In a rare glimpse into North Korea’s military-industrial vulnerabilities, satellite imagery has confirmed that the second vessel in the country’s Choi Hyun-class of frigates, which suffered a dramatic and highly publicized failure during its May 21 launch ceremony, is now upright after having capsized and partially submerged. The recovery operation, visible through commercial satellite images, marks a significant milestone for the isolated regime, but experts remain deeply skeptical about its prospects for full restoration, especially under the tight timeline demanded by Supreme Leader Kim Jong Un.
The frigate, still unnamed, is a sister ship to the Choi Hyon, which was officially unveiled with great fanfare in April and touted as a symbol of North Korea’s expanding maritime ambitions. Displacing an estimated 5,000 tons, the vessel is one of the most heavily armed warships ever produced by the secretive state. Its fate is now a barometer of the state’s shipbuilding competence — and a potential flashpoint in Kim Jong Un’s authoritarian grip on power.
On May 21, what was meant to be a triumphant moment at Chongjin Shipyard turned into a major national embarrassment. According to analysis by 38 North — a respected U.S.-based project that monitors North Korean affairs using satellite imagery and other open-source intelligence — the warship flipped shortly after launch, ending up partially submerged with the bow stuck on land and the stern dipping dangerously into the water.
Theories about what caused the mishap remain speculative, but 38 North posits that a malfunction in the launch mechanism may have caused the vessel’s bow to jam, resulting in the ship being violently pitched backward into the water. Imagery from May 29 shows workers attempting a manual recovery, with at least 30 flotation devices or airbags placed around the vessel, indicating a labor-intensive and urgent effort to stabilize it.
Contrary to some initial claims, the objects observed were not barrage balloons — a term mistakenly used in some local media reports — but rather buoyancy aids meant to lift and balance the capsized ship.
The latest satellite image, taken on June 2 by Airbus Defense and Space and published by 38 North, confirms that the vessel has been returned to an upright position. While some cloud cover is present, the flight deck — specifically the helipad markings — is visible, offering visual confirmation that the ship’s structural orientation has changed.
However, the true state of the frigate’s internal condition remains unclear. The most recent images still show blue tarps covering parts of the ship, suggesting either protection from further weather-related damage or concealment of areas where repairs are being conducted.
More tellingly, the ship is still lodged halfway between sea and land, with no evidence that it has yet been floated free. That places serious constraints on what kind of repairs can be done, especially below the waterline.
While the physical act of righting the ship is an impressive feat given the circumstances, the road ahead is fraught with logistical and technical obstacles. There is no functioning dry dock at the Chongjin Shipyard large enough to accommodate a vessel of this size. Moving the ship to another facility could risk further damage — assuming such a move is even feasible without assistance or specialized transport.
This is where the option of seeking foreign aid, particularly from allies like Russia or China, becomes relevant. Both nations have access to mobile or floating dry docks and possess the know-how to undertake complex naval repairs. But given the political sensitivities and ongoing international sanctions, any overt cooperation could trigger international scrutiny.
Moreover, North Korea is unlikely to publicly acknowledge the need for foreign help, let alone solicit it.
An alternative might be deploying a floating dry dock from within the country — assuming one exists and is operational. But again, the lack of hard intelligence about the state of North Korea’s naval infrastructure makes such speculation uncertain at best.
Despite mounting evidence to the contrary, North Korean state media — in an unusually swift response to the incident — claimed on May 23 that the damage was “not serious.”
According to the Korean Central News Agency (KCNA), “Detailed underwater and internal inspection of the warship confirmed that, unlike the initial announcement, there were no holes made at the warship’s bottom, the hull starboard was scratched, and a certain amount of seawater flowed into the stern section through the rescue channel.”
KCNA’s assertion that the flooding was minor and “only information necessary to take practical rehabilitation measures” raises red flags for analysts. The regime’s use of passive language and emphasis on control suggests a deliberate narrative strategy — to contain domestic fallout and reassert confidence in national defense capabilities.
“It’s damage control — quite literally and figuratively,” said one defense analyst who specializes in East Asian naval development. “If the ship were truly undamaged, they wouldn’t be draping it in tarps, nor would they be investing this much manpower and time just to upright it.”
The ship’s failure came at a particularly sensitive time. Not only was the launch ceremony a high-profile event attended by Kim Jong Un himself, but it was also intended to be a showcase of military prowess. That the warship failed so spectacularly — and so publicly — has put pressure on the regime to recover the vessel as fast as possible, regardless of cost or difficulty.
In a public address following the incident, Kim labeled the event a “criminal act,” promising that those responsible would be “dealt with at the plenary meeting of the Party Central Committee.” This high-level political meeting, expected later in June, is now the de facto deadline for the ship’s restoration — at least externally.
So far, at least three officials from the Chongjin Shipyard have reportedly been detained as part of the investigation. The head of the shipyard, Hong Kil Ho, was summoned by authorities, although reports indicate he has not been detained. A senior Communist Party figure, Ri Hyong Son, was also called in for questioning.
These detentions underline the regime’s zero-tolerance approach to public failure, especially when it undermines the image of technological progress and military strength that Kim has so carefully curated.
The Choi Hyun-class frigates represent a significant leap in North Korea’s indigenous naval design and production capabilities. Based on open-source intelligence, the class boasts modern sensor arrays, an aviation-capable flight deck, and multiple launch systems — including surface-to-air and anti-ship missiles.
That North Korea was able to produce a vessel of this sophistication at all is noteworthy, considering the country’s international isolation and limited access to advanced shipbuilding materials and components. But this launch failure now calls into question whether that technological leap may have outstripped the regime’s actual capacity to safely and reliably construct such platforms.
“North Korea is clearly trying to modernize its navy with blue-water ambitions,” said Dr. Marcus Hwang, a naval engineering professor at Seoul National University. “But building a warship is one thing. Launching it, maintaining it, and making it combat-ready are entirely different challenges. This incident shows those gaps starkly.”
Unusually, North Korea acknowledged the mishap quickly and publicly — an anomaly in a country where state secrecy is paramount and bad news is often suppressed. The move has been interpreted by many analysts as a calculated effort to control the narrative and minimize speculation.
By taking control of the messaging early, Kim may be hoping to present the recovery effort as a testament to North Korea’s resilience and ingenuity, rather than incompetence. The release of information through state channels may also be aimed at warning other officials and bureaucrats about the consequences of failure, reinforcing Kim’s absolute authority.
Furthermore, with satellite imagery now readily available to outside observers — and often posted on social media — there is little room for denial. Transparency, forced or strategic, is the new reality for even the most closed regimes.
The race is now on to not just complete the physical restoration of the frigate but to do so in a way that presents a coherent image of strength and recovery to both domestic and foreign audiences. That will be difficult.
Even if the ship is returned to water and the superstructure is made visually intact, questions about its structural integrity, internal damage, and operational readiness will linger. More importantly, the time constraints imposed by political pressures mean that corners could be cut in repair and inspection procedures — potentially sowing the seeds for future incidents.
“If they rush this, the ship might look fine on the outside but be compromised in ways that won’t be obvious until it’s too late,” said one naval expert.
Moreover, if this failure leads to a general purging of shipyard leadership, institutional memory could be lost, further weakening the shipbuilding program’s competence over the long term.
The partial resurrection of North Korea’s capsized frigate is, on the surface, a rare glimpse into both the ambitions and limitations of the regime’s military-industrial complex. It is a tale of symbolic power undone by engineering failure — and of a dictatorship now racing against both time and truth to reassert control over the narrative.
Whether the warship will be fully restored by the time of the Party Central Committee meeting remains highly doubtful. But even if it is, the incident will leave a lasting mark on North Korea’s naval prestige — and perhaps on the fate of those who were tasked with making Kim Jong Un’s maritime ambitions a reality.
