In a long period of time, carrier ships were the dream of sea powers, the naval vessels that could fly and thus spread their power all over the globe. Russia, in particular, was so fascinated by the idea of building the next supercarrier that this fictive project was not only followed with enthusiasm, but also with pride and the desire to overtake its great maritime rivals. It turned from a dream into a late 1980s reality with the Ulyanovsk, which would have raised the Moscow navy to a blue-water navy. But the vessel was actually one of the most famous “what-ifs” scenarios in the history of the Navy, instead of being converted into the latter.
The Ulyanovsk began construction in 1988 at the Mykolaiv shipyard, Ulyanovsk—official designation Project 1143.7—intended to be the first Soviet carrier on par with the American behemoths of the day. Whereas the Admiral Kuznetsov employed a ski-jump to take off, Ulyanovsk employed steam catapults, which could safely carry heavily loaded aircraft.
Almost 80,000 tons long and 324 meters, she would have been as big as the largest carriers in the world. Her nuclear power plant, with four reactors driving four turbines, produced a speed of 30 knots and a range limited only by the crew’s endurance.
The flight deck of the ship would be able to accommodate up to 70 aircraft: Su-33 fighter, Yak-44 early warning aircraft, and Ka-27 helicopters. The ship would also have substantial missile equipment consisting of P-700 Granit missiles, S-300 anti-aircraft systems, as well as some close-in weapon systems.
The term was straightforward. Ulyanovsk was more than a warship—it was a statement that the Soviet Navy could now challenge the carrier strike force of its adversaries. To Moscow, it was a badge of political presence and one of military necessities.
Fate, however, had other plans. The Soviet Union disintegrated at the time the carrier was breaking through. By the beginning of 1992, only a quarter of the ship had been constructed, and Moscow and Kyiv’s new governments had little money—or inclination—to finish it.
The expenses had increased far beyond early estimates to the billions. Economic survival now being the priority, the incomplete hull was ordered to be broken down into scrap metal. Soviet supercarrier dream expired on February 4, 1992, on the cutting room floor of a shipyard.
Waves of Ulyanovsk’s collapse still echo. Russia’s only carrier, the Admiral Kuznetsov, is now infamous for breaking down. Refurbishment fires, catastrophic crane collapse, and routine engine breakdowns have dogged the ship. Even when sailing, Kuznetsov has a tug escort attending it—insurance against early failure in the middle of the ocean. For most sailors, to work on the ship is now gallows humor, more ordeal than privilege.
But the idea of the Russian supercarrier persists. Designs for new classes, from the nuclear-powered Shtorm to concept designs connected with the navy’s modernization program, surface sporadically. But they remain on paper, hobbled by budget limitations and shifting strategic priorities. Ulyanovsk is a metaphor—and not a metaphor of what was built, but of what was lost.
The larger lesson is there. Without a modern carrier force, however, Russia’s ability to project its fleet across the globe is still restricted. Ambition may speak of worldwide reach, but nature is a navy bottlenecked by geography, budgets, and technology.
The Ulyanovsk disaster is a lesson of history: even the farthest-reaching military ventures can be undone by economic downturn and political turmoil. For Russia, this unfinished carrier is a city of broken dreams, and to the surprise challenges of sustaining real maritime power.