MAY 8TH, 1986, 12 DAYS AFTER THE CHERNOBYL DISASTER

“An alarming discovery has been made. Unit 4’s reactor is continuing to melt down.” The plant workers shared nervous glances. “It will continue to melt through the floor until it reaches the bubbling pools underneath the plant, and trigger a steam explosion that will cause this plant to go up in the largest fireball we have seen yet.” One worker raised his hand. “Yes?”

“I thought the firefighters had already drained the flooded basement,” he asked.

“It has been drained up to knee-height, but there is still water down there.” The manager’s gaze searched around the room of workers who were on shift. “We need someone who knows where the sluice valve is to open it and drain the water out. It will be a difficult task.” There was silence. They all knew that the men going down there possibly wouldn’t return.

Then a young man stood up. “I am the only one here who knows where that valve is, sir.”

The manager nodded. “And you are-?”

“Ananenko, Alexei.”

Another man stood. “Valeri Bezpalov. I know the basement layout.”

“Very well. Anyone else?”

“Baranov. Shift supervisor. I will accompany them.”

“You are still able to refuse this assignment,” their manager told them as they pulled on wetsuits.

“How could I?” Alexei said. “I am the only person on shift who knows where the valves are located.” He pulled the hood over his mop of messy brown hair. He shoved the growing sense of anxiety down, and it crawled into the pit of his stomach insead.

“It is our job,” Valeri added. He had refused to shave his mustache despite the added risk of picking up radioactive dust.

“It is a suicide mission,” their boss reminded them. “If you do not return- I will make sure your families will be taken care of.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They were all handed two ionization dosimeters, one of which was strapped to their ankles to measure the radioactivity of the feedwater.

“Sorry, this is the only working flashlight we have,” a plant worker said as he handed it to Baranov.

As they lined up by the basement door, the manager nodded to all of them. “Good luck,” he said simply, and the door was pulled open.

The three entered the dark, dripping maw of the basement. The door slammed behind them, and the dim beam of their flashlight was the only defense against the enveloping darkness. They climbed down a set of metal stairs, gripping the railing as they descended. Their dosimeters croaked threateningly.

Alexei carefully entered the water.

“We must move quickly,” Valeri cautioned. The radioactive water sloshed around his ankles as the three headed down the corridor. The water deepened as they continued, soon reaching his waist. Pipes lined the walls, and he felt gnawing fear telling him that they wouldn’t find the valve amongst this maze. The flashlight beam danced on the surface of the water and reflected onto the ceiling. Suddenly, white lettering on the pipes caught his attention.

“Yes! This will lead the way.” The pipe led them to the larger area connecting to the transport corridor of the destroyed fourth block.

The constant ominous, gravelly croak of their dosimeters echoed through the chamber. Radiation may be invisible and odorless, but it has a voice. The croak intensified to a menacing click as they passed a giant cone of fragments from the exploded core mixed with concrete crumbs spilling from a hole in the ceiling. Valeri peeked over Baranov’s shoulder as he swept a gloved thumb over the dosimeter’s screen. There was a short command: “MOVE VERY FAST.”

“We must move quicker; the radiation is very dangerous here,” Baranov warned.

The familiar metallic taste of liquid radiolysis appeared in Alexei’s mouth. They were now splashing down the corridor until they reached another intersection.

“Now where do we go?” Valeri asked, as Baranov swept his flashlight over the myriad pipes and valves.

“Hang on, I’m looking. Can you shine the flashlight over here?” Alexei clambered over to the nameplates. Baranov did, but the light started to dim. He shook the flashlight, sending the light erratically dancing through the chamber. It only helped momentarily, however, and the light went out completely. The inky black swallowed them whole. “What is going on?” he called.

“I don’t know. It was fine a moment ago,” he heard Baranov respond.

“Of course we got a broken flashlight,” Valeri complained, fumbling to try to help.

There was frantic winding, and the light came back, barely enough to see the operational name on the plate.

“I found it! The valve is this way!” Alexei splashed back to the correct corridor as the other men cheered. Then the light went out again, and they continued blindly down the hall as Baranov tried to get it working again. He had to continue winding it the entire time to get enough light to see their own hands in front of their faces.

They made it to a landing, and Alexei feared that there might not be a flywheel on the valve, or it would be stuck in the closed position. He shook the thought away. Water poured off the metal stairs, and Baranov scanned the room with the barely-functional light. Alexei could hear his own heavy breathing through his respirator, accompanied by the whirring of the flashlight and the continuous, gurgling voice they had all tuned out. It reminded him of a horror movie, where the monster stalks the characters from the ceiling, except the killer was invisible and all-encompassing.

The light glanced off something metallic, half underwater.“There! That’s it, that’s it!” Alexei laughed. It had a flywheel! He and Valeri stumbled down the steps and leapt into the water. They swam over to the valve and Alexei began turning the wheel. It squealed, and then spun easily, and they could hear the familiar sound of water rushing out of the bubbler pools. The malicious crackling was drowned out by the sound of the rushing water. They had no idea how many lives they had just saved.

The plant workers waited anxiously outside the doors. Some paced, while others had decided to sit down. At this point, the three could already be dead. No one had known how much radiation was down there, yet the three men had gone down with nothing but wetsuits and a flashlight. The others held their breath, praying that they had at least opened the valve. They shot each other nervous glances. Some even shook their heads.

Then they heard someone banging on the door. They rushed over and flung it open, and all three of the men burst out triumphantly. The others rushed over to them to congratulate them and embrace them. However, the three men didn’t feel like heroes; they felt like they usually did. They had done their job.

Just living was enough for Alexei.

Contrary to popular belief, the three men did not succumb to ARS, and Alexei Ananenko and Valeri Bespalov are still alive and working in the industry today. Unfortunately, Boris Baranov died of a heart attack in 2005. Today, the possible risk of the avoided explosion is widely debated. It is believed that they saved almost half of Europe from becoming a radioactive wasteland. They had still gone into a pitch black, flooded basement even though they had full knowledge that they were risking their lives.

During an interview with Ananenko last year, he told the reporter, “I never felt like a hero. I was just doing my job.”