Joining forces to pit India

The massive cruise ship Aquamarine set sail from Murmansk, heading east to bypass the Bering Strait. Despite being capable of carrying a full load, the ship was only half-filled—its cargo included the latest Soviet weapon parts bound for India: Shilka self-propelled artillery chassis, Buk missile mountings, and more.

Yet, the captain harbored doubts. Before departure, he had received an unusual order: at the Oriental Pearl Port, the ship was to take on an additional batch of goods destined for India. The problem? These goods were Soviet munitions, and the local customs authorities might balk at letting the ship dock.

His superiors assured him, however, that all arrangements were in place, and he was to follow orders without hesitation.

Behind the scenes, the Soviet Ministry of Defense had secretly commissioned China's Northern Company to produce 8,000 Type 56 (Type 5-6) submachine guns—cheap knockoffs of the Kalashnikov rifle. The Chinese agreed, promising delivery before the deadline.

This was a clever Soviet tactic: while the Izhevsk Arsenal's Kalashnikov rifles barely yielded any profit after manufacturing and transport, the inexpensive Chinese Type 56s brought the Soviet Union far greater returns. Given the Indians' limited technical expertise, distinguishing between genuine Izhevsk AKMs and Chinese-produced Type 56s was virtually impossible.

If questioned, the Soviets would simply claim these were "Kalashnikov rifles produced in a joint venture with China," carefully masking the substitution.

After docking at the Oriental Pearl Port, the military cordoned off the area. Boxes of Type 56 submachine guns were swiftly loaded into the ship's containers and secured for the voyage to Mumbai.

The Aquamarine sailed southward through the Strait of Malacca into the Indian Ocean. Upon arrival at Mumbai, Indian military personnel unloaded the shipment, working nonstop through the night.

Soon after, the second installment of the arms payment was wired to the Soviet account. Through subtle deception, the Soviet Union maximized profits on India's large order.

Had it not been for the fear of leaking military secrets, the Soviets would have outsourced even more production to China, taking advantage of cheaper raw materials and labor costs.

Thus, a tacit alliance formed in exploiting the Indian market: China produced the cheaper arms, the Soviets sold them under their brand, and India happily counted the money spent—until problems emerged.

Indian officers soon called the Chinese company, complaining about damaged guns and requesting exchanges. The Chinese refused, saying that the contract was with the Soviets, not them.

India then turned to the Soviet Union, demanding after-sales service. The Soviets coldly replied that only parts replacements were guaranteed—and those must be purchased from Soviet suppliers.

In other words, India had spent heavily but had not received the renowned reliability of true Russian weapons. Instead, they had been sold cheap Chinese knockoffs, locked into buying expensive Soviet spare parts.

But product quality woes extended beyond firearms. Due to the USSR's northern climate, its export-version T72 tanks—complete with fire control and thermal imaging systems—were not engineered for India's brutal heat, often exceeding 50°C.

Soon after delivery, many tanks required urgent factory repairs. The original T72 version fared somewhat better but was still ill-suited for high-intensity Indian training exercises.

India protested, accusing the Soviets of selling substandard goods. The Soviet defense minister Yazov fired back sharply:

"Our tanks are flawless. Your problems stem from your climate. We warned you of these limitations beforehand. If you neglected them, that is your Ministry of Defense's oversight."

Faced with this argument, India had no strong rebuttal, conceding that the Soviets might be right.

The Soviets' solution was to offer a cooling system, designed to keep the tank's internal temperature below 40°C, enabling normal operation in extreme heat—naturally, at India's expense.

Each system cost $150,000, and the Soviet Union generously "gifted" the installation—provided India paid. Furthermore, they offered a customizable export tank version for Indian specifications, promising adaptation if India covered the additional costs.

Though the immediate crisis was managed, Indian military officials remained uneasy. Something felt off—yet they could not quite pinpoint what it was.