condition," meaning no chain reaction was occurring. Legasov proposed using boron to absorb neutrons, while his superior Aleksandrov suggested clay. Shcherbina ordered both, along with 6,000 tonnes of lead to lower temperatures.
Some scientists, including Valentyn Fedulenko, argued the airdrops were not only useless but harmful, creating small radioactive explosions that increased radiation levels. Despite objections, the bombing continued with Moscow's approval, reaching 1,900 tonnes on May 1 before stopping due to fears the weight might collapse the reactor.
The Politburo meeting of May 5, 1986 revealed a Soviet leadership facing multiple crises. Gorbachev acknowledged the Afghanistan war as "a total defeat," while the Chernobyl situation deteriorated rapidly. Hospital admissions had jumped 45% in a single day to 2,757 patients, with 914 showing radiation sickness symptoms.
Boris Shcherbina and his state commission members had been evacuated to Moscow the previous evening, taken directly to Hospital No. 6 where they were examined, decontaminated, and many hospitalized. Before treatment, Shcherbina reported to the Politburo that radiation emissions were climbing again after a brief decline, and scientists feared both a new explosion and the "China syndrome"-where melting radioactive fuel could reach the water table and contaminate the entire Dnieper River basin.
Silaev's urgent task was draining the 20,000 tonnes of radioactive water beneath Unit 4, which threatened a steam explosion if the melting fuel reached it. The only solution was sending divers into the flooded underground corridors to open valves manually. Desperate times called for desperate measures-Silaev offered financial incentives including free cars and apartments to volunteers. Power plant operators, familiar with the layout, went first. Three engineers in diving suits successfully opened the gates, allowing firefighters to pump out the contaminated water. Though proud of their accomplishment, the monetary rewards felt hollow to men who acted out of duty rather than for incentives. All three would die from radiation poisoning within weeks.
With water being removed from beneath the reactor, the steam explosion risk diminished, but the China syndrome threat remained-radioactive poisoning of groundwater that could contaminate the Dnieper River Basin, then spread to the Black Sea, Mediterranean, Atlantic and beyond. This would fulfill the biblical prophecy of Wormwood poisoning the waters.
Capítulo 10
The Aftermath: Justice and Legacy
Viktor Briukhanov, the dismissed plant director, became the primary scapegoat. In early July, he was summoned to a Politburo meeting in the Kremlin's Walnut Room. The meeting lasted eight hours without breaks. Briukhanov spoke briefly about the accident, faced only one question from Gorbachev about Three Mile Island, then sat silently as discussions continued. At meeting's end, Gorbachev read a prepared resolution expelling Briukhanov from the Communist Party-a unanimous vote signaling imminent criminal prosecution.
Soviet television announced his party expulsion to the entire country. Everyone understood the unwritten rules: expulsion inevitably preceded imprisonment. In Tashkent, when Briukhanov's elderly mother learned of these developments from neighbors, she suffered a fatal heart attack.
The trial of the Chernobyl plant managers took place in Chernobyl itself, within the highly radioactive exclusion zone. The makeshift courtroom in the local cultural center featured metal bars on windows and strict security measures. Though technically "open," journalists were only permitted to attend the first and last days of the eighteen-day proceedings, prompting them to call it an "open trial in a closed zone."
Six defendants faced charges: former plant director Viktor Briukhanov, chief engineer Nikolai Fomin, and deputy chief engineer Anatolii Diatlov (who had supervised the fatal test) were the primary accused. The others included reactor division chief Oleksii Kovalenko, shift chief Boris Rogozhkin, and nuclear safety official Yurii Laushkin. Briukhanov, who had absorbed ten times the permitted radiation dose, had spent nearly a year in solitary confinement before the trial. His wife Valentina struggled to support their family while her husband's bank accounts were frozen and former friends shunned them.
The defendants arrived at trial in varying states of physical and mental deterioration. Nikolai Fomin had attempted suicide in prison using broken eyeglass shards, delaying the trial until doctors stabilized his condition. Diatlov, considered by many the true cause of the disaster, had absorbed 390 rem of radiation and still had open wounds on his legs from radioactive burns when arrested a month after hospital release.
Briukhanov refused to plead guilty to charges of violating explosion hazard safety rules and abusing power by withholding information. He argued that nuclear plants had never been classified as explosion hazards in any instruction manual, and that he had reported radiation levels based on the limited information available to him. Despite his defense, Briukhanov knew his fate had already been decided in Moscow: "It was apparent beforehand that I would be punished."
Valerii Legasov, who had led the scientific response to the disaster, hanged himself on April 27, 1988, one day after the second anniversary of the Chernobyl disaster. Though he left no suicide note, he had meticulously arranged personal effects, including verses dedicated to his wife and a favorite photo of Chernobyl storks-symbols of returning life to the disaster area.
In recordings made before his death, Legasov criticized the RBMK reactors' design flaws, particularly their lack of concrete containment shelters and inadequate control rod systems. Though he had revealed much about Chernobyl's consequences in Vienna, he never told the full truth about its causes. Crushed by radiation-induced depression and a sense of betrayal, Legasov became another casualty of the disaster while the official narrative placed blame solely on the plant operators.
Capítulo 11
The Fallout: Political Transformation and Global Impact
The Chernobyl disaster contaminated vast territories across Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus, affecting 5% of Ukraine, 23% of Belarus, and 60,000 square kilometers in Russia. While immediate deaths numbered 31, long-term mortality estimates range from 4,000 to 90,000. Health impacts included a 90% increase in childhood cancer in Ukraine and 5,000 thyroid cancer cases among those who were children during the accident. Scientists discovered genetic damage affecting subsequent generations, with nearly 7 million people receiving compensation.
Ukraine's response was particularly forceful, with parliament pursuing harsh treatment of Soviet officials and embracing eco-nationalism as a political force. The government recognized 90,000 citizens as severely affected Chernobyl invalids and over 500,000 as liquidators. By the mid-1990s, 5% of Ukraine's budget funded Chernobyl projects, with 65% of social welfare resources supporting 3.3 million categorized victims.
The disaster catalyzed political change across the region. The Rukh movement, initially focused on ecological issues, evolved to champion Ukrainian independence. Mass demonstrations spread to Belarus, weakening government control over information and political action. By 1990, Ukraine had instituted a moratorium on new reactor construction and launched investigations into the authorities' handling of the disaster.
Ukraine later agreed to dismantle its nuclear arsenal through the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, receiving security assurances from the US, Russia, and Britain. This proved inadequate when Russia annexed Crimea and launched war in eastern Ukraine two decades later.
Today, as nuclear power expands globally, most new reactors are being built in countries with autocratic regimes, raising concerns about safety oversight. The environmental impact remains severe - cesium-137 will harm the environment for at least 180 years, while plutonium-239 has a half-life of 24,000 years. The New Safe Confinement Project, featuring a massive steel arch over the reactor, cost over 3 billion euros and faced numerous delays before completion.
Chernobyl's legacy extends beyond physical damage, having accelerated the Soviet Union's collapse and transformed global attitudes toward nuclear energy. It stands as a warning about technological hubris and the dangers of institutional failure and secrecy - lessons that grow more relevant as nuclear power expands in an increasingly unstable world.
