Aircraft carriers have been the most powerful and influential ships of the naval forces, the “air fleets” through which their power has been felt anywhere in the world, for a long time. Fantasies about building a real supercarrier would always be tied to Russia’s determination, pride, and desire to match its powerful sea-borne rivals in the case of that country. Ulyanovsk, in the late 1980s, was where this dream became a reality, which was going to change the navy of Moscow into a blue-water navy. But the ship ended up being one of the “what-ifs” most discussed from naval history instead of the first.
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.
Had she been almost 80,000 tons long and 324 meters, she could have been comparable to the largest carriers globally. Her nuclear power plant with four reactors, driving four turbines, allowed her to reach a speed of 30 knots, and her autonomy was 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 greater lesson is somewhere nearby. However, in the absence of a contemporary aircraft carrier, Russia is still limited in its capacity to carry out operations anywhere in the world. While the navy of intentions has a global reach may talk, in reality, it is constrained by geography, finances, and technology.
Incident of the Ulyanovsk is a historical lesson: even the most ambitious military excursions can be reversed by an economic crisis and political upheaval. It is a symbol of the sleepless nights of lost hopes for Russia and a source of unexpected difficulties in the country’s naval power to achieve maritime power.