Russia’s only aircraft carrier, Admiral Kuznetsov, is back in the news, and not for anything remotely impressive. Not because it sailed anywhere. Not because it flew any missions. It’s back because it broke—again. Smoke, leaks, another fire, another delay. That’s been the story for years. The only thing this ship reliably does is fail.
Russia’s Admiral Kuznetsov Aircraft Carrier Needs to Be Scrapped
Let’s stop treating it like a serious platform. This isn’t a warship—it’s a relic. A floating shell from another time. It should’ve been scrapped years ago.
The Admiral Kuznetsov was flawed from the start. Built as the Soviet Union came apart, it was a last gasp attempt to mimic U.S. carrier power without the doctrine, logistics, or industrial base to back it up. No catapult launch system. A ski-jump deck. Smoke-belching Mazut engines that betray its position before it even shows up on radar.
Its sole combat tour, in Syria, was a circus. Two aircraft lost. Poor sortie rates. The thing needed a tugboat escort just to get there and back. It didn’t project power—it projected dysfunction.
Since then, it’s only gotten worse. Dry dock sunk. Fires onboard. Endless repairs. The refit has dragged on so long it’s starting to feel like performance art. But no one’s clapping. There is no audience left outside the Ministry of Defense, and even there, belief is wearing thin.
Let’s imagine a miracle happens and the Admiral Kuznetsov gets back in the water, systems online, air wing ready. Then what? What exactly does Russia do with one carrier it can barely support? Where does it go? What message does it send? The truth is, it sends the wrong message to the wrong people. To adversaries, it looks desperate. To allies, it’s a joke. To the Russian people, it’s a money pit dressed up in a uniform.
This isn’t the United States. Russia isn’t fighting wars halfway around the world. Its conflicts are regional, land-based, and brutal. Ukraine. The Caucasus. Maybe someday again in Central Asia. None of these theaters require a carrier. None of them benefit from it. It doesn’t bring range or reach. It brings more maintenance problems. It brings vulnerability. A carrier is a target, and without a strike group to protect it, a very soft one.
Moscow doesn’t have the logistics to sustain one anyway. No overseas bases. A shallow blue-water fleet. Limited escort ships. And with sanctions and war draining resources, it’s not building any of that soon. There’s no second carrier in the works. There’s no industrial engine humming behind the navy. There’s just the illusion of one.
The Admiral Kuznetsov is still around because it props up a fantasy. It’s not about what the ship can do—it’s about what it’s supposed to represent. Moscow can’t let it go because it still wants to be seen as a great power with global reach. That’s the image the Kremlin needs, not the reality. They need footage, not function.
And so the rusting hulk is trotted out in speeches and documentaries. Its image recycled. The illusion maintained. Meanwhile, the Russian army makes do with Iranian drones and Soviet-era equipment duct-taped together on the front lines. Junior officers are improvising supply lines with civilian trucks, and the navy is floating press releases about a ship that’s been in dry dock longer than some Russian conscripts have been alive.
Every ruble poured into this ship is a ruble not spent on reality. On logistics. On ISR. On air defenses. On drones that can stay aloft more than fifteen minutes. On training. On spare parts. On things that actually matter. This isn’t abstract. It’s a tradeoff. The decision to keep the Kuznetsov afloat means real soldiers go without. That’s the part nobody says aloud on Russian television.
But none of that looks as good in a parade. None of it matches the photo-op. The Russian Ministry of Defense still prefers the illusion of reach to the reality of readiness.
This is a regime that mistakes symbols for strength. It’s the same kind of thinking that assumed Ukraine would collapse in a few days. That NATO wouldn’t respond. That the West was too soft to rearm. That kind of magical thinking didn’t work in 2022, and it hasn’t worked since. The Kuznetsov fits right into that story. All theater. No teeth.
The ship isn’t just broken. It’s a metaphor. It’s everything that’s gone wrong with Russian military thinking over the last decade. A focus on prestige over performance. Refusal to adapt. Inability to learn from failure. Clinging to an image of power while the reality slips further away. If you want a picture of the current Russian defense mindset, look at that ship. It’s rusting, unreliable, on fire half the time—and somehow still central to the narrative.
It floats because admitting the truth is harder than spending more money on maintenance contracts. Because breaking with the past takes courage, and this regime runs on denial. Because no one wants to be the one to say what everyone already knows: the carrier is done.
Time to End This Aircraft Carrier Trainwreck
If the Russian defense establishment had any sense of responsibility, it would cut its losses. Dismantle the carrier. Use the metal for something useful. Field hospitals. Armored vehicles. Reinforced trucks. Invest in tech Russia can actually build and maintain. Prioritize something—anything—that contributes to actual deterrence. Or, failing that, survival.
But don’t hold your breath. The Kuznetsov will stay because to let it go is to admit that Russia’s blue-water navy dream is over. That it was never realistic to begin with. That the show is over and the stage is empty.
Aircraft Carrier Admiral Kuznetsov from Russian Navy.
The Kuznetsov isn’t a threat. It’s not a capability. It’s a crutch for a nation that still wants to be feared for what it used to be. It’s a prop in a grand play that nobody buys anymore.
Russia doesn’t need a carrier. It needs honesty. It needs functional logistics and industrial capacity. It needs to face the 21st century instead of dragging Cold War hardware behind it like a security blanket. It needs to stop pretending.
Let the Kuznetsov rust. Let it slip beneath the surface and be done with it. Enough of the illusions. They don’t work anymore. And everyone—especially Russia—knows it.
About the Author: Dr. Andrew Latham
Andrew Latham is a non-resident fellow at Defense Priorities and a professor of international relations and political theory at Macalester College in Saint Paul, MN. Andrew is now a Contributing Editor to 19FortyFive, where he writes a daily column. You can follow him on X: @aakatham.
