It was once the pride of the Russian fleet, a floating fortress meant to strike terror into enemies across the Arctic seas. Today, it stands at the edge of ruin — a fading relic, more feared inside the Kremlin than by any rival navy. The Admiral Kuznetsov, Russia’s lone aircraft carrier, has served for over four decades. Now, it faces a humiliating end, raising a painful question: does this warship still have a place in modern warfare?
During the Cold War, the Soviet Union poured its resources into outmatching the United States. With the world’s largest standing army and a nuclear arsenal vast enough to guarantee mutual destruction, Moscow appeared unstoppable. Its tanks and aircraft were cutting-edge, and in the space race, the Soviets achieved milestone after milestone before America’s moon landing finally shifted the narrative. But when it came to naval power, the Soviets lagged. Most of their borders were locked in Arctic ice, and they assumed any future conflict would be fought on European soil or with nuclear missiles, not ships.
That changed in the 1980s, when the Arctic’s mineral wealth came into sharper focus — and with China’s future ambitions threatening to stretch into those icy waters, the Soviets rushed to commission new carriers. Out of this effort was born the Kuznetsov-class. Only one ship would survive the collapse of the Soviet Union: the Admiral Kuznetsov.
This was no ordinary carrier. Unlike the sleek American supercarriers built to project air power, the Kuznetsov was engineered as a brute — part carrier, part cruiser, designed to shield Russia’s submarines, surface vessels, and bombers. Its deck carried Sukhoi Su-33s and helicopters for combat and rescue missions. And thanks to its official designation as a “heavy aircraft-carrying cruiser,” it could slip through the Turkish Straits, giving Moscow reach far beyond its northern bases.
But from the beginning, the ship was cursed. Built in what became independent Ukraine, its very ownership was contested before the crew defected to Russia’s Northern Fleet. Maintenance proved nightmarishly expensive, especially as post-Soviet Russia stumbled through economic chaos. Even in its early deployments, breakdowns were frequent — water shortages, engine failures, endless repairs. By the late 1990s, the once-proud ship spent more time rusting in dockyards than patrolling the seas.
Then came Vladimir Putin. Unlike Yeltsin, he saw military muscle as central to restoring Russia’s stature. The Kuznetsov was dragged back into service, prowling near NATO waters, cutting through the Mediterranean, and even supporting Bashar al-Assad in Syria. But its every voyage carried disaster. Fires, oil spills, fatal accidents, and embarrassing plumes of black smoke earned it the nickname “the Ship of Shame.”
In 2016, it saw real combat — launching airstrikes in Syria. Yet, even that campaign was marred by aircraft crashes caused by faulty systems. By the late 2010s, the ship was limping toward a massive overhaul meant to extend its life by 25 years. Instead, mishaps piled up: cranes collapsed on it, drydocks failed, and repeated fires delayed repairs again and again.
By the time Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022, the Kuznetsov was still unusable. Its crew had been reassigned to fight on land, many never to return. In a war dominated by drones, missiles, and trench warfare, an aging carrier had no role. Worse still, if Ukraine ever managed to sink it, the psychological blow to Moscow would be catastrophic.
Now, as of mid-2025, whispers have turned into headlines: work on the Admiral Kuznetsov has reportedly stopped. Even Russian state media struggles to spin this truth. Officials hint the ship may soon be scrapped — or sold.
But who would want it? Maintaining such a monster costs hundreds of millions. Few allies could afford it, fewer still could use it. North Korea might make a dramatic show of buying it, but realistically, the ship is a liability. For Russia, it may only serve one final purpose — as a marketing tool, showing off carrier-based aircraft to nations like India, Iran, or even China.
Either way, the Admiral Kuznetsov’s time as a true war machine is finished. It will not define battles in Ukraine, nor in any future conflict. Instead, it is becoming a symbol — of Russia’s overreach, its aging arsenal, and its struggle to adapt to modern war.
For decades, the carrier was meant to embody Russian naval might. Now, it embodies something else entirely: the slow, reluctant fading of a superpower that can no longer afford its own ambitions.
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