Aircraft carriers have long been symbols of navy dominance—formidable symbols of military strength beyond the reach of the country. For Russia, there was ambition, pride, and a desire to keep pace with the sea power of its competitors that drove the need to construct the real supercarrier. That dream was within an inch of materializing in the late 1980s with the Ulyanovsk, a vessel that would have established Moscow’s navy as a true blue-water force. It was one of the greatest “what-ifs” of all time.
Ulyanovsk construction started in 1988 at Mykolaiv shipyard. Officially known as Project 1143.7, it was designed as a peer for the largest carriers of America. Admiral Kuznetsov utilized a ski-jump to become airborne, whereas Ulyanovsk employed steam catapults that could propel heavier, loaded aircraft.
Displacing almost 80,000 tons and measuring 324 meters in length, she would have ranked among the biggest warships in the world. Four nuclear reactors powering four turbines propelled the carrier at 30 knots and wandered as far as her crew could stay without refueling.
Her air wing would have been potent: a total of about 70 aircraft, consisting of Su-33 fighters, Yak-44 AWACS aircraft, and Ka-27 helicopters. On top of the air, the ship would have been literally toothed—everything from P-700 Granit cruise missiles to S-300 surface-to-air systems through close defense.
To the Soviet Navy, Ulyanovsk was something more than machinery. She was a message. She was the forerunner of the coming of a ship that would be able to engage carrier battle groups on the oceans, and declare political will and military necessity.
But before any of this could happen, there had to be time for a dream to turn into reality. History intervened. The early 1990s saw the collapse of the Soviet Union and with it, the economic power and political determination to finish the ship.
By 1992, only a quarter of the carrier had been constructed. Survival in financial terms now became the mandate of the new Russian and Ukrainian governments at a cost that ran into billions. Half-built hull was ordered on February 4, 1992, to be cut down for scrap—the Soviet supercarrier dream smashed before it could ever make its maiden voyage.
Ulyanovsk’s failure still taints today. Russia possesses only one carrier, Admiral Kuznetsov, which is notorious for breakdowns, fires, and accidents during successive overhauls. The vessel sails continuously in tandem with a tugboat, a hedge against the ever-present risk of mechanical failure at sea. For some mariners, it is worse than a chore to work on Kuznetsov, joked about rather than revered.
But a vision for today’s Russian supercarrier persists. Designs for future vessels—such as the nuclear-powered Shtorm—will occasionally show up in plans and design studies. But they will always be concepts, subject to budget constraints and changing priorities. So, Ulyanovsk is a phantom, a monument to failure and not to success.
The bigger picture is still the same: in the absence of a robust carrier presence, Russia’s power projection capabilities at the far ends of the seas remain limited. Exalted fantasies of global reach always come crashing on the hard shores of geography, finances, and technology.
The half-built Ulyanovsk is not just a canceled vessel—it’s a debating point for broken dreams, and a memory of how even the biggest of plans can be derailed by the currents of history.
