Once upon a time, in the era of the Cold War, supercarrier ships stood aloof as the most sacred of sea powers, the aeronaval task forces being the ones that had the range and the capability to project to the farthest corner of the world. Instead of building an actual supercarrier, Russia chose to barter with terms of pride, ambition, and sea-based rivals more than capable. In the late 1980s, it was very close to the Ulyanovsk, a ship that could have transformed the Soviet navy into a real blue-water navy. It was probably one of the biggest “what-ifs” in the whole history of the world.
Ulyanovsk was built by Mykolaiv shipyard in 1988. It was assigned the codename Project 1143.7, and it was the first to make Soviet carriers as long as Soviet carriers would ever be, much like American giants of the era. Admiral Kuznetsov utilized a ski-jump off, whereas Ulyanovsk utilized steam catapults and was capable of carrying more heavily loaded flights.
At a weight of nearly 80,000 tons and a length of 324 meters, they would have been world giants among killers. With four reactors driving four turbines and a residence powered by a nuclear reactor, Ulyanovsk would have steamed at 30 knots with the sole limitation being the fatigue of the crew.
Her flight deck would have space to accommodate a total number of up to 70 aircraft, like Su-33 fighter jets, Yak-44 anti-submarines, and Ka-27 helicopters. She had P-700 Granit missiles, S-300 anti-missile systems, and close-in weapon systems for protection.
This was not the usual warship—it was a guarantee that the Soviet navy would have on the hands of the opposing carrier battle group. Political and military pragmatism were synonymous in Moscow and Ulyanovsk.
But. Its other fates were to wait. With the crash of the Soviet economy, the dream crashed along with it. Only a fourth of the 1992-constructed economy, and the new Moscow and Kyiv regime, not so money-wise—or driven—to finish it. When it reached the billions, the half-finished hull was ordered to be dismantled. The Soviet economy’s supercarrier dream was shattered on February 4, 1992.
The Ulyanovsk tragedy is the blemish of Russia. Russia currently has only one carrier, the Admiral Kuznetsov, which has been plagued by catastrophes: infernal fires during overhaul, a crane mishap that would have put a civilian ship out of action, and engine breakdown after engine breakdown.
The ship sails normally with an escort of tugboats in case of a breakdown in the middle of the ocean. Life on board Kuznetsov is drudgery and not a source of pride for most of the crew.
The Russian dream of a supercarrier remains, though. Phantasmagoric schemes like the Shtorm nuclear carrier return from time to time and in plans for modernization. But they never make it off paper, slain by austerity budgets and changing priorities. Ulyanovsk is now an aphorism of what was not done, not what was built.
The grand plan is black. Russian presence outside the world is limited in terms of a follow-on carrier. Hemisphere-scale planning is ruled out by technology, cost, and geography.
Ulyanovsk reminds us that the grand war plan can be outmatched by economic and political change. Russia is reminded of a promise unfulfilled—and repeated attempts to sustain actual navy capability—by the cancelled supercarrier.