It was the end of a naval history chapter with a whimper, not a bang, when Dmitry Donskoy, the last of Russia’s Typhoon-class submarines, retired. Such deep-sea monsters not only dominated the imaginations of military strategists for a long time but also the public’s, in no small part because they were not only massive in size but also due to what they signified in those difficult times of the Cold War. Besides being an engineering wonder, the Typhoon was also a proclamation that the Soviets were resolute in staying at the same level as their American counterparts and even surpassing them in the nuclear race.
The design for the Typhoon started to take shape as the United States launched the powerful Ohio-class nuclear missile submarines. The Soviet Navy needed a counterbalance, one that would guarantee a most unkindest cut of all–a second strike in case of nuclear war. From that need was born Project 941 Akula, in the West designated by a name that would become legendary: Typhoon.
They were produced by the Rubin Design Bureau, led by chief designer Sergey N. Kovalev. The first of these giants was started to be built in 1976. They were not just a reaction to American innovation; they were a show that the USSR could produce something bigger, stronger, and more powerful than anything else on the seas.
The dimensions themselves were enormous. Approximately 175 meters long and displacing approximately 48,000 tons submerged, a Typhoon was bigger than most surface warships of World War II. Size being overlooked, it was not the largest. Their building was unconventional in having two side-by-side main pressure hulls, with three smaller ones for habitability and operations, encapsulated in a huge outer shell.
This unconventional design provided them with great survivability. Defeat that would cripple a conventional submarine was often tolerated by a Typhoon. Between the two identical main hulls was the heartbeat of their capability: 20 enormous R-39 Rif missiles, each holding multiple nuclear warheads.
Life on board was unimagined by their competitors in other subs. Due to their spacious interior, Typhoons provided luxuries almost amounting to luxury by naval measure: a tiny pool, a sauna, and even a gym. These were not luxuries but essentials, permitting 160-man crews to survive months in Arctic ice. With their tremendous buoyancy, they could plow through solid curtains of ice to blast a hole into polar seas, lying quietly in wait for orders everyone hoped never to get.
The first, TK-208 (renamed Dmitry Donskoy), was commissioned in 1981, with five more following in its wake. They became instant symbols of Cold War brashness overnight, so much so that the fictional “Red October” of author Tom Clancy’s blockbuster novel was based on them.
They were quiet giants in service, skating the ice seas as reminders of what would be lost in a nuclear conflict. Their operational record was largely unremarkable, marked by the occasional accident, as when the missile exploded on board TK-17 Arkhangelsk in 1991. Most of their work was routine deterrence, and they performed it capably.
Eventually, it was not combat that ended their viability but economics. The Soviet collapse left the Navy without funds to fund these behemoths. Arms control treaties, legacy missile systems, and decreasing defense budgets rendered them less valuable. Only Dmitry Donskoy was operational by the early 2000s as a test vehicle for the new Bulava missile.
She conducted test flights starting in 2005 and stood on standby for years, practicing crews and testing equipment. But when funding ran low, even those reduced flights were no longer able to afford her maintenance.
Retiring a Typhoon is not easy. Every reactor has to be disassembled slowly, and the huge steel hull—thicker than the hull of most of the surface warships—is dismantled. Now, Dmitry Donskoy lies at Severodvinsk with her retired sisters, Arkhangelsk and Severstal, waiting for the long, expensive process of disposal. Even the name will endure in future Borei-A submarines, which are quieter, smaller, and designed to serve today’s purposes.
The Typhoons’ history is one of wonder and contemplation. They continue to be the largest submarines ever constructed, without equal in size or scope, a product of an era when mass and toughness were believed to be the best assurances of safety. The seas are perhaps more subdued without them, but their legend lives on—great, brooding monsters that still brood over the Cold War naval past.