History

Pitfalls in Political Warship Designs

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By Steve Wills

“When leaders design warships the results are often mixed.”

Leaders throughout history, going back at least to the Egyptian pharaoh Hatshepsut, have commissioned the building of great fleets for national security purposes. Henry 8th and Elizabeth 1 created fleets for the defense of England. George Washington authorized the first Continental navy units, and Abraham Lincoln spearheaded the acceptance of armored warships for the United States navy to help defeat Confederate ironclads like CSS Virginia. Teddy Roosevelt was a fan of larger and larger battleships, and he dispatched the Great White Fleet on its global deterrence mission. More recently, President Franklin Roosevelt began the rebuilding of the U.S. navy ahead of World War 2, and President Ronald Reagan’s 600 ship navy in the 1980’s helped to deter conflict with the Soviet Union and bring the Cold War to a close. On the other hand, rulers personally designing their nation’s warships have seen mixed outcomes. Swedish King Gustavus Adophus’ decision to add additional armament to the ship of the line Vasa arguably contributed to that ship’s accidental sinking on its maiden voyage in 1628. The German Kaiser Wilhelm II was an enthusiastic navalist, but his individual ship designs, often at odds with the laws of physics, were the bane of his naval chief Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz. Joseph Stalin was very much a landsman but delighted in suggesting design elements for the Soviet navy’s Stalingrad class battlecruisers that were hated by Soviet naval leadership. Even Great Britain’s Lord Louis Mountbatten’s attempts to design a warship, in his case a gigantic aircraft carrier made of ice, met with less than ideal results.

History suggests that leaders should direct the missions and construction program for fleets but save the concepts and designs of individual warships to their navies.

“Next to God the navy is the most important for the success of the country.”

Swedish King Gustavus Aldophus was a revolutionary monarch who greatly expanded the scope and power of the Swedish kingdom over his twenty-plus year reign. He greatly improved his nation’s military and political organization and was one of the military leaders most admired by Napoleon for his campaigns in the bloodbath of the European Thirty Years War, a conflict that ultimately took his life in 1632.

Among his many skills, Gustavus Adolphus was a believer in the power of mobile, effective artillery as a battle-winning tool. The Swedish Navy he inherited featured mostly medium-sized and smaller warships that often relied on the boarding and capture of opponent naval vessels with guns being secondary to combat efforts. The Swedish King however needed to keep open supply lines across the Baltic Sea in order to preserve communication throughout his kingdom and demanded a larger and more capable class of warships to support that mission. That meant a modern warship with standardized cannon mounted on at least two gundecks in order to deliver reliable firepower. The King personally chose the twenty-four pound Swedish army demi-gun developed as a lightweight, mobile weapon for sieges as Vasa’s primary armament.

Vasa had begun construction in 1626, but there had been delays in fitting her armament of over fifty and ultimately sixty four guns, of which the bulk were the 24 pound weapons. Gustavus Adolphus was angry at the delays in the outfitting of his new vessel to the point where he sent one of his personal artillery masters Erik Jonnson back from the battlefields of Poland to get the Vasa’s armament fitting back on schedule. The King reportedly visited the ship in January 1628, but most of his exhortations in a steady stream of letters to the builder came from abroad, but all of them demanded that Vasa needed to go to sea immediately in support of protecting sea lines of communication in the Baltic.

Figure 1: Gustavus Adolpus’ Flawed Flagship Vasa, now raised and displayed in a Stockholm museum.

When Vasa was ready to embark on her first voyage in the spring of 1628, she was a dangerously unstable vessel, despite compromises in her armament. Gustavus Adolphus ordered seventy two of the 24 pound guns for the ship, and it was decided the ship would carry fifty six such weapons, but ultimately only forty eight of the weapons were mounted, but on the two full gun decks the King desired. Dutch naval architects that designed the ship had already opted for a relatively shallow hold for the ship that did not adequately support the weight of two gun decks above. The addition of the twenty-four pound weapons may have made the ship’s capsizing on her first voyage on 10 August 1628 inevitable. Gustavus Adolphus was furious at the loss of his prized ship, and immediately made plans to salvage her expensive, standardized artillery. He ordered a court to investigate the ship’s loss demanded, “In no uncertain terms that the guilty parties be punished.”

The Captain of Vasa Söfring Hansson, who survived the disaster, assured investigators that all was in order and that the crew was not intoxicated at the time of Vasa’s departure from Stockholm. Much of the blame was ultimately assigned to the Dutch naval architects who designed the hull. Gustavus Adophus once said, “Next to God the navy is the most important for the success of the country,” but he had signed off on all of the ship’s specifications. One of the builders suggested that only God knew the reason for the loss of the ship, but the King had hurried construction and demanded the heavier armament, and as one of the builders Hein Jacoksson stated before the inquiry court, “His Majesty had approved these measurements. The number of guns on board was also as specified in the contract.”

“Stag and Homunculus Dead”

German Admiral Alfred von Tirpitz’s attempts to build a powerful German fleet in the first decade of the 20th century were both aided and hobbled by the enthusiasm of Germany’s ruler Kaiser Wilhelm II. The Kaiser was an enthusiastic navalist and often appeared in the uniforms of not only his own navy, but also those for which he was but an “honorary” flag officer. Unfortunately for Tirpitz, the Kaiser not only advocated for his navy, but also wanted a hand in the design of individual ships. Responding to a report that stated that longer-range naval gunnery was making the mission of torpedo boats more challenging, the Kaiser designed his own high speed, heavily armored “torpedo battleship.” Such suggestions were common from the ruler and Tirpitz noted in his memoirs that his team set to work to assess “the impossible,” noting that the Kaiser’s design was unworkable as the ship’s vast torpedo armament (all tubes were underwater,) combined with heavy armor left no space for required engineering space.

Tirpitz’s team nicknamed the unfortunate creation “the Homunculus.” The admiral journeyed to the Kaiser’s hunting lodge where the ruler was on yet another vacation and presented the facts to his leader. Wilhelm gracefully decamped from his naval designer role for the moment, and Tirpitz breathed a sigh of relief. Afterward he was invited to join the Kaiser’s hunting expedition. He later reported to his staff, “stag and Homunculus dead.” So ended that particular imperial effort at warship design.

“You possibly do not know what you need,” which means battleships!

Joseph Stalin was not much of a “navalist” until later in his rule of the Soviet Union, but when he did so, it was with the same, single-minded, ruthless determination with which he pursued other endeavors. Stalin ordered a large, ocean-going fleet in the late 1930’s that was in general a balanced fleet of battleships, cruisers, and destroyers. Salin’s reasoning for building this first ocean-going fleet remain obscure, but “Under Stalin’s direct inspiration and involvement, plans for creating a huge ocean-going navy—bolshoi okeanskii flot—took shape,” and continued even into the beginning of World War 2. The dire necessity to repel invading German forces from the Motherland commanded that Soviet resources be used elsewhere rather than in an ocean-going battleship navy. Once the war ended, however, Stalin resumed his push for a large, ocean-going battleship fleet, even when he senior naval leaders preferred to build aircraft carriers as the new 20th century capital ship. Stalin became personally involved in the primary, postwar capital ship design, labeled the Stalingrad class battlecruiser. Stalin specifically demanded high speed for the class, and an armament of nine twelve inch guns to ensure the Stalingrad’s could outrange any British or American cruiser guns. Soviet admirals who got in his way suffered his wrath and the Soviet leader dismissed Fleet Admiral Kuznetsov in early January 1947 for such opposition.

Upon Stalin’s death in 1953 the Stalingrad’s were almost immediately cancelled by his successor Nikita Krushchev. The incomplete hull of Stalingrad was launched; used as a floating target for anti-ship missiles, it was scrapped around 1962. Stalin’s naval leaders had pleaded with the dictator even before World War 2 for more submarines and smaller warships, especially in the confined waters of the Black Sea. Stalin was a man of few words and famously replied to his admirals in 1936, “you possibly do not know what you need,” which for many historians suggests Stalin was fully in support of big-gunned warships above all others.

“To hell with Habakkuk!”

Finally, there was the case of Lord Louis Mountbatten’s Habakkuk pykrete aircraft carrier. Mountbatten had been a Royal Navy signals expert before World War 2 and liked to tinker with naval technology. He persuaded British wartime Prime Minister Winston Churchill to take an interest in a giant, 2000 foot long super carrier made of an ice and wood pulp combination known as pykrete. Mountbatten dramatically presented the power of pykrete to Churchill and other senior leaders at the 1943 Quebec Conference. Two blocks of material, one of normal ice and one of the pykrete mixture were wheeled into the conference room. Mountbatten dramatically removed a pistol from his jacket and proposed to demonstrate the armor like properties of pykrete. He first fired a shot into the ice block which immediately shattered. His second shot at the pykrete bounced off the target, and ricocheted around the room, almost hitting U.S. Admiral Ernie King or British Field Marshal Alan Brooke (the accounts of the incident vary.) It was not an auspicious start to the project, and it was later cancelled as the introduction of much smaller and numerous escort carriers solved the problem of lack of airpower in Arctic seas. A small test ship 1/50 the size of the giant carrier was built and operated on a lake in Canada with some success over the winter but melted and sank with the spring thaw.

Field Marshall Lord Alan Brooke perhaps best summed up the challenges of Mountbatten’s ice carrier when he told the admiral at the Quebec conference, “To Hell with Habakkuk! We are about to have the most difficult time with our American friends and shall not have time for your ice carriers.” As it turned out, there was thankfully no time or funding for this particular fantasy fleet.

“I’m Not Into this Detail Stuff, I’m More Concepty”

Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld is perhaps best known for his attempts to “transform” the military to meet new and unconventional threats such as seen on 9/11 and other cases in the last twenty five years. These extended to the Navy as well and have sadly come to be represented by the very truncated DDG-1000 (now Zumwalt class destroyer, and the littoral combat ship LCS.) Rumsfeld had been a naval reservist aviator, and had as he said in his memoir, “a healthy respect for the men and women in unform,” but that, “my role as Secretary of Defense was different.” This involved high level leadership and not a focus on details unless immediately the task at hand. Rumsfeld could be very detail-oriented, as he proved when ordering the cancellation of the troubled Army 155mm mobile artillery Crusader vehicle in May 2002.

This detail focus did not extend to the Navy’s DDG-1000 and Littoral Combat Ship programs that evoked well Rumsfeld’s desire to transform the military into a lighter and more agile institution. Both vessels packed excessive amounts of “transformational” equipment, and organizational change into just one generational change in warship. Both types had many new, and as it turned out immature equipment, that began to fail operational testing and other measures of effectiveness. These repeated test failures in propulsion and combat systems, as well as within the vital LCS mission packages excessively delayed both programs which in turn dramatically raised their costs. In effect, each of these programs overloaded the already byzantine defense acquisition and test and evaluation system, but repeated systemic delays that made both ship types, especially the DDG-1000, unaffordable as designed.

Mr. Rumsfeld had left office when these problems became more glaringly apparent, and while he was not directly responsible, and was buys engaged in the “War on Terror,” and later invasion of Afghanistan, but he or his immediate subordinates should have perhaps checked back more on the progress of these transformational efforts. In a 2002 Washington Post on operations in Afghanistan in the wake of the 9/11 attacks that included his recollections of detailed plans for attacks on terrorists there, Rumsfeld stated, “I’m not into this detail stuff. I’m more Concepty.” Perhaps in the case of LCS and DDG-1000’s immature Rumsfeld should have been more engaged in the details.

“All I can say is what the girl said when she put her foot in the stocking. It strikes me there’s something in it”

One of the few political leaders who were perhaps responsible for a questionable, and certainly “transformative” but later successful warship design was Abraham Lincoln. The President had heard of the construction of a rebel “monster ship” from the burned remains of the scuttled frigate USS Merrimac in Norfolk, Va, and authorized an immediate response, stating, “”one or more ironclad steamers or floating batteries, and to select a proper and competent board to inquire into and report in regard to a measure so important.” Swedish-born designer John Ericsson planned to submit the revolutionary Monitor design to this U.S. Navy board Lincoln authorized, but the Navy was not fan of the hot-headed Swedish innovator, who had designed a revolutionary screw propellor for the USS Princeton, but was blamed for the disastrous explosions of one of the ship’s guns on trials. Despite his unpopularity, Ericsson persisted in sending his design to the Ironclad board. While Navy officers were dismissive, President Lincoln was intrigued by the design and Monitor was included in the trio of ironclad warships authorized by Congress from a field of seventeen overall entries. Monitor was essentially built by a startup company with dozens of new patents, but was completed before the others and enroute to Hampton Rhodes when CSS Virginia’s 8 March 1862 massacre of Union wooden ships Cumberland and Congress.

Fearing the ex-Merrimac/CSS Virginia might attack Washington DC from the Potomac River, in the wake of the Hampton Roads disaster, some of Lincoln’s cabinet feared the worst, but of course Monitor arrived on time and in an indecisive battle on 9 March 1862 prevented the Confederate ironclad from damaging or destroying other wooden ships. Lincoln toured the Hampton Roads area after the battle, and even inspected Monitor in person, and received briefings from her officers on the battle with the Virginia. While Lincoln played a key role in getting the revolutionary USS Monitor constructed and was a fan of the turreted vessels throughout the war, he was not deep in the details of its construction. When seeing the ship’s design, however he did remark, “All I can say is what the girl said when she put her foot in the stocking. It strikes me there’s something in it” Like Rumsfeld, Lincoln was later too busy fighting a war to really get into the design of successor monitors, notably the failed Casco class shallow draft monitors, that like LCS 140 years later tried to accomplish too many transformational changes (shallow draft, armored turret, better speed,) in a limited hull form.

In retrospect, even the most resolute navalist leader should be advised from advocating for specific types of ships and should never descend into the details of their construction unless perhaps scholastically trained to do so, and in the part of being a good manager. Gustavus Adolphus was a land forces commander who got carried away with loading artillery onto Vasa’s already unstable hull. Kaiser Wilhem fancied himself an expert in everything but was at least willing to give way on some of his more outrageous naval designs. Joseph Stalin’s naval motives remain unclear, but he was always in favor of bigger as better, regardless of cost. Admiral Mountbatten was a visionary in many fields, but his Habakkuk giant carrier was probably an expensive bridge too far, and it was logically discarded. Donald Rumsfeld had a clear concept of transforming the military for new threats but never transformed the acquisition and test and evaluation system to support his vision or checked back enough to evaluate the initial fruits of his call to action.

Abraham Lincoln perhaps best represents how senior leaders can enable dramatic naval advances without getting too deep in the details. Lincoln also followed through in checking up on the first of the class in monitor vessels, something that modern presidents and Navy Secretaries might do as well. President Trump’s Great Golden Fleet of guided missile battleships and other ships may yet sail but his administration should likely leave the details to the Navy to work through, in spite of the service’s mixed record of warship design over the past two decades. History suggests leaders should save their exhortations for missions and not design minutia. These leaders should however check back frequently on the progress of their visions as they take form in steel, weapons and the people that crew them.

This maxim would certainly apply to the navy’s new frigate. In the years after his retirement, World War 2 admiral Raymond Spruance was having a routine checkup in a California-area medical center when he encountered an infirm woman in the waiting room with him. Spruance, who never minced words looked the woman over critically and said, “You’ve had a stroke, haven’t you?” The woman angrily replied, “I’ve had two strokes.” Spruance, who was not know for humor replied, “Three strokes and you’re out.” Like the woman in Spruance’s waiting room, the United States has now has two strikes/strokes on building a small surface combatant (LCS and the cancelled Constellation class frigate program.) Each might have been saved had leaders better monitored their progress. Exhortations for new ship concepts can pay dividends, but deep dives into details perhaps limits the leader’s ability to step back and logically evaluate the ship’s potential for success or failure. As President Ronald Reagan famously stated, “Trust but verify,” a maxim for checking shipbuilding as well as Soviets.

Dr. Steven Wills currently serves as a Navalist for the Center for Maritime Strategy at the Navy League of the United States. He is an expert in U.S. Navy strategy and policy and U.S. Navy surface warfare programs and platforms. After retiring from the Navy in 2010, he completed a master’s and a Ph.D. in History with a concentration on Military History at Ohio University, graduating in 2017. He is the author of Strategy Shelved: The Collapse of Cold War Naval Strategic Planning, published by Naval Institute Press in July 2021 and, with former Navy Secretary John Lehman, Where are the Carriers? U.S. National Strategy and the Choices Ahead, published by Foreign Policy Research Institute in August 2021. Wills also holds a master’s in National Security Studies from the U.S. Naval War College and a bachelor’s in History from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio.

Featured Image: Retired Captain Dudley W. Knox presents President Franklin D. Roosevelt with the final volume of an edited collection official naval records relating to U.S. Navy strategy and operations during the undeclared War with France between 1798 and 1801. Cimsec.org

Maritime Security

A Sustainable Approach to Counter Piracy and Armed Robbery?

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By Julian Pawlak and Deniz Kocak

Piracy, armed robbery, and kidnapping continue to pose significant threats to global shipping and maritime security.1 While the terms are frequently used synonymously, differentiation is crucial. According to the United Nations Convention on Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), piracy is defined as “any illegal acts of violence or detention, or any act of depredation, committed for private ends […] (i) on the high seas, against another ship or aircraft, or against persons or property on board such ship or aircraft [or] (ii) in a place outside the jurisdiction of any state.” Armed robbery against ships encompasses “any illegal act of violence or detention or any act of depredation, or threat thereof, other than an act of piracy, committed for private ends and directed against a ship or against persons or property on board such a ship, within a state’s internal waters, archipelagic waters and territorial sea”.2

In recent decades, piracy incidents, especially off the Horn of Africa, reached high levels, impairing regional shipping and trade from the early 2000s onward. Despite initial containment by joint international efforts, maritime security issues have increasingly drawn attention to the Gulf of Guinea. The International Maritime Bureau (IMB) Piracy Reporting Centre noted an increase from 162 incidents in 2019 to 195 in 2020, with the majority occurring in the Gulf of Guinea. In 2020 alone, 135 crew members were kidnapped in 22 separate incidents, with 95% of these kidnappings happening in the Gulf. Notably, reported incidents have declined within the following years, only to increase again in 2023 in the Gulf of Guinea. As overall numbers are constant (115 incidents in 2022, 120 incidents in 2023, 116 incidents in 2024), piracy and armed robbery remain relevant maritime security issues on a global scale. The numbers for the Gulf of Guinea developed from the high of 81 in 2020 towards 35 in 2021, 19 in 2022, 22 in 2023 and 18 incidents reported in 2024, marking a stark decrease within five years. In the past, however, international shipping companies and security analysts have raised alarms over the increasing number of incidents. These concerns led to significant actions, such as the deployment of a Royal Danish Navy frigate to the region in November 2021. However, relying solely on “piracy counting” and the “politics of numbers” to assess maritime security remain misleading. Given its multifaceted nature, addressing maritime security requires more comprehensive measures, including capacity building, training, and advising local security forces.3 These efforts involve both local and external stakeholders and are complemented by a coordinated, though voluntary, EU-Gulf of Guinea strategy and action plan. With a growing emphasis on local ownership in security policies, it raises the question of whether actors such as the European Union can or should play a long-term, sustainable role in the region.

IMB Director Michael Howlett recently highlighted concerns about the Gulf of Guinea, noting an uptick in maritime security incidents. Howlett emphasized the importance of regional ownership in safeguarding shipping and trade to counter criminal activities. Rather than simply combating piracy to stabilize Sea Lines of Communication (SLOCs) without a comprehensive plan, European nations and the European Union could assist littoral states in developing sustainable strategies to curb piracy and armed robbery in the Gulf of Guinea. The maritime sector, inherently suited for international cooperation, could benefit significantly from a broad Maritime Security Sector Reform that leverages local ownership and the existing Yaoundé architecture.

Maritime Security and Maritime Security Sector Reform

Security Sector Reform (SSR) has become increasingly important in international development assistance, policy-making, and academic circles since the late 1990s. SSR involves creating a security governance framework that adheres to democratic norms, legitimate civilian oversight, and transparent, accountable practices. A critical element of SSR is establishing a civilian oversight function over key national security institutions. Because SSR extends beyond mere technical assistance to encompass control over the use of force, a core aspect of national sovereignty, it is fundamentally political.4

Maritime Security Sector Reform (MSSR) aims to enhance the governance capabilities of coastal states. This initiative requires a whole-of-government approach, especially focusing on ministries handling security, economic, financial, and judicial matters due to their interrelated duties.5 Key actions include developing or updating codes and protocols related to maritime security and law to equip enforcement agencies effectively. Additionally, creating knowledge resources for bureaucratic staff, establishing legitimate civilian oversight, and ensuring accountability and transparency are essential to achieving effective governance and institutional performance.

In addition to strengthening institutions, traditional capacity-building measures such as providing equipment and professional training are crucial to enable security forces to respond effectively and protect maritime interests.6 However, focusing solely on enhancing security capabilities does not constitute a comprehensive MSSR or SSR, as it does not fully strengthen governmental capacities across all governance areas, but rather falls under traditional security assistance. This holistic model necessitates including a broad range of state and non-state actors to foster ongoing interdisciplinary and cross-departmental dialogue. Successful cooperation relies on consensus and ensures that agreed-upon rules are consistently enforced.7

Reforms in a country’s maritime security sector can be initiated by external organizations like the United Nations or ECOWAS, but the actual implementation and sustainability of these reforms depend on local actors. Consequently, Security Sector Reform should primarily be a local endeavor. Therefore, MSSR is not a checklist exercise but must be precisely tailored to fit the specific local and regional conditions, accurately reflecting realities on the ground.8 This principle of local ownership finds successful application in the Western Indian Ocean, where Alexandre demonstrates how the region evolved from externally-driven responses to African-led frameworks through the Regional Maritime Security Architecture (RMSA), illustrating how regional actors can reclaim agency in maritime governance.

MSSR as a Comprehensive Approach

Initially, piracy incidents off the Horn of Africa were mitigated through significant naval interventions, including active anti-piracy operations and the deployment of armed private security contractors aboard civilian ships. Key operations such as NATO’s Operation Ocean Shield (2009-2016), the European Union Naval Force (EU NAVFOR) Somalia (since 2008), and the multinational Combined Task Force 151 (since 2009) played crucial roles. According to Dirk Siebels, these efforts were largely successful due to “unprecedented cooperation between naval forces and the shipping industry, as well as self-protection measures of merchant vessels, including the use of privately contracted armed security personnel.” This collaboration effectively reduced piracy and kept major shipping lanes open. However, these successes were mainly addressing the symptoms of deeper issues in Somalia, then considered a failed state. The ongoing issue of illegal, unreported, and unregulated (IUU) fishing by trawlers off the Somali coast has exacerbated unemployment and corruption, complicating efforts to end piracy, according to Percy and Shortland.9

Overall, fragile states and poor governance typically encourage piracy, smuggling, and IUU fishing. Areas with weak or no governmental control often become safe havens and operational bases for organized crime and piracy. Thus, addressing blue crime, piracy, and maritime insecurity effectively requires tackling the underlying problems of weak statehood in coastal states.

The conditions in the Horn of Africa and the Gulf of Guinea also differ significantly. The SLOCs crossing the Gulf of Guinea, while considered less critical on a global scale than those off the Horn of Africa, still play a vital role in local and African-European trade and should not be overlooked. Furthermore, while Somalia has transitioned from a failing to a failed state, and now to a fragile state, the Gulf of Guinea features several stable countries, though some face domestic security and stability issues. Comprehensive Maritime Security Sector Reform (MSSR) is a beneficial approach to address not just piracy but also further maritime insecurities like smuggling, marine pollution, and primarily IUU- fishing. This approach involves incorporating the needs and issues of littoral countries to address the broader spectrum of security challenges.10

In African waters, as Bueger accurately advises, “many nations need support in providing maritime security, while not undermining their sovereignty and regional integration processes.” Initiatives within the MSSR framework in the Gulf of Guinea must hence be seamlessly integrated with existing local efforts, such as the Nigerian Deep Blue project and Ghana’s National Integrated Maritime Strategy. These initiatives should extend beyond basic security assistance to include cooperation with regional economic communities, avoiding duplication of efforts or the creation of isolated structures. They should also promote international collaboration in the region and with external partners, leveraging frameworks like the African Union Security Sector Policy Framework, the Yaoundé Code of Conduct, and the Gulf of Guinea Declaration on Suppression of Piracy. In the words of Vice Admiral Ignacio Villanueva Serrano, Operation Commander, EU NAVFOR Atalanta, on the role of non-African states in regional maritime security: “Effective maritime security hinges on collaboration between non-African and African stakeholders, harmonizing external expertise with regional ownership.” These measures aim to minimize complications and disputes from cooperation efforts. The European Union’s Coordinated Maritime Presence in the Gulf of Guinea serves as a foundation for enhancing maritime security cooperation under the Yaoundé architecture.

What future course to follow?

Maritime security threats extend beyond territorial waters and national borders. Thus, intensified regional cooperation is essential for addressing insecurities in the Gulf of Guinea and surrounding areas. External actors like the European Union and its national naval units could lend their expertise in coordinating efforts, and offer training and capacity-building in maritime security and anti-piracy measures. However, such measures alone are insufficient to address the range of maritime insecurities, including piracy, armed robbery, IUU fishing, smuggling, and marine pollution. A comprehensive approach is necessary for sustained success. MSSR can significantly contribute to the gradual and enduring establishment of good governance in maritime affairs, ideally fostering the development of a robust security framework tailored to ocean governance.

A major challenge in securing the Gulf of Guinea lies not just in suppressing piracy and armed robbery but also in facilitating political negotiations and establishing firm cooperation among key African stakeholders. These include the littoral states, the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS), the Economic Community of Central African States (ECCAS), and the European Union, which plays a supportive role in implementing sustained political reforms. The EU should seek close collaboration with local actors, stakeholders, and experts to effectively address these issues. As the region often adopts “emergency measures or policies […] to respond to the threat to the interests of external actors,” such as piracy,11 external interventions should instead bolster regional leadership and local ownership. Such support could be organized through coordinated MSSR efforts and continued naval initiatives like the EU’s Coordinated Maritime Presence, aiming to foster a more stable maritime environment. The importance of this shift toward regional ownership is underscored by successful examples elsewhere in African maritime spaces. Alexandre highlights how the Western Indian Ocean transformed from fragmented responses to comprehensive African-led frameworks, demonstrating how coastal states can move from “passive observers” to active stakeholders who shape maritime governance through “soft power” approaches.

Yet, it remains to be seen whether European naval capabilities can sustain another continuous deployment in non-European waters. Maritime Security Sector Reform might thus serve as a practical solution for enhancing maritime safety, implemented in collaboration with local actors and supported by experienced external stakeholders. Furthermore, considering the “collapse of Western influence in West Africa,” the approach should balance local “African ownership” with ongoing concerns for maritime security and maintaining long-term partnerships in the region. Since “maritime security remains a global responsibility,” the EU regards maintaining stability in the Gulf of Guinea as essential for its security interests.

Julian Pawlak and Deniz Kocak are researchers at the University of the Federal Armed Forces Hamburg and its adjunct interdisciplinary Research Network for Maritime Security (iFMS). This article is part of a collaborative initiative on rethinking maritime security in the face of global strategic change.

References

1. Jacobsen, Katja Lindskov (2022): The Politics of Piracy Numbers: The Gulf of Guinea Case, in: Ruxandra-Laura, Bosilca/ Ferreira, Susana/Ryan, Barry J. (eds.): Routledge Handbook of Maritime Security, Routledge: London, 127-138.

2. IMO Resolution A.1025 (26) “Code of Practice for the Investigation of Crimes of Piracy and Armed Robbery against Ships”.

3. Christian Bueger and colleagues define maritime security as an “umbrella term” covering four main areas: national security, the marine environment, economic development, and human security. These areas are closely interconnected and impact one another significantly. This broad and holistic perspective on security emphasizes “freedom from fear” and “freedom from want,” paving the way for a comprehensive approach to security that leads to Security Sector Reform (SSR). See Bueger, Christian/Edmunds, Timothy/Ryan, Barry J. (2019): Maritime security: The uncharted politics of the global sea, in: International Affairs 95, no. 5, pp. 971-978; Bueger, Christian/Edmunds, Timothy (2017): Beyond Seablindness: A new Agenda for Maritime Security Studies, in International Affairs 93, no. 6, pp. 1293-1311; Hough, Peter (2013): Understanding Global Security, Routledge: London. pp. 9f.

4. Schroeder, Ursula C./Chappuis, Fairlie/Kocak, Deniz (2014): Security Sector Reform and the Emergence of Hybrid Security Governance, in International Peacekeeping 21, no.2, pp. 214-230.

5. Sandoz, John F. (2012): Maritime Security Sector Reform, USIP Special Report 306. Washington, D.C.

6. ibid.

7. Schroeder, Ursula C./Chappuis, Fairlie/Kocak, Deniz (2014): Security Sector Reform and the Emergence of Hybrid Security Governance, in International Peacekeeping 21, no.2, pp. 214-230; Albrecht, Peter/Stepputat, Finn/Andersen, Louise (2010): Security sector reform, the European way, in: Sedra, Mark (ed.), The future of security sector reform, Centre for International Governance (CIGI): Waterloo, pp. 74-87.

8. Donais, Timothy (2008): Understanding Local Ownership in Security Sector Reform, in: Donais, Timothy (ed.), Local Ownership and Security Sector Reform, Lit: Münster, pp. 3-17; Nathan, Laurie (2008): The challenge of local ownership of SSR: From donor rhetoric to practice, in: Donais, Timothy (ed.), Local Ownership and Security Sector Reform, Lit: Münster, pp. 19-36.

9. Percy, Sarah/Shortland, Anja (2013): Contemporary Maritime Piracy: Five Obstacles to Ending Somali Piracy, Global Policy, 4: 65-72.

10. Siebels, Dirk (2018): Ships, guns, and laws. Threats to shipping in the Gulf of Guinea and potential countermeasures, Risk Intelligence Presentation, May 2018.

11. Iheduru, Okechukwu (2023): Hybrid Maritime Security Governance and Limited Statehood in the Gulf of Guinea: A Nigerian Case Study, in: Journal of Military and Strategic Studies, Vol 22, 3, p. 148.

Featured Image: Members of the Coast Guard Maritime Security Response Team‚ Direct Action Section secure a simulated terrorist aboard the Mississippi Canyon Block 582, Medusa Platform during a joint exercise May 21, 2014. (U.S. Coast Guard photo by Chief Petty Officer Robert Nash.)

Indo-Asia-Pacific

What the Royal Thai Navy’s Offshore Fire Support Reveals About Its Approach to Littoral Warfare

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By Hadrien T. Saperstein

In December 2025, clashes along the Cambodia–Thailand border turned into open conflict for over a week, suspending the peace agreement brokered by Malaysia and the United States. Artillery, rockets, drones, and airstrikes turned rural districts into battlespaces. By mid-month, at least twenty people were killed, hundreds wounded, and over half a million civilians displaced on both sides.

Although most of the fighting occurred on land, along the Chanthaburi–Trat front, the Royal Thai Navy launched Operation Trat Suppresses Foes. This operation consisted of a single patrol gunboat, HTMS Thepa, ordered to provide naval gunfire support from the Gulf of Thailand against fixed Cambodian positions ashore. Without the support of naval gunfire, it is unclear whether the detachment of Thai marines (RTMC) could have seized Ban Nong Ri even after it conducted a second concerted attempt to capture the area. A similar naval gunfire support mission took place last July during Operation Trat Strike 1, after Commander-in-Chief (CinC) Adm. Jirapol Wongwit (2024-25) personally assumed command of a task force of four ships to help the marine element retake the Ban Chamrak area.

This article uses these campaigns to investigate what it means when a recognized small navy from Southeast Asia uses naval gunfire support from the “littorals” to assist land forces fight a border conflict.1 The Thai case illuminates five points often underappreciated in the existing literature on the link between small navies, naval gunfire support, and littoral warfare.

First, the campaign reveals how littoral forces of small navies move along a continuum from peacetime constabulary tasks to combat roles without changing platforms, with greater fluidity than great-power navies. A highly cited work on small navies by Michael Mulqueen, Deborah Sanders, and Ian Speller argues that what distinguishes small navies from great-power fleets is not just less tonnage but their close attention to order of effect.2 Analogously, Alexander Bergström and Charlotta Parrat’s study of littoral warfare highlights how the operational environment for small navies of coastal states differs from that of blue-water fleets, with less attention given to ship-on-ship battle engagements, and how the same concepts can play out differently during naval gunfire support missions.3

Though the Thai navy remains attuned to the U.S. Navy’s surface way of warfare through its four decades of participation in Cooperation Afloat Readiness and Training (CARAT) and Cobra Gold exercises, it is a commonly held view inside the service that its Littoral Operations in a Contested Environment (LOCE) concept is not applicable to the Thai navy, as recently noted in a critical commentary by Captain Silp Panturangsri.4 Given Thailand’s current fleet force, the ships that can perform this role are limited: a very small number of frigates and offshore patrol vessels (OPVs), plus aging patrol gunboats to which HTMS Thepa belongs. This gunboat [vessel] is the same one that boarded Vietnamese trawlers illegally fishing in territorial waters only a few months ago, under the direction of Vice Adm. Apha Chapanon (2024-25), Director of Maritime Security Area 1 (MECC-A1), and is now delivering naval gunfire support into a neighboring state.

Second, the campaign reveals how small navies repurpose doctrine written for expeditionary amphibious operations for supporting forces engaged in border conflicts from littoral waters. Most navies, especially those of small states, do not address the problems of conducting naval operations in narrow seas and therefore lack a stand-alone concept for littoral warfare.

This is only somewhat the case with the Thai navy. According to interviews conducted by the author with Royal Thai Navy officers, the service possesses a stand-alone concept for naval gunfire support for land forces in the classified version of its Surface Combat Operations Manual (อทร. 3101). Though the manual’s contents cannot be confirmed, its understanding of naval gunfire support can be inferred from other sources, like the Surface Warfare Curriculum (see Appendix ค), which holds that surface and subsurface ships in coordination with coastal artillery do train to conduct Over-the-Horizon Targeting (OTH-T) during land combat operations.

Yet, as its 2003 general maritime doctrine (อทร. 8001) reveals, the Thai navy can also draw on two decades of amphibious doctrine, courses, and exercises to further inform the conduct of naval gunfire support missions (see page 35). Doctrinally, since 2001, its amphibious warfare manual Operations in Amphibious Warfare (อทร. 3430) has framed coastal operations as joint sea–air–land campaigns in which naval gunfire support is central to enabling troops ashore. Following the adoption of the Network Centric Warfare Plan in 2015, the Fleet Training Command received permission to revise its training course on amphibious operations (Appendices C and D) in 2020 to improve its training for sailors planning specific phases from embarkation to landing and to ensure that it integrates its naval gunfire with air support and land logistics from other service branches.5 A new interpretation of its amphibious doctrine was issued in 2021 and then tested under the oversight of former Thai navy Commander-in-Chief (CinC) Adm. Chatchai Sriworakhan and RTMC CinC Adm. Sorakrai Sirikarn in a high-profile beach landing exercise at Ban Thon, Narathiwat. It sought to validate both the updated amphibious doctrine and the 2020 force deployment guide (แนวทางการใช้กำลังของกองทัพเรือ พ.ศ. 2563). The effort to further integrate its amphibious forces with others has been followed up by bureaucratic reform inside the Thai navy in 2024, guided by the Bureaucratic 4.0 policy, leading to even greater inter-service coordination during naval gunfire support missions.

Third, the campaign reveals how littoral warfare in Southeast Asia is inseparable from generating humanitarian risk. Milan Vego’s work on littoral warfare has highlighted how operations close to shore are not only inherently joint and tactically compressed but conducted in proximity to civilians and critical infrastructure.6

In the littoral waters across Southeast Asia, firing naval guns at targets just inland is sure to occur in a space crowded with villagers, roads, and border infrastructure. The Thai navy’s 2016 Operating Standards Manual includes guidance on controlling collateral damage by coordinating with coastal communities during both live-fire training and active operations. For them, this is the real face of littoral war: older ships operating in the littorals with their every round fired carrying not just explosive but legal and political weight.

Fourth, the campaign reveals how the concept of littoral warfare keeps evolving. Friedner Parrat’s longue-durée study of Swedish coastal defense advances that coastal navies evolve as understandings of “what war is” change, shaped as much by shifting norms as by geography or technology.7 Small states enabled a novel norm around littoral warfare during the post-Cold War era through the advent of international maritime law.8 Though their sea power still lies fundamentally in maintaining the guiding spirit of international law, small navies are now leading the charge to change normative behavior in littoral warfare through innovative naval technologies.9,10 This altogether affirms that sea power increasingly belongs to small navies of coastal states and not necessarily that of great-power blue-water navies.

The Thai navy is participating in the changing of norms around littoral warfare, acting on its long-held desire to be a “leading” maritime security provider in its region and beyond since at least the late 2000s. This role was reaffirmed by former Defense Minister Sutin Klungsang at the 2024 Shangri-La Dialogue, by chairing intergovernmental organizations tackling climate-related security issues. The navy is not hesitant to deploy its sea power in littoral warfare when it believes its maritime interests are at stake, even if the operations have the potential to result in civilian casualties, like when hitting casino complexes.

Finally, the campaign reveals how navies can be motivated to participate in littoral operations not just in the pursuit of material benefits, as in assisting land forces acquire potential or claimed resources, but also by nonmaterial factors, such as rising nationalism or irredentism in domestic politics.11 Small navies, even more so than great-power navies, are driven by status-seeking behavior, often at the expense of immediate material returns.12 The concept of “amphibiosity” has been presented by the naval theorist Steven Paget to describe the way small navies invest in amphibious capabilities and rhetoric not only for operational reasons but as a way of enhancing their standing within national force structures and among partners.13

The Thai navy is no exception. It also regularly mobilizes fleet forces to participate in littoral warfare engagements to generate status enhancement. The service remains, like most navies, an organization eager to preserve a good image abroad, a factor that undergirded its construction of a maritime security establishment that accords with the standards of the Western international liberal order.14 The Master Plan under the 20-Year National Strategy requires domestic agencies to pay close attention to Thailand’s positional status in international affairs (see page 9). Looking more broadly at Southeast Asia, this attention to nonmaterial factors has been missed in the debates on whether a naval arms race is currently under way in Southeast Asia.[15] The special attention that small navies from Southeast Asia give to emerging technologies is likely linked more to the social “recognition” dilemma than to the classic “security” dilemma.16

The offshore fire support in Trat is more than a tactical vignette of the first and second Cambodia–Thailand conflicts of 2025. The engagement offers a concrete example of how a Southeast Asian small navy uses participation in littoral engagements to satisfy its state’s limited ends, all the while operating under doctrinal, political, and humanitarian constraints along a continuum from constabulary patrol to traditional naval gunfire support

Hadrien T. Saperstein is a Ph.D. Scholar in International Relations from the London School of Economics and Political Science (LSE). His research bridges maritime strategic thought, international relations theory, and small navies from Southeast Asia. His articles on Thailand have previously appeared in Strife Journal, New Mandala, Asia Centre, Future Directions International, 9DashLine, and East Asia Forum. A forthcoming dissertation-turned-book that offers the first comprehensive history of the Royal Thai Navy is in the works.

References

1. On the definition and international law around littorals, see Prashant Kahlon. “War on the Coastline: Mitigating Civilian Harm in the Littorals.” Humanitarian Law & Policy. May 17, 2023.

2. Michael Mulqueen, Deborah Sanders, and Ian Speller. Small Navies: Strategy and Policy for Small Navies in War and Peace (London, UK: Routledge, 2014).

3. Alfred Bergström and Charlotta Parrat. “Two Perspectives on Littoral Warfare.” Defence Studies 22, No. 3 (2022): 433-47.

4. Gregory Raymond. “Cobra Gold over Four Decades: Hedging, Alliances and a United States–Thailand Multilateral Military Exercise.” Contemporary Security Policy 46, No. 4 (2025): 781-805.

5. Hadrien Saperstein. “The Royal Thai Navy’s Theoretical Application of the Maritime Hybrid Warfare Concept.” Asia Center. Oct. 12, 2020.

6. Milan Vego. “On Littoral Warfare.” Naval War College Review 68, No. 2, Art. 4 (Spring 2015): 30-68.

7. Charlotta Parrat. “Swedish Coastal Defence Over Four Centuries: War as a Changing Institution of International Society.” Scandinavian Journal of Military Studies 5, Iss. 1 (2022): 350–363.

8. Alred Hu and Jamese Oliver. “A Framework for Small Navy Theory: The 1982 U.N. Law of the Sea Convention.” Naval War College Review 41, No. 2 (1988): 37-48.

9. John Hattendorf. “Sea Power and Sea Control in Contemporary Times.” Australian Naval Institute. Sep. 21, 2025.

10. Guntis Skunstiņš and Ieva Berzina. “Technological Maturity for Jeune École: The Case of Ukraine’s Naval Strategy.” Security & Defence Quarterly 52, No. 4 (2025): 1-11.

11. Meghan Kleinsteiber. “Nationalism and Domestic Politics as Drivers of Maritime Conflict.” SAIS Review of International Affairs 33, No. 2 (Summer 2013): pp. 15-19.

12. Anders Nielsen. “Why Small Navies Prefer Warfighting over Counter-Piracy.” In Maritime Security: Counter-Terrorism Lessons from Maritime Piracy and Narcotics Interdiction. eds. Edward Lucas et al. (Washington D.C., USA: NATO Emerging Security Challenges Division, 2020), pp. 97-109.

13. Steven Paget. “Water Under the Bridge?—The Revival of New Zealand-United States Maritime Cooperation.” Naval War College Review 74, No. 3, Art. 5 (Summer 2021): 41-64.

14. Wissawas Koomrasi. “การขยายตัวของกรอบความร่วมมือระหว่างประเทศกับการบริหารจัดการความ มั่นคงทางทะเล: ศึกษาบทบาทของกองทัพเรือกับการจัดตั้งศูนย์อํานวยการรักษาผล ประโยชน์ของชาติทางทะเล [The Expansion of International Cooperation Frameworks in Maritime Security Management: A Study on the Role of the Royal Thai Navy in the Establishment of the Thai Maritime Enforcement Command Center].” Master’s Thesis (Bangkok, TH: Chulalongkorn University, 2023).

15. Kerrin Langer. “‘The Old World Fought, the Modern World Counts:’ Naval Armament Policies, Force Comparisons and International Status, 1889-1922.” In Comparisons in Global Security Politics: Representing and Ordering the World. eds. Thomas Müller, Mathias Albert, Kerrin Langer (Bristol, UK: Bristol University Press, 2024), pp. 195-215.

16. Joselyn Bart. “Emerging Technologies, Prestige Motivations, and the Dynamics of International Competition.” GoveranceAI (2022): 1-56.

Featured Image: Royal Thai Navy (RTN) riverine sailors prepare to execute a harbor defense demonstration aboard their patrol boat riverine to U.S. Navy Riverine Squadron ONE Sailors. (U.S. Navy photo)

Europe

Russia’s Strategic Brown Water Capabilities: A NATO Blind Spot?

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By Helge Adrians

Russia is working to integrate inland waterways more deeply into its deterrence and defense posture. In Western contexts, this area of maritime geography is usually termed the ‘brown water zone.’ A harbinger of that development was the October 2015 strike against positions of Islamist groups in Syria, carried out by small warships in the Caspian Sea using land-attack cruise missiles (LACMs). Russia not only demonstrated a new level of operational reach (of over1 1,500 kilometers), but also revealed a singular capability that remains unmatched to this day – executing deep precision strikes (DPS) from inland waters.2

Indications that the Russian Navy could carry out such an operation from lakes and possibly even rivers had emerged a few years prior. As part of the State Armaments Program for 2007-2015, Russia started outfitting many of its naval vessels with a new, long-awaited universal vertical launch system (VLS). Like the US MK 41 VLS — which has been in use since 1986— the Russian 3S14 VLS is designed to accommodate different types of missiles (rather than using specialized tubes for each missile type, as was previously the case on Soviet and Russian warships)3. The outfitting included river-capable Buyan-class corvettes, of which a modified batch with an eight-cell VLS was built from 2010—the Buyan-M class, sometimes also called Sviyazhsk-class.4 Two years later, the 3M14 LACM—a variant of the Kalibr family of missiles—was introduced on surface warships. One of the first units was the Gepard-class frigate Dagestan, which is part of the Caspian Flotilla. The formation also received the first three Buyan-M class corvettes, commissioned in 2013.

The reinforcement of the Caspian Flotilla was no coincidence. It was closely linked to the naval build-up of the three former Soviet republics Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan from the mid-2000s. The motivations behind this trend were twofold – a growing interest amongst the littoral states in exploiting the Caspian Sea’s economic potential, and the ambiguity surrounding its legal status at that time, particularly concerning maritime borders and access rights. Despite its scale resembling a marginal sea, the Caspian Sea is in practical terms an inland lake.5

Russia’s military port of Kaspiysk on the Caspian Sea. (Google Earth image via TWZ.com)

Although Western observers were aware of these two developments — ‘Kalibrization’ of the Russian Fleet and strengthening the combat power of forces of an inland water body — it seems they failed to derive the correct insights. For example, the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty, concluded with the United States in 1987, prohibited land-based medium-range missiles, but not sea-based ones. This explains why Russia’s strike in October 2015 caused such significant surprise. As is often the case with such events, many of the subsequent analyses focused on the political implications and the technologies used, while paying less attention to the underlying conceptual framework.

New strategic importance of Russia’s inland waters

Russia’s inland waterways hold strategic significance. This is due to three reasons: first, the country has a large number of rivers spread across its entire territory; second, many of them are long and wide, well-suited for transporting cargo; and third, most of the rivers lie entirely within Russian borders, making them less accessible to Western intelligence. That may have been one of the reasons why the Soviet Union connected the waters west of the Urals in the mid-20th century. At the center is the Volga River, which flows into the Caspian Sea. Through the construction of canals, the Volga was also linked to the Baltic Sea and the White Sea in the North, and to the Black Sea in the South.6 This network is most commonly referred to as the Unified Deep Water System of European Russia (UDWS).

Map of the United Deep Waterway System of Russia. (Graphic via Wikimedia Commons)

From the earliest days of the Cold War, there were discussions within NATO about the military utilization of the UDWS. However, this was more about the possibility of moving single warships, especially submarines, between the northern and the southern flank covertly and thus protected from NATO attacks. To this day, Russia maintains naval shipbuilding at several shipyards along the Volga River. Until the 1990s, even Kilo-class submarines were constructed at a facility there.

Fitting river-capable corvettes with 3M14 LACMs and using them from the Caspian Sea has fundamentally altered strategic assessments of the UDWS, from a useful logistical corridor to an inland naval bastion. However, the capability to carry out DPS from such an unexpected location seems less the outcome of deliberate planning. It was more a consequence of budgetary limitations as a result of the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the Russian financial crisis in 1998.7 Faced with the need to maintain its nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarines (SSBNs), Russia was forced to make cuts in surface fleet development. Enhancing the operational reach of so-called third-rank combatants like corvettes, traditionally used for operations in the littoral ‘green water,’ or as they say in the Russian Navy – ‘near sea’ zone – emerged as a pragmatic and creative compromise, particularly against the backdrop of the INF Treaty, which was in effect until 2019.8,9 Amongst these are the aforementioned Buyan-M class and its more advanced successor, the Karakurt-class, of which several examples have been commissioned since 2018. 

Searching for safe spaces

Following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, naval platforms became part of the ground campaign through the use of 3M14 LACMs. Initially, such strikes were launched from the Black Sea. By end of December 2022, the Caspian Sea—far away from the frontlines—had also become a launch area for these operations. As Ukraine gradually managed to keep the Black Sea Fleet at distance through a combination of shore-based anti-ship missiles, sea mines, and later—with growing intensity since summer 2023 at the latest—uncrewed surface vessels (USVs), the strategic relevance of the Caspian Sea grew. It not only served as a safe space for continued DPS but also as a hub for repairing and replacing damaged ships.

The expanded use of uncrewed systems in the war against Ukraine plus Western intentions to acquire such platforms have made secure maritime areas increasingly vital for the Russian Navy. However, those are scarce. During the Cold War, Soviet fleets relied on an ‘area denial’-strategy (AD),10 also known as the ‘Bastion’-concept with regard to the defense of the bases of the Northern and the Pacific Fleet where Russia continues to concentrate its SSBNs. The extended defense of this protected space can be described as an ‘anti-access’-approach (A2). Long before the term ‘A2/AD’ was coined by Western analysts in 2003 and became a buzz word from 2014, Moscow had already developed the necessary capabilities as a lesson learnt from World War II (mainly a large long-range aviation and submarine force).11,12 These platforms threatened opposing surface warships, which could be detected and targeted before reaching Soviet positions. Even fleets in marginal seas were enabled to perform A2/AD. A renaissance came with the introduction of various land-based long-range missile systems from around 2012.13 For a long time, Western nations appeared to have little means to counter these A2/AD capabilities. Unmanned systems may offer a solution, as the Ukrainian armed forces have repeatedly demonstrated in the air and in the maritime domain. Due to their small size and design, uncrewed systems have low signatures. Consequently, they are frequently able to penetrate Russian defense layers unrecognized. As a result, the retreat of warships into protected areas under full Russian control—including the UDWS—appears to be the only viable option to safeguard against new asymmetric threats such as USVs and uncrewed underwater vehicles (UUVs).

In light of this, the Russian Navy has adapted for better protection, starting with the creation of a new naval district for the Sea of Azov in July 2023. Situated north of the Black Sea, it is a shallow shelf sea accessible primarily via the Kerch Strait, which Russia has controlled since annexing Crimea in March 2014. In the early stages of the invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Russian forces succeeded in closing the gap between Donbas and Crimea. Since then, Russia has gained full control over the Sea of Azov. One of the main reasons for this approach may have been that there is access to the UDWS via the Don River, which flows into the north-west. In the Sea of Azov, Russian warships are less exposed to Ukrainian attacks than in the Black Sea. This made the maritime enclave appear suitable, amongst other things, as a launch area for corvettes with LACMs.

Efforts to identify secure maritime spaces were also observed in other regions: in the east of the Baltic Sea, the Russian Navy appears to be planning to open up Lake Ladoga—situated north of St. Petersburg—as a fallback area for small warships. Covering nearly 18,000 square kilometers, it is the largest inland body of water in Europe. Since Finland’s defeat in the Second World War, it has been completely surrounded by Russian territory14 and became part of the UDWS. During the Cold War, the lake’s remoteness made it a strategically valuable site for naval testing, playing a role comparable to that of the Caspian Sea. Now, according to Russian media, it is set to become a component of Moscow’s deterrence and defense posture vis-à-vis NATO. For this, two Karakurt-class corvettes of the Baltic Fleet were deployed to Lake Ladoga for several days in September 2023, followed by two Buyan-M class vessels for a similar duration in September 2024.15 While in the first year the focus lay on navigation training and surveying former naval mooring sites repurposed by Russian state-owned defense companies, the second year was reportedly marked by notional launches of 3M14 LACMs as part of the major naval exercise Okean 2024.16

In Russian media, there have been discussions about bolstering forces for brown water operations. This was sparked by a March 2024 announcement from the then Russian Minister of Defense, stating plans to reconstitute a Dnieper Flotilla by the end of the year—intended to take over riverine combat duties from the ground forces. Such formations have existed intermittently since the 18th century, most recently until 1951. The Soviet Union also operated similar groupings on other major rivers. Russia has taken over some of them. The last major command was the Amur Flotilla at the Russian-Chinese border in the Far East: it was transferred to the Border Service in 1995 and formally disbanded in 1998. Apart from that, a sizable shipyard still exists on the Amur River, which also builds Karakurt-class corvettes. However, it is not yet known to what degree these will be deployed from there and whether Russia intends to build up further riverine units.

Amur River basin. (Graphic via Wikimedia Commons)

Decisive, complementary impact without salvos

The extent to which the Russian Navy attributes a strategic role to inland waters is currently connected to the deployment of Buyan-M and Karakurt-class corvettes. Nevertheless, the presence of these vessels beyond the usual duration of a transit is better understood as a sign that changes might be underway, rather than definitive evidence that a change has already taken place. This is because, although the corvettes can strike far-off targets using 3M14 LACMs, they are limited to carrying just eight per ship. However, in conjunction with long-range and decoy UAVs that could saturate air defenses, these assets enable surgical strikes or DPS, respectively, against select targets, particularly critical infrastructure. This reflects the ‘Strategic Operation for the Destruction of Critically Important Targets’-approach outlined in Russian military theory around 2010. The concept is to discourage an adversary from escalating or continuing a conflict by selectively destroying high-value targets, aiming to impact political or societal morale without causing mass casualties. This behavior has been repeatedly demonstrated in Russia’s war against Ukraine.

Such effects could also be achieved through ground- or air-based systems. In this context, warships should be seen as a supplement — particularly when other assets are absent or limited. One example is the Russian part of Karelia, an area east of Lake Ladoga, where Moscow only recently began expanding its ground force presence in 2024, following Finland’s accession to NATO in 2023, leaving the area initially lacking adequate deterrence capabilities.17 Even though Lake Ladoga is seasonally unusable due to ice cover, it can nonetheless be utilized temporarily for defensive or deterrent purposes.

The potential use of LACMs also serves to demonstrate the Russian Navy’s relevance in land operations—an aspect that should not be underestimated. Here, the focus is less on quantity but more on quality; internally, this reinforces the Navy’s standing within the Russian armed forces and political leadership, while externally, it contributes to strategic ambiguity by signaling that all branches of the military are capable of delivering long-range effects.

Closing NATO’s blindspot

Striking land targets from lakes offers several advantages. In addition to the protection against asymmetric threats, it also provides cover from reconnaissance and targeting by enemy missile systems. This is due to the stealthy design of the Buyan-M and Karakurt-class corvettes. When moving or hiding near shorelines, spotting, tracking, and targeting them becomes difficult. Moreover, engaging warships requires different types of munitions than those used against land-based systems like rocket launchers—specifically, warheads capable of penetrating hulls or superstructures to cause significant damage or achieve a kill. Most Western anti-ship missiles have limited range, typically only a few hundred kilometers, and travel at subsonic speeds over longer distances, making them easier to detect and intercept. Additionally, some anti-ship missiles designed for blue-water targets may struggle with targets amongst the cluttered shorelines of lakes and rivers.

While NATO may not prioritize countering Russian warships on lakes in a broader conflict scenario, the risk remains significant. Ukraine’s response offers a blueprint of what can be done. On the one hand, obstructing passage through chokepoints such as straits or locks can effectively trap warships or prevent them from entering. Since the start of the war, Ukraine has sought to block the Kerch Strait; for example, in July 2024, it targeted the nearby ferry terminal at Kavkaz from the air. According to the Ukrainian Navy, Moscow has withdrawn all warships from the Sea of Azov as a result.

On the other hand, the destruction of port infrastructure can disrupt the resupply of naval forces, particularly the reloading of missiles, which can only be done pier-side. Ukraine successfully struck Russian warships in the captured port of Berdiansk on the Sea of Azov in March 2022 as well as in the naval base at Kaspiysk on the Caspian Sea in November 2024. In the latter, both Gepard-class frigates and a Buyan-M class corvette would have been affected.

Ukrainian drones strike the naval base of the Russian Caspian Flotilla in November 2024. (Footage via Twitter/OSINT Technical)

There are also lessons to be learned from Russia’s tactics: in August 2025, it launched an attack on a Ukrainian reconnaissance vessel deep in a tributary of the Danube River. The vessel was reportedly underway in Ukrainian waters, just meters away from the opposite Romanian bank. Remarkably, Russia succeeded in covertly deploying a USV about 40 kilometers into the Danube to conduct the kamikaze strike, while coordinating a UAV to monitor the mission from the air (which could also have fired on the ship).

In principle, it seems possible that the Russian Navy may seek to enhance the strategic role of inland waters. The deployment of Kilo II-class submarines or the loading of 3M14 LACMs in the containerized Club-K version18 onto civilian riverboats are both conceivable, though unlikely due to the logistical complexity involved (because of, for example, river depths19 and currents20 as well as satellite connections). Instead, Russia is more likely to focus on better protecting its Buyan-M and growing Karakurt-class corvettes. Increasing their numbers and distributing them when at sea or over several supporting sites make detection significantly more difficult. This would allow Russia to maintain a strategic reserve for DPS.

Conclusion

NATO should not underestimate Russia’s strategic brown water capabilities. The same applies to Japan and South Korea in the event that Moscow, contrary to current indications, intends to use the Amur as a launch area to defend the Sea of Japan and the Sea of Okhotsk. Therefore, it is essential to prepare doctrinally, enhance surveillance techniques, and develop effective countermeasures. This will require more unconventional thinking—for example, the dropping of sea mines, USVs and UUVs from the air or the arming of partisans with portable anti-ship missiles such as the Swedish RBS-17. New doctrine and capabilities can effectively account for this important yet underappreciated dimension of Russian naval influence.

Commander Helge Adrians, German Navy, M.A., is a Visiting Fellow at the German Institute for International and Security Affairs.

References

1. 3M14 should be able to fly up to 2,500 kilometers, according to [U.S.] State Department, Bureau of Arms Control, Verification and Compliance (2020): 2020 Adherence to and Compliance with Arms Control, Nonproliferation, and Disarmament Agreements and Commitments (Compliance Report), online in: https://2017-2021.state.gov/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/2020-Adherence-to-and-Compliance-with-Arms-Control-Nonproliferation-and-Disarmament-Agreements-and-Commitments-Compliance-Report-1.pdf (PDF file), June 2020 (accessed: 26.12.2024), p. 14 and 16.

2. The distance from the Caspian Sea to the targets in Syria was given by the official Russian side as ‘nearly 1,500 kilometers’, cf. TASS (2015): Caspian Flotilla ships fire 26 cruise missiles on IS targets in Syria — Defense Minister [sic!], online in: https://tass.com/defense/826919, 07.10.2015 (accessed: 18.12.2024).

3. Cf. Bogdanov/Kramnik (2018), p. 6.

4.  Cf. Office of Naval Intelligence (2015): The Russian Navy. Historic Transition, Washington: N.p., p. 20.

5. For decades, the Soviet Union and Iran—the Caspian’s only littoral states until 1991—neglected to define its legal status. Only in 2018 did the five current coastal states reach an initial agreement (i.e., the Convention on the Legal Status of the Caspian Sea, also known as ‘Teheran Convention’), concluding that the Caspian Sea should be treated as neither a sea nor a lake in legal terms.

6. Cf. Jaghdani, Tinoush Jamali/Ketabchy, Mehdi (2023): The Strategic Significance of the Russian Volga River System, in: Russian Analytical Digest, Vol. 304, pp. 22-27, here: p. 22.

7. Cf. Mommsen, Klaus A. R. (2020): The Russian Navy. “Russia’s pride, strength, and asset”, in: Routledge Handbook of Naval Strategy and Security, edited by Krause, Joachim/Bruns, Sebastian (2018), Abingdon/New York: Routledge, pp. 305-314,
here: p. 307.

8. Cf. Kofman, Michael (2023): Evolution of Russian naval strategy, in: The sea in Russian strategy, edited by Monaghan, Andrew/ Connolly, Richard (2023), Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 94-123, here: p. 109.

9. For example, the delays in delivering the first two Admiral Grigorovich-class frigates in 2015 prompted a shift in focus toward building Karakurt-class corvettes instead, cf. РИА Новости (2015): Минобороны заявило, что ОПК “немножко сорвал” срок сдачи двух фрегатов, online in: https://ria.ru/20151224/1348076684.html, 24.12.2015 (accessed: 19.08.2025).

10. Cf. Ushirogata, Keitaro (2025 in English; 2019 in Japanese): Global Maritime Military Strategy. 1980-2023, Singapore: Springer, p. 128 ff.

11. This was related to the fact that the US developed a new strategy to deprive Chinese A2/AD-capabilities. Russia and Iran were also credited with such capabilities, making the issue more relevant for European NATO members, especially as there were fears after the occupation and annexation of Crimea that Russia could do the same with the Baltic states and make defence more difficult by activating A2/AD-systems, cf. Simón, Luis (2016): A European Perspective on Anti-Access/Area Denial and the Third Offset Strategy, online in: https://warontherocks.com/2016/05/a-european-perspective-on-anti-accessarea-denial-and-the-third-offset-strategy/, 03.05.2016 (accessed: 27.08.2025).

12. Cf. Gorschkow, Sergej (1976): Seemacht Sowjetunion, edited by Opitz, Eckardt (1978), Hamburg: Hoffmann & Campe, p. 266.

13. In 2012, the S400 air defence system, which entered service in 2007, was stationed in Kaliningrad—the first of the three missile systems primarily linked to A2/AD, cf. Dalsjö, Robert/Berglund, Christofer/Jonsson, Michael (2019): Bursting the Bubble. Russian A2/AD in the Baltic Sea Region. Capabilities, Countermeasures, and Implications (FOI-R–4651–SE), p. 27. The other two systems are Iskander (both the -M and -K version) against land targets, and Bastion-P against sea targets, cf. ibid., p. 10.

14. In late 1939, the Soviet Union demanded territory from Finland, citing the security of Leningrad (now Saint Petersburg) as a primary justification. After Finland refused, the Soviet Union invaded in November. The war ended in March 1940 with the Moscow Peace Treaty and the formerly shared Lake Ladoga became entirely surrounded by Soviet territory. Though contested during the 1941–1944 war, this control held. This outcome was formally recognized in 1947 with the Paris Peace Treaty that formally established Lake Ladoga as a Soviet inland lake under international law.

15. It was the Sovetsk (hull number: 252) and the Odintsovo (252), see the report ‘Baltic Fleet on Ladoga’ in: https://vpk.name/en/ 784930_baltic-fleet-on-ladoga.html 16.10.2023 (accessed: 24.11.2024). This is the English translation of the original Russian article by Timur Gainutdinov, published on Krasnaya Zvezda. The original text was published online but is not accessible from within Germany, cf. http://redstar.ru/na-sedoj-ladoge/. However, the Norwegian military blogger Thore Are Iversen uploaded the article and another English translation to X; see corresponding images at https://x.com/The_Lookout_N/status/ 1714640171176493411, 18.10.2023 (accessed: 27.12.2024).

16. One them could be the former naval base Lakhdenpokhya in the north west of the lake, cf. Ryabov, Kirill (2023): “Karakurt” on Lake Ladoga, online in: https://en.topwar.ru/228351-karakurty-na-ladozhskom-ozere.html, 19.10.2023 (accessed: 24.11.2024). Otherwise, the corvettes were moored at the floating bridge in Priozersk, as satellite images showed, see the Tweet by Thore Are Iversen in: https://x.com/The_Lookout_N/status/1833800057469952169, 11.09.2024 (accessed: 28.12.2024).

17. It was only in April 2024 that Russia announced its intention to station three missile artillery battalions equipped with the Iskander-M system in Karelia, see report ‘В Карелии сформирована отдельная ракетная бригада с ОТК «Искандер-М»0‘, in: https://iz.ru/1684603/2024-04-19/v-karelii-sformirovana-otdelnaia-raketnaia-brigada-s-otk-iskander-m, 19.04.2024 (accessed: 12.01.2025).

18. However, ‘[t]he current status of the Club-K system is unclear, and there is no public evidence that russia [sic!] has commenced serial production of this system’, cf. Syngaivska, Sofiia (2024): New Icebreaker Showcases russia’s [sic!] Advanced Naval Technology, Allegedly Suitable for the Kalibr Missiles, online in: https://en.defence-ua.com/weapon_and_tech/new_icebreaker_ showcases_russias_advanced_naval_technology_allegedly_suitable_for_the_kalibr_missiles-10743.html, 05.06.2024 (accessed: 26.08.2025).

19. Kilo-class submarines were usually deployed on barges across rivers, see the following undated photo in https://imgur.com/a/ lYRJeAO, 12.12.2023 (accessed: 04.01.2025). The link was shared in a discussion on Reddit, see https://www.reddit.com/r/ submarines/comments/18g02tl/how_submarines_built_in_nizhny_novgorod_were/, n.d. (presumably 2024; accessed: 04.01.2025). In 2021, a decommissioned November-class nuclear submarine was even transported via the White Sea-Baltic Sea Canal, see https://paluba.media/news/11667, 21.09.2021 (accessed: 16.01.2025).

20. Even smaller warships are therefore accompanied by tugs, as can be seen in a video showing the Karakurt-class corvette Taifun (805) on its way to Lake Ladoga in 2019, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZ7uYoh-hXg&t=1s, 20.05.2019 (accessed: 03.01.2025).

Featured Image: Buyan-M-class corvette of the Russian fleet, December 2022. Russia. (Photo via Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation)

Fostering the Discussion on Securing the Seas.