The Great Cave Rescue

by James Massola

Pong would later remember feeling great happiness ‘because they find activities for us to do and it was very fun, they told us many stories’. Stories, of course, can be told in the dark. Even though they now had food and the company of their would-be rescuers, the deprivations and difficulties continued. The cave remained dark most of the time—they had more torches, and rescue workers could bring in batteries, but both the SEALs and the Boars were careful to preserve the light they had. The only time the torches would be turned on, Pak says, was when the group ate, or played chequers, or when someone had to use the toilet, or was taught to swim or dive. So to tell night from day they had to check a watch, which, after a while, added to the feeling of otherworldliness and disconnection.

  The cave also stank constantly of urine. And once the boys started eating regular meals again, the odour only worsened. To manage this problem, they took toilet breaks as far away as possible from where the main group huddled together, digging a hole to take care of business. It helped, but not much.

  And although it wasn’t quite possible to discern they were living in an environment with a reduced oxygen supply, Pak recalls: ‘breathing inside the cave wasn’t quite like outside. For me, I didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. The kids, I thought they were very strong. Thanks to their regular exercise, they didn’t seem to feel anything either.’ Pak, whose own child was missing him, would later recall that he would call the boys his ‘sons’ during their shared time in the cave, and he and the three SEALs concentrated on making the boys feel safe, reassuring them that they would eventually find a way to get them out of the cave.

  The hours passed slowly, with no clear indication of when the rescue would happen. No one knew when or how they would get out; it was best not to think about that for too long or too hard, but at least the boys had begun to feel safe again.

  But there were also bright spots for the Boars as the SEALs and Pak began to nurse them back to health. After two days or so, they were able to abandon the power gels—not exactly substitutes for hearty meals—and start on Meals Ready to Eat (MREs), which the Americans had brought in by the container-load and the British had delivered. The kids loved the MREs: eating ‘normal’ meals such as spaghetti buoyed their spirits and served to remind them of the outside world. In fact, Pak says, all things considered, the boys were in remarkably good shape when he and the SEALs arrived on 3 July. ‘They weren’t scared at all, especially when we first met. I was surprised. It was a good sign that they talked about what they planned to eat when they went out. They had very good spirits.’

  One of the three SEALs also recalls the moment they arrived at Nern Nom Sao: ‘When we found the boys I quickly said, “Are you still fighting?” They were quiet. So I asked them again. And they said, “YES!”’

  In fact, for eighteen days the boys rarely wavered in their belief that they would get out.

  On 4 July, the day before British divers John Volanthen and Rick Stanton would return, a second video was released by the Thai Navy SEALs. It was another rocket from the deep, a sign to all of the families—and indeed all of Thailand—that they should not give up hope. Blinking, squinting, hesitating, smiling, one by one the boys bring their palms together in the traditional Thai greeting, announce their nicknames and seek to reassure their families—and the world. Mick grins at the camera but most of the boys, bone-thin and looking scared, glance nervously at the camera. ‘I am healthy,’ each boy declares. Dr Pak can be seen applying disinfectant to the legs and feet of several of the boys, grinning as he does so. For the families, and for everyone around the world following the story, the one-minute video offers reason to be hopeful but sheds no light on when they might get out.

  As they watch this second video at the operation centre outside the cave, the boys’ families are emotional. The mothers are in tears as the footage of their sons, their skin stretched over their bony frames, airs on televisions just metres away from the contingent of voracious international media. Five-year-old Beam, Bew’s younger brother, says he just wants his older brother back so they can play video games and football together again.

  As various diving teams visit the boys, delivering supplies, the Wild Boars and their coach claim to have heard everything from chickens to helicopters through the thick rock. The claims prompt rescue workers to intensify their efforts in searching for a shaft that might lead to the Wild Boars, but to no avail.

  On Wednesday, 4 July, two more British cave divers boarded a plane at London’s Heathrow Airport. Jason Mallinson and Chris Jewell, two of the British Cave Rescue Council’s most experienced rescue divers, were heading to Tham Luang on an overnight flight. The pair brought with them years of diving experience and expertise as well as hundreds of kilograms of equipment that included air cylinders, rebreathers and diving suits.1 These two veteran divers knew just how risky the rescue operation would be, and that if the ‘go’ order was given to bring the boys out, there wasn’t a high probability of success.

  Mallinson and Jewell arrived in Thailand the next day and rapidly made their way to Tham Luang cave. A day later they were diving through to Nern Nom Sao where they met the Boars for the first time, giving the boys wetsuits and other supplies. As water had been continuously pumped out of the cave for days, their progress through the caverns and chambers wasn’t as difficult as it had been for other divers at the start of the week. But for the tired, weak and inexperienced Boars, diving out of the cave was still considered too treacherous.

  Mallinson vividly recalls the moment he first met the Boars.2 The boys were in good spirits at this point, despite being marooned in in the cave for more than two weeks, and he and Jewell stayed for a while to talk to them. The desperation of their situation was immediately apparent to him: ‘They’ve nowhere to go but that chamber. They’ve got to go to [the] toilet there, they’ve got to eat there, so the smell is quite bad.’

  He had also made an impromptu decision to bring along something else—a waterproof writing pad. The messages that would later emerge from the cave naturally delighted the Boars’ families, as they were the first communications from the boys in several days.3 The heartbreaking, handwritten messages of hope were devoured by their anxious relatives and, soon enough, by the world. As you might expect, some of the teenagers’ messages were brief and to the point, such as those from 13-year-old Pong and Mark, and 14-year-old Tle. ‘I’m safe, don’t worry. Love you Mum, Dad and everyone,’ wrote Note, in a message that was very similar to that of his three friends. Note had turned 15 the day before they were found.

  Others offered more details, and hinted at what the team was going through so deep underground in the darkness of the cave. The youngest boy, 11-year-old Titan, for instance, reassured his parents he was okay and then asked that a close family relative, Yord, ‘prepare to bring me fried chicken to eat’. And 14-year-old Bew promised his parents he would be out before long: ‘I will help you at the shop soon.’

  Night, who had turned 17 on the boys’ first night in the cave and who had a cake waiting for him at home, told his parents and brother how much he loved them, while the now 14-year-old Dom reminded his parents they couldn’t forget his birthday just because he was away, adding ‘it’s a little bit cold’ in the cave. There was even a request for ‘not too much homework, please’ after they were rescued.

  The longest note came from 13-year-old Mick, who wrote: ‘Don’t worry. I really miss everyone. Grandpa, uncle, Dad, Mum and [my] brothers. I love you all. I’m very happy here. Seal team is taking care of me very well. Love you all.’

  Of course it was pointless for the Boars to tell their families not to worry. But their messages did offer some measure of reassurance, even as the authorities scrambled to work out how they would free the boys from their watery prison.

  The hardest note to read was from coach Ek to his grandmother. Orphaned at just 10 years of age, he first addressed his grandmother and aunt: ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry about me too much. Please take care of your health. Aunt, please tell Grandma to do Nam
Phrik Num [a chili paste dip made from young chilies] and crispy pork skin. If I can go out, I’ll eat it.’ Ek also made it clear that he blamed himself for the team being trapped.

  Dear all kids’ parents, all of the kids are fine, the rescue team are taking care of the kids very well. And I promise I will take care of the kids as best I can. Thank you for your kind support and I would like to say I’m really sorry to you all.

  The responses from the parents, which were delivered to the boys the next day, were just as you’d expect.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you in front of the cave. I love you and miss you so much. Be patient. I cheer you up. Be strong,’ said a note from Titan’s mother.

  Mick’s grandfather Lek told him to get healthy, and to ‘not be afraid of anyone condemning him. Grandfather Lek is never angry at you.’

  Night’s parents promised he could still have that birthday party he had missed.

  Several of the parents stressed to coach Ek that they didn’t blame him for the ordeal, and indeed went out of their way to thank him for taking care of their boys so well for so many days. Adul’s parents, for example, told the young coach: ‘Thank you for taking care of the children and leading the children to safety in the times of staying in the dark.’

  Ek’s aunt summed it up well: ‘No one blames you … many people are giving you moral support. Keep fighting. I love you. Bring all the brothers out.’

  In the early days after the boys had become trapped in the cave, a Thai official had momentarily left the door open for Ek to be charged if, or when, the Boars were rescued. But that was unlikely to happen, if only because it isn’t the Thai way to lay blame during a crisis like this. Rather than focus on blame and culpability, all everyone cared about was getting the team out safe.

  The question was, when was that going to happen?

  6–7 JULY: OUTSIDE

  Mission critical

  D-Day was fast approaching; with the growing threat of monsoon rains, there was no avoiding it. So far the rescue teams had been lucky, with the rain holding off despite the forecasts. But that wouldn’t last forever.

  By Friday, 6 July, it was clear a decision had to be made. The authorities wanted to keep the pumps going as long as possible, expelling millions more litres of water from the cave, but they couldn’t keep delaying the rescue. Once the rains started, the gains they had made with the water levels inside the cave would be quickly reversed, so the plan to keep the boys in the cave and wait out the monsoon was jettisoned, at least unofficially. It was increasingly apparent that supplying the Boars with food and other supplies for four months, or longer, was just not feasible. And there was also the unanswerable question lurking in everyone’s mind—what happened if the rains became so heavy, and the flooding so great, that they could no longer safely stay at Nern Nom Sao?

  Meanwhile, the forest rangers continued to comb the roof of the mountain for holes and shafts that might offer an alternative escape route. But while they had turned up many leads, so far nothing had panned out.

  The weather was beginning to press in, with rain forecast to resume in the next few days, and the diminishing oxygen levels and rising carbon dioxide levels in the Nern Nom Sao chamber would soon force the authorities’ hand. But questions remained over whether the boys could actually be taught to swim and dive out. It seemed an unlikely prospect. A search was underway to find full-face masks that would allow the boys to breathe normally, rather than only through the mouth; however, finding some that would fit on the smallest boys was proving quite a challenge. A call for the right equipment went out to diving specialists all over the world.

  Behind the scenes, Thai authorities were divided about which rescue plan to pursue.

  The military government of Prime Minister Prayut Chan-o-cha, a former commander-in-chief of the Royal Thai Army, was watching the rescue operation closely. After coming to power in May 2014 after one of Thailand’s military coups, then promising elections but failing to implement them, Prayut and his government were desperate for some good PR. A successful rescue had the potential to unite a country that had been divided for decades between the political economic elite centred in Bangkok and the rest of the population, who felt they had missed out under successive military governments, or been disadvantaged when populist prime ministers Thaksin Shinawatra and later his sister Yingluck Shinawatra had been overthrown.

  Thailand’s King, Maha Vajiralongkorn, Rama X, who had succeeded his revered father less than two years previously, was also monitoring the situation closely.

  Further complicating the situation, Narongsak Osatanakorn, the governor of Chiang Rai Province and chief of the rescue mission—in fact, the public face of the whole operation due to his no-nonsense daily briefings—had been demoted in April and was due to assume the governorship of the smaller province of Phayao, on the southern border of Chiang Rai. Outside Bangkok, Thai governors such as Narongsak are appointed by the Ministry of the Interior rather than elected by the people. His last day as governor was 6 July but, as he was becoming more and more popular as a direct result of the rescue operation, the authorities agreed to compromise and left him to command the rescue mission at Tham Luang cave, even as his successor took over the top job.

  As the death of Sergeant Gunan hung over the camp that Friday, and speculation mounted over what step the authorities would take next, Narongsak’s people announced a press conference would be held at 6 pm. This in itself was not unusual; the rescue chief usually held a morning briefing at about 10 am each day and, if there was a major development in the afternoon, he would update the media again at about 6 pm.

  So, just before 6 pm on 6 July, the hundreds of journalists gathered at the operation centre outside Tham Luang cave began to position their cameras. But Narongsak didn’t appear. The hours ticked by—7 pm, 8 pm, 9 pm. The Thai Interior Minister, Anupong Paochinda, arrived at the base but was driven straight past the assembled journalists to a meeting with Narongsak and the rescue teams. No one knew what was going on in that meeting. Word filtered out several times that Narongsak and Anupong were about to hold a joint press conference, and cameramen and journalists would scramble.

  And then, nothing.

  Eventually, the same convoy of four-wheel drives that had transported Anupong and his entourage to the cave departed. According to people who knew some of the details, the discussion had been tense, although none of this was apparent at the time. Anupong and Narongsak had apparently had an animated discussion about the particulars of the rescue, with one of the points of contention being the air supply in the cave. The minister had been informed about the deteriorating situation in the cave, but not by Narongsak or the people under his command. That news had filtered up to the highest echelons of Thai society, where it had caused concern, underscoring just how critical it was to launch the rescue.

  The rescue chief, for his part, felt that those on the ground knew best. As he would later say, ‘Our decisions were based on all data. The operation team made decisions. And of course, the operation management was under pressure.’

  When asked about the pressure he was under from the higher levels of government, Narongsak said, ‘Our country has many skilful people but we stayed at the cave from the beginning so no one knew [the situation] better than us. The pressure came from various directions. From the national government, each minister has advisors who came up with ideas but those people were not at the forefront of the operation. But I can guarantee that decisions were made by the people at the operation ground only. No one knew better than us.’

  The outgoing governor had marked his territory. He would see out the rescue mission, come what may.

  On site, both the British-led dive team and the US military contingent were beginning to push hard for the ‘go’ order to extract the boys by diving and swimming them out.

  Just after midnight on Saturday, 7 July, nearly 24 hours after Sergeant Gunan’s death and more than six hours later than the proposed briefing time, Narongsak finally address
ed the contingent of international media assembled outside the cave. Striking a note of caution, he said the boys were still learning how to dive and swim in the difficult conditions within the cave. They weren’t yet ready to begin the mission. However, the ‘swim out’ option appeared to be the most viable—if not the riskiest—solution.

  The authorities were still gauging how effective the pumps were, too. To that end, they had been shut off for twelve minutes on Friday to see what impact they were having. The answer was plenty—in that short period, water levels in the cave had risen by as much as 10 centimetres. And when the pumps were operating, the water levels in the cave did go down, but not as much as they did before.

  The effort to block the innumerable cracks and crevices that allowed water to flow down into the cave had been effective, but only up to a point. If light rain fell, the water levels in the cave could be managed but, once the monsoon rains started there would be more flooding and stronger currents. In the meantime, oxygen tanks were being opened in the cave to replenish the diminishing air supply.

  On that dark humid night, less than 100 metres from the entrance to the cave, Narongsak summed up the situation. An attempt to extract the boys on either Saturday or Sunday was unlikely if the forecast heavy rain held off: ‘We’re afraid of the weather and the oxygen in the cave [reducing in quality], but we have to try to set the plan and see which is best.’ They’d ‘have to figure out a way to bring them out … They went in from the front so they have to come out from the front.’

  But, he said, a dramatic shift in the weather would force their hand: ‘If there’s heavy rain we will try to bring them out.’ Narongsak’s last point was critical. The acting governor was fixing. The weather conditions—and the hesitant disposition of those leading the rescue—were about to change.

  While the mission to save the Wild Boars was slowly progressing towards the ‘go’ order, the Australian dive team at Tham Luang was fuming. On 6 July, the day Sergeant Gunan died, an article in the Australian Financial Review slated the Australian contingent for their contribution to the rescue effort. Aaron Patrick, a senior writer on the paper, had pointed out that the Australian divers, who comprised six people from the Australian Federal Police Specialist Response Group and one from the Navy, had missed their chance to be ‘international heroes’ because ‘they stopped work at 5 pm on Monday, two days after they left Canberra. A few hours later two amateur but highly experienced underwater rescuers from Wales found the group alive.’