On paper, Islamabad’s naval rebuild is glittering. Four Tughril-class frigates, eight Hangor-class submarines in the pipeline, plus assorted sensors and missiles with impressive acronyms. In practice, another story is taking shape. The Pakistan Navy looks modern at commissioning, then spends too long waiting for parts, permissions and visiting technicians. The fleet can sail. Too often, it loiters.
The root of this bind is blunt arithmetic. From 2020 to 2024, 81 per cent of Pakistan’s major arms imports came from a single supplier: China. In 2015–2019 the figure was 74 per cent.
Reliance is growing and that is the scaffolding on which everything else now hangs.
What does dependence change at sea?
It changes tempo. A navy’s rhythm is set by its maintenance cycle and its ability to fix what fails. Beijing’s export model keeps advanced know-how close and the client dependent. RAND documents a recurring pattern among Chinese defence customers: thin technical manuals, weak accountability for maintenance or repair, and delays that slow modernisation plans. This is not a quirk of one platform; it is a habit.
Independent European analysis points to the same problem set. MERICS notes quality issues in Chinese systems, importers struggling to obtain replacements, and vendors proving unresponsive when things go wrong. After-sales by drip feed.
Are Pakistan’s ships actually robust?
Some are capable. Others are temperamental. Consider the Zulfiquar-class (F-22P) frigates, a cornerstone of the fleet for more than a decade. Open-source assessments point to defective SR60 air-search radars with electromagnetic interference issues, the sort of fault that blunts air-defence and anti-ship missile employment. Crews can work around a lot. They cannot work around a deaf bridge.
The newer Tughril-class frigates promise cleaner architecture, fresh sensors and a vertical-launch suite. Yet the after-sales regime has not materially changed, so operational endurance still leans on the courier schedule. Pakistan’s leadership says it wants to diversify, pointing to Turkish corvettes and Romanian OPVs. The intent is real. The numbers still say China dominates.
Submarines tell the cautionary tale
Nothing illustrates leverage like an engine. Thailand’s S26T submarine programme stalled for years after Germany refused to clear export of MTU diesels to China. Bangkok has now accepted Chinese CHD620 engines instead. The same CHD620 powerplant is slated for Pakistan’s Hangor-class boats, based on the 039A design and being built in China and Karachi. When the heart of a submarine is tied to one vendor’s spares and software, autonomy becomes a slogan rather than a readiness state.
Even without the engine saga, the Hangor deal embeds dependency. It is valued at roughly 4–5 billion dollars, and analysts of defence countertrade flag the role of Chinese financial assistance in getting such programmes afloat. Debt does not steer a submarine, but it can steer policy.
The strategic price: reach traded for reliance
Navies earn relevance by showing up, repeatedly, far from home. That demands platforms that can be sustained without phoning the original manufacturer for permission slips. If documentation is partial, source code locked and deep repair skills never transferred, a boat becomes pier-bound the moment a black box sulks. In a crisis with India, Beijing would not need overt pressure to influence outcomes. It could slow a shipment, defer a technical team or sequence software updates at its pace. Leverage dressed as logistics.
Pakistan is not helpless. It can stipulate tougher spares clauses, escrow critical software and tooling, and make co-production mean real know-how. It can also widen the supplier base beyond symbolism. Until the supply-chain metronome is in Karachi’s hands rather than Beijing’s, the navy will live with a hard limit on freedom to manoeuvre. The ships may gleam in harbour. Out where it counts, autonomy remains distant.