I Knew Admiral Gorshkov

Admiral of the Fleet of the Soviet Union Sergey Gorshkov easily ranks among the top ten naval leaders of the 20th century. In the Cold War days of the 1960s and 1970s, through his personal persuasiveness inside the Soviet Politburo, he built the Soviet Navy to a presence and operational capability nearly equal to that of the U.S. Navy. 

Interestingly, Gorshkov fulfilled Josef Stalin’s ambition for a big-ship, blue-water navy. At great cost to the Soviet populace, by 1938–39, Stalin judged that he had the industrial base to build a big navy and become a world power, but he was interrupted by the Nazi invasion. Twenty years later, Gorshkov also wanted a big, balanced navy to serve the postwar Soviet Union, which had become a major power.

Gorshkov wrote extensively of the reasons a world power needed major naval and commercial strength at sea. The Naval Institute published a collection of his essays, entitled Red Star Rising. His book, Sea Power of the State, was read attentively in all naval circles. His target audience, however, was the hierarchy of his own political establishment. Gorshkov wrote to influence policy decisions in his own country.

The Soviet Union yearned to be a world power with more than large land forces confined to its continental base. Carrying influence and power to distant areas required maritime power, which demanded a major portion of Soviet defense spending. How Gorshkov managed to obtain those resources is reflective of his leadership. The structure of military power in the Soviet Union was a generals’ game, illustrated by the relative positions of military leaders in photos taken atop Lenin’s tomb on major occasions. Gorshkov was three to six positions to the right of the General Secretary, with generals and defense officials in between. In these circumstances, building a world-class navy was a remarkable accomplishment.

The irony in Gorshkov’s story is that the navy he built was short-lived. The collapse of the Communist Party and the dissolution of the Soviet Union was followed by economic chaos. The successor Russian Federation could not afford the Russian ambition to be the “other” superpower. When the USSR faded into history in 1991, it took Gorshkov’s dream for the Soviet Navy with it.

Sergey Gorshkov did not live to see the ships of his navy rusting in their berths for lack of funds for upkeep or operations. He died on 13 May 1988. The day he died, I was packing to leave for the USSR to interview him. I arrived in Moscow just after his burial in Moscow’s Novodevichy Cemetery, resting place for such notables as Anton Chekhov, Leo Tolstoy, Nikita Khrushchev, and Boris Yeltsin.

Unfortunately, I missed the opportunity to record his reflections on nearly 30 years as Commander-in-Chief (CinC) of the Soviet Navy, which he then would have been free to give. But this would not have been my first meeting with Gorshkov.

A Warm Reception

During my time as a midshipman at the U.S. Naval Academy in the early 1950s, the Cold War was in full swing. When deciding which language to study in my first two years at the Academy, I looked ahead to developing world events, and I chose Russian. That choice later would open doors to becoming fluent in the language.

Subsequent assignments in a career that I thought would be related only to aviation took me back to the Academy to teach Russian and to Harvard University to complete a Ph.D. in Russian studies. Experience with the Incidents at Sea (IncSea) negotiations helped me get to know Russian naval officers and be comfortable among them. These experiences tagged me as an officer to send to Moscow as naval attaché.

I left for Moscow on the evening of 4 July 1975.

In my early weeks as the new U.S. naval attaché, my wife and I were at the Peruvian Embassy for a reception. At that time, Gorshkov and the Soviet Navy were cultivating a friendship with Peru in hopes of establishing a naval base in that part of the world.

At the reception, we were engaged by my “keeper,” Colonel Gennadiy Tikhomirov, a Red Army officer serving on the General Staff. His job was to supervise attachés. Tikhomirov and I knew each from IncSea days, when he was the escort officer in Moscow for the American delegation. He spoke English but always Russian with me. Tikhomirov was proud that his rookie American charge spoke Russian well.

The guest of honor at the reception was Admiral Gorshkov. I had never seen the admiral, but I was very familiar with his picture. I asked Colonel Tikhomirov that I be excused to talk with the Soviet Navy CinC. Tikhomirov smiled and said, “I’d like to see you do that, Captain,” confident that I could not get close to Gorshkov.

Gorshkov was behind a long table, with a phalanx of generals and admirals, even a marshal or two, on either side of him. Their job was to impede the progress of anyone trying to reach the guest of honor. Tikhomirov was confident I could not break through the phalanx.

However, I had a secret weapon: my wife. Russian men are intrigued by attractive Western women. I told my wife to smile and move confidently. I followed closely behind. “Excuse me, admiral. Excuse me, general,” I said in Russian as we moved smoothly through the phalanx until we stood next to Gorshkov, who turned to us.

I saw the famous admiral in person for the first time. He was short, about 5-foot, 6 inches, and rotund—a characteristic of most senior Soviet officers. He had a wisp of gray hair on his mostly bald head. He did not have a foreboding presence, and behind his glasses, I thought there was a friendliness in his eyes.

In this moment, standing before Gorshkov, my plebe training and the Academy’s monograph on naval courtesy came into play.

“Admiral Gorshkov,” I said, “I am the senior U.S. naval representative in your country, sir. It gives me great pleasure to present to you my respects and to introduce to you my wife, Charlene.”

I was as nervous as a cat. If this powerful, world-renowned man took offense at my approach, I might as well go home to the United States. I could be finished in Moscow as a naval attaché.

I was saved from my trepidation by a Soviet Red Army marshal who was standing next to me. He blurted out, “What do we have here, Sergey? Did you hear him? He speaks our language. He is a diplomat.” And, now poking his index finger on my chest, “He is a naval aviator. Have you got officers like this, Sergey?” My palms dried. My posture straightened. The marshal had given my self-confidence a boost.

Gorshkov turned to my wife and spoke very graciously. I was her interpreter as he asked about children, family, and married life in the U.S. Navy. The powerful Soviet Navy Commander-in-Chief was a gentleman. In my subsequent two years of contact with him, he never contradicted that first impression.

Finally, the admiral turned to me. “Do you give this lady all the attention she wants,” he asked?

“No, sir,” I answered. “I give her all the attention she deserves.”

In a gesture that I was to see repeatedly over the next two years, his glasses came down to the end of his nose, and he peered over them at me.

“Captain,” he began, “all of history and all of literature tell us that a man married to a very attractive woman has, at any moment, another man standing in his shadow ready to take his place. Now, you give this lady all the attention she wants.” And he turned to resume his conversation with colleagues. My interview was over.

I had presumed we would discuss a naval topic. Instead, I received marital advice.

The Party Line

Gorshkov was a loyal member of the Communist Party, a Deputy Minister of Defense, and the recipient of the party’s highest awards. His writings on sea power are laced with Soviet ideology. Yet, never once did he treat me to an ideological bracing, a Communist political remark, or a dig at my capitalist homeland. It was not that way with others of his senior colleagues or even his deputy, Admiral of the Fleet Nikolai Ivanovich Smirnov.

On repeated occasions, I asked that Admiral Gorshkov allow me an office call to discuss his latest book, a current essay, aircraft carriers, nuclear power, or other topics. He always refused, though he once did hand me off to Smirnov. I was excited about the call. It wasn’t Gorshkov, but it was his deputy. We might touch on some significant subjects.

The call on Admiral Smirnov was instructive but useless. He delivered a long soliloquy on the new Soviet man and followed up with the dedication of the Soviet Navy to party objectives. Two KGB men sat on his side of the table and wrote down every word that was said. Later, I wondered if the reason Gorshkov would not let me call on him was the petty Soviet security drama that I had witnessed with Smirnov.

In contrast to Gorshkov, Smirnov had begun life in the Soviet Navy as a political officer. Political officers were not charged to become experienced naval professionals. They ensured party orthodoxy in operating units, and they had separate means of communication to which even commanders had no access. 

I noticed at major receptions that Smirnov’s buddy was Admiral Grishanov, head of the Navy’s Main Political Administration, the headquarters of political officers. At one reception, Smirnov told me I was an intellectual prisoner of my capitalist upbringing.

A Bright and Gracious Man

Gorshkov was typical of senior Soviet officers in that he loved verbal riposte. He made engaging him in respectful but challenging conversation interesting and fun. That fact was another remarkable facet of this man: he gave the young American attaché equal standing in the game.

In our chats, Admiral Gorshkov undoubtedly could see that I considered him a bright and gracious man. I addressed him with deference and respect. He never once refused to talk with me or was discourteous. In fact, I was the only attaché he would engage (few spoke Russian), but I never abused my access. I never sensed that he worried about any possible security reproach.

Gorshkov never gave me reason to believe that the naval competition between our two countries had to be defined in the language of Soviet ideology and propaganda. In his writing on sea power for publication, there is ample expression of Communist ideology, but that content was the price for getting into print on the subject. In his memoir (published only in Russian), there is little ideology.

Gorshkov built the navy he thought a world power had to have. He overcame the competition for resources from those who wanted to concentrate investment in land power. He was a wily and articulate spokesman for his goals. The Soviet leadership wanted superpower standing. Gorshkov fed that ambition. Great powers, he argued, are represented in distant spots on the globe, and only a capable navy can do that.

Gorshkov was Commander-in-Chief of the Soviet Navy from 1956 to 1985. I spoke with him principally from 1975 to 1977, when he was still in his prime. When I returned to Moscow as the defense attaché in 1985, he looked tired and was showing his age. In the few months before his retirement, our conversations were few, and I confess I was happy to preserve the memories of the previous years.

I found him to be a man of extraordinary intelligence, quick wit, and kindly graciousness. Still, Gorshkov was not the whole Soviet Navy, and, ultimately, he was subject to the authority and decisions of a party that sought our demise.

Had I reached him in retirement in 1988, I do not know what kind of Gorshkov I would have encountered. Relieved of the constant pressure as CinC, I believe he would have enhanced my impressions of the Gorshkov I had known.