The Boat That Ended Battleships

The Boat That Ended Battleships

October 21, 1967. A destroyer’s radar 
operator sounded the alarm for incoming fire. The captain quickly ordered: “Hard to port!”
INS Eilat began her turn, but a bright yellow light was already rushing toward them across 
the Mediterranean. The projectile slammed into the starboard side and exploded 
below the waterline. Steel ruptured. Fire and seawater tore through the lower decks.
Twenty years of naval experience had betrayed them. The evasive maneuver left Eilat 
broadside—her entire port flank exposed. Then came a second flash of 
light. A second explosion. The destroyer had survived Nazi 
wolf packs and Arctic convoys, but now a tiny wooden boat was about to make 
naval history with weapons of the future. Steel-grey and knife-shaped, HMS Zealous rode 
low in the water. At 362 feet and 9 inches long, about the length of a football field, she 
had been built with toughness in mind and designed for speed and efficiency. The Z-class 
destroyers, part of Britain’s War Emergency Programme, were made to be workhorses: 
reliable, mass-producible, and versatile. They were based on the pre-war J-class 
hulls and machinery, but stripped of anything non-essential to expedite their 
construction during the war’s desperate years. Fresh from commissioning, she steamed out 
of Scapa Flow, joining the 2nd Destroyer Flotilla of the Home Fleet, her sleek 35-foot 
beam cutting through waves like a razor. At around 1,740 tons standard displacement, 
swelling to more than 2,500 fully loaded, she was heavy enough to take hits but still 
nimble enough to dance through danger. By late 1944, Zealous led carrier escorts during 
daring mine-laying raids off Nazi-occupied Norway, shielded Arctic convoys under 
relentless Luftwaffe attack, and hunted U-boats near Kola Inlet. 
In February 1945, she plunged behind enemy lines to rescue 525 Norwegians who’d 
been hiding for months in snowbound caves. Two months later, she was storming through 
Jøssingfjord, sinking German merchant ships. And on May 9, she sailed into Copenhagen alongside cruisers and destroyers to witness 
the surrender of the German fleet. However, victory eventually led 
to downsizing. After World War 2, the Royal Navy had more ships than it needed. 
Many destroyers, including HMS Zealous, were no longer essential for a peacetime 
fleet. At the same time, on the other side of the Mediterranean, a brand-new country 
was scrambling to build a navy from scratch. Israel, founded in 1948, was surrounded by 
enemies, and with barely a fleet to speak of, it needed real ships fast. In 1955, the 
British government sold Zealous to Israel. This gave Israel an immediate boost to its 
naval power with a battle-tested warship, without having to spend years or an 
entire fortune building one from scratch. After the purchase, she was repainted 
and HMS Zealious became INS Eilat. In 1947, the United Nations proposed partitioning 
Palestine into separate Jewish and Arab states. Jewish leaders accepted the plan, but Arab 
states rejected it outright. On May 14, 1948, Israel declared independence. 
Within hours, five Arab armies, Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Iraq, and Lebanon, 
invaded. The war that followed ended in 1949 with an Israeli victory 
and a series of armistice agreements. Israel emerged with more territory 
than the UN had originally granted. Jordan took control of the West Bank, 
and Egypt occupied the Gaza Strip. The war displaced over 700,00 Palestinian 
Arabs, many of whom became permanent refugees. No formal peace followed. Border skirmishes 
and Palestinian guerrilla raids from neighboring territories, especially Gaza 
and the West Bank, continued throughout the early 1950s. Israel responded with 
force, further hardening hostilities. By mid-decade, the Arab-Israeli conflict had become a volatile fault line 
in the postwar Middle East. And hovering over it all was the Cold War. The United States and the Soviet Union didn’t 
waste time picking sides. Washington backed Israel with quiet shipments and 
diplomacy. Moscow was less subtle. Soviet arms flowed into Egypt, 
then Syria, delivering T-34 tanks, MiG fighters, radar systems, artillery, and 
even advisors. They were aiming for global posturing and the chance to control 
the crossroads of three continents. War returned to the Middle East in October 
1956 after Egypt nationalized the Suez Canal, angering Britain and France, who feared losing 
control over a key trade route. However, the conflict had been building long before that. Egypt had blocked the Straits of Tiran 
back in May, cutting off Israeli shipping, and cross-border attacks by fedayeen militants 
from Gaza were growing more frequent and violent. Before dawn on October 29, 1956, Israeli 
paratroopers slipped silently into the Sinai, launching Operation Kadesh. Tanks and 
mechanized columns growled across the desert, smashing through Egyptian defenses in 
a swift push toward the Suez Canal. Just offshore, Eilat entered the fray, freshly 
commissioned and painted Israeli gray, cutting through the Mediterranean. Her Type 293 air search 
radar scanned the skies while surface scanners searched the waves for any sign of enemy vessels. 
Twin 4.5-inch Mark IV guns stood ready on the bow and stern, capable of hurling high-explosive 
shells over twelve kilometers. The Bofors 40-millimeter anti-aircraft guns rotated smoothly, 
their operators’ eyes peeled for aerial threats. Two days later, on October 31, just off 
Haifa, Eilat received word of an Egyptian destroyer prowling the eastern Mediterranean. The 
Ibrahim el-Awal, a former British Hunt-class ship flying Cairo’s colors, had slipped from 
Alexandria and launched a daring raid, shelling Haifa’s oil refineries and docks.
As a result, Eilat joined sister ship Yaffo and the French destroyer Kersaint in a coordinated 
hunt. At 3:30pm, contact was made. Eilat’s guns sent shells crashing into the sea and Egyptian 
decks alike. Ibrahim el-Awal fought back fiercely, but outgunned and outmaneuvered, she was trapped.
Jets strafed her deck, crippling vital systems. Smoke curled from her battered hull as 
rudder and engines failed. By late afternoon, the Egyptian destroyer surrendered. 
Israeli sailors boarded swiftly, raising their flag above the fading Egyptian colors.
Towed into Haifa, her crew taken prisoner, Ibrahim el-Awal would sail again, reborn as INS Haifa.
As Israeli armor pushed deeper into Sinai, Eilat prowled the coast. She shelled Egyptian 
outposts near Rafah and provided cover for troop landings at Sharm el-Sheikh. Her speed 
and maneuverability allowed her to slip past coastal batteries before they could take aim.
Then came the escalation. Britain and France hit Egyptian airfields with airstrikes and landed 
troops near Port Said. For a brief moment, it looked like victory was within reach. But a 
powerful global backlash, led by the US and the Soviet Union, forced a humiliating ceasefire.
Under pressure from both superpowers, the whole campaign quickly fell apart. By 
March 1957, all foreign troops had withdrawn. In the late 1950s, the Soviet Union unveiled 
a new kind of naval threat. The Project 183R, better known by its NATO 
designation of Komar-class, was a fast attack craft that appeared almost 
unremarkable. It was just 25 meters long, built largely from wood, and based on 
a World War 2-era torpedo boat design. Atop the rear deck sat two large 
launch canisters, housing a revolutionary weapon: the P-15 Termit missile.
The P-15 Termit, also known as Styx by NATO, was a radar-guided anti-ship missile with 
a range exceeding 40 kilometers. Each Komar carried two of these missiles, which flew at high 
subsonic speeds, guided by semi-active radar, and packed a shaped-charge warhead 
designed to punch through a ship’s hull. The Soviets had created the first truly practical 
ship-destroyer missile, and now they were passing this game-changing weapon to their allies.
Exporting began in the early 1960s, and Egypt was among the first to acquire Komar-class missile 
boats. They were based along the Mediterranean coast, near Alexandria and Port Said, and quickly 
became a key part of Egypt’s coastal defense. Though the Komar boats mostly stayed tucked away 
in port, the threat they posed was very real. By 1966, the Egyptian navy had fully integrated 
them into regular drills, showcasing precise radar targeting and swift evasive maneuvers. Yet 
Western experts remained doubtful of their actual danger. To them, these were just small, 
wooden boats, too flimsy, too vulnerable, and too reliant on everything going exactly right.
The idea that such tiny vessels could consistently hit and disable modern warships from 
long distances seemed too far-fetched, if not outright impossible.
5. Blitz In The Desert On June 5, 1967, Israeli jets screamed over the 
Egyptian desert just before dawn. Coming out of hidden air bases, their engines howled against the 
clouds as they dropped low over airfields, opening fire. Israel had deployed nearly all of its 200 
jets in the attack. Bombs tore through hangars and runways, sending fireballs rolling into the sky.
The ground shook with each explosion, the Sinai Desert slowly being enveloped in black smoke from 
destroyed fuel depots. On the ground, Israeli tanks surged forward, crushing sand and stone 
under their treads while pushing deep into enemy lines. Chaos was unfolding in every direction.
Within hours, over 300 Egyptian warplanes were destroyed, all but ensuring 
Israel’s air supremacy in the area. Meanwhile, the Egyptian navy never left the 
docks. As Israeli jets roared across the skies, the Egyptian navy was hit before it could 
move. Warships moored in Alexandria and Port Said became stationary targets, blasted 
from above in a relentless aerial onslaught. Bombs tore through decks and fuel stores, 
while fires raged, and smoke towered into the sky. Much of Egypt’s navy was struck 
before it could leave port. Several ships were destroyed or disabled at anchor, and 
the rest were kept in harbor, effectively neutralized for the duration of the war.
Simultaneously, Israeli fighter jets struck Syrian and Jordanian bases, crippling their air 
forces. In the West Bank, Israeli infantry and paratroopers advanced on Jerusalem. By June 10, 
Israeli forces had captured the Golan Heights from Syria, the West Bank and East Jerusalem 
from Jordan, and Sinai and Gaza from Egypt. By the end of the conflict, Israel had shattered 
three Arab armies, secured territories more than three times its size, and fundamentally 
altered the landscape of the Middle East In Cairo, the humiliation burned hotter than the 
desert sun after the six-day catastrophe. The air force was shattered, the army routed, and the navy 
humiliated, having fired not a single broadside. Israel expanded its Mediterranean patrols 
nearly 800 kilometers to the approaches of Port Said and the larger Sinai coast.
Barely a month since the Six-Day War, on July 11, 1967, two Egyptian boats slipped 
through the patrolled area, maybe probing the edge of Israel’s new maritime reach, or simply 
running supplies along a broken coastline. Whatever the reason, they crossed a line 
that hadn’t been there a month before. Eilat’s radar caught their signal. In a 
heartbeat, she surged forward while her two torpedo boat escorts fell into formation.
As soon as they knew they had been found, the Egyptian crafts bolted north toward home 
waters. However, Eilat didn’t stop. She kept coming, closing the gap with each passing second.
The Israeli crew was well aware of the line they were about to bridge. Only a few nautical 
miles separated them from the point where this would cease to be considered a chase 
and become a violation of sovereignty. But there was no order to stop, no call to 
hold back. Instead, the gunners locked in. The first salvo shattered the air. One 
of the Egyptian boats exploded mid-turn, fire ripping through its hull as metal and men 
vanished in the blast. The second zig-zagged wildly to no avail. Another salvo was 
launched. Another boat was destroyed. Wreckage burned against the 
surf. There were no survivors. On October 21, 1967, early in what would 
later become known as the War of Attrition, Egypt was preparing its answer to 
months of humiliation and loss. A Komar-class missile boat crept 
through the harbour of Port Said, its twin diesel engines barely louder than the 
Mediterranean waters. Ahead, the Eilat cut a steady path near the coast, her sleek profile 
drifting unaware through the fading light. Suddenly, a lookout aboard the Eilat shouted: 
[QUOTE] “Green rocket to starboard.” With their eyes fixed on Port Said, the rest of the 
crew watched in horror as a greenish glow flare shifted into the fierce orange-yellow 
exhaust of a P-15 missile climbing skyward. It was locked on the destroyer.
Captain Yitzhak Shoshan called for battle stations, ordering gunners to open 
fire. The destroyer roared to maximum speed, twisting to present her stern and minimize the 
missile’s target profile. Meanwhile, the radio operator frantically tried to alert headquarters.
The first Styx missile slammed into the starboard boiler room with a thousand-pound warhead, tearing 
apart the ship’s center. Power cut instantly, fires erupted, and communication 
fell silent mid-transmission. Before anyone had time to react, a second 
missile slammed into Eilat’s port side. The funnel crumpled and collapsed, fire surged higher, 
and the ship groaned under the force. Somehow, she didn’t go down. The crew, burned and 
dazed, scrambled to fight the flames and stop the flooding, clawing for control as 
they worked to get a distress call out. An hour passed. With Eilat settling 
deeper, the order came to abandon ship. Lifeboats and rafts had been destroyed in the 
inferno, forcing improvised flotation devices to carry the wounded away. Captain Shoshan made a 
final sweep before plunging into the sea himself, just in time to witness a second Komar launching 
the third missile strike. It exploded near the stern, breaking the ship’s last buoyancy.
The destroyer slipped beneath the waves. Moments later, a fourth missile exploded in the 
water; a final exclamation to the deadly barrage. Of Eliat’s 199 crew, 47 were lost, while more 
than double that were wounded. The sinking was a devastating military loss, as well as 
a seismic moment in naval history. This had become the first warship to have been sunk by 
surface-to-surface missiles at sea during wartime. While the Egyptian public hailed this as 
a triumphant revenge and a symbol of their rise in missile warfare, naval experts tempered 
the shock. Eilat was a two-decade-old destroyer, ill-equipped with outdated anti-aircraft guns and 
no electronic countermeasures. She was an ideal target for a new generation of missile boats.
Yet, in that smoky Mediterranean dusk, as the Komars vanished into the night, 
the age of missile warfare had begun. 9. Ripples Of War
The sinking of Eilat lit the fuse for another drawn-out, punishing 
conflict along the Mediterranean coast. Whatever hopes there were for calm vanished with 
her. In her place came a bitter fight built on sheer endurance, heavy firepower, and the sense 
that neither side was backing down anytime soon. The event sparked brief jubilation across the 
Arab world. Crowds gathered in Port Said to cheer the two Komar missile boats that had delivered the 
strike, celebrating a hard-won revenge. Meanwhile, in Israel, fury boiled over. Angry mobs 
surrounded Chief of Staff Yitzhak Rabin, and newspaper editorials screamed for vengeance.
Sixty-seven hours after the attack, Israel responded with overwhelming force. 
Heavy mortars pummeled Port Suez, destroying two of its three oil refineries, the 
lifeblood of Egypt’s cooking and heating gas, as well as 80% of its oil production. Other parts of 
the city bore the brunt of Israel’s retaliation. When the United Nations called for 
a ceasefire, Israel either ignored the demands or cited technical difficulties. 
The Soviet Union, alarmed by the escalation, sent seven warships on a courtesy call to 
Egyptian ports in a show of support and warning. Between 1967 and 1970, the War of Attrition played 
out like a relentless back-and-forth. There were no clear fronts, just constant fighting 
across the sea, the skies, and the desert. Fighter jets darted in and out for 
quick, violent strikes. Artillery pounded dug-in positions day and night.
The desert echoed with the sound of shellfire, each blast carving up the land—and 
wearing down the people caught in between. The old idea that bigger ships with more guns 
ruled the sea did not hold up after the sinking of Eilat. Fast boats with guided missiles had 
changed the rules. The doctrine changed to focus on early detection, firing first, and survival.
Across the Atlantic, US naval brass had been tracking the rise of missile threats for years, 
but this was different. It had been a real ship, sunk by real missiles. The response was immediate. 
Crews rushed to bolt on radar jammers, chaff launchers, and heat flares—anything that might 
confuse a missile long enough to save a ship. The Phalanx system, a radar-guided Gatling 
gun that could spit out thousands of rounds a minute, was rushed into widespread use. Navy 
strategy shifted fast. Early warning systems, layers of electronic defenses, and 
rapid-fire weapons were all stitched together into a single wall of protection. 
The age of the floating fortress had arrived, not built for size or intimidation, 
but to survive the next missile. Meanwhile, back in London, the Royal Navy, 
grappling with the reality that one of its own had fallen victim to a new kind of warfare, 
also began revising its doctrine. Design boards were stripped clean; the upcoming Type 21 and Type 
22 frigates were redrawn overnight. Sleeker hulls, reduced radar profiles, hardened ECM suites, 
decoy launchers, and close-in weapon systems surged to the top of the priority list.
At sea, radar crews trained relentlessly, tracking phantom missile attacks on 
flickering green screens. Electronic warfare specialists honed their skills to 
jam and spoof missile seekers in real time. Eilat had become a case study in 
asymmetric success and vulnerability. The Styx missiles the Komar-class boats fired 
were slow, bulky, and electronically primitive by today’s standards, but they had been devastating.
What followed was an explosion in missile proliferation. The Soviet Union continued to 
develop a wide range of sea-launched weapons, including faster, smarter, and more evasive 
designs, such as the P-270 Moskit and the P-800 Oniks. NATO navies scrambled to keep 
pace, crafting their own arsenals, Harpoons, Exocets, and Tomahawks. designed not only 
to match the threat, but to preempt it. The humble missile boat morphed into fast, 
low-profile attack craft; hard to spot, harder to stop. Corvettes and other small ships, 
once seen as little more than patrol boats, suddenly mattered. With long-range 
missiles and lower price tags, they gave smaller countries a way to 
hit hard without building a big navy. By the 21st century, the evolution reached a 
new peak with missiles like Russia’s Kalibr and India’s BrahMos, low-flying, high-speed 
cruise missiles capable of skimming sea surfaces and slipping past advanced defenses. 
The line that started with the Komars has now blurred into submarines, drones, and 
container-launched cruise missiles. The legacy of Eilat lives on, not just in 
what was lost, but in what was made possible.

October 21, 1967. A destroyer’s radar operator sounded the alarm for incoming fire. The captain quickly ordered: “Hard to port!” INS Eilat began her turn, but a bright yellow light was already rushing towards them across the Mediterranean. The projectile slammed into the starboard side and explored below the waterline. Steel ruptured. Fire and seawater tore through the lower decks. Twenty years of naval experience had betrayed them. The evasive maneuver left Eilat broadside—her entire port flank exposed. Then came a second flash of light. A second explosion. The destroyer had survived Nazi wolf packs and Arctic convoys, but now a tiny wooden boat was about to make naval history with weapons of the future.