An Embraer passenger jet took off from Baku, Azerbaijan, on Wednesday morning but didn’t make it to its destination, thanks to dense fog and a Russian air defense system that apparently doesn’t believe in second chances. According to one surviving passenger who spoke to Russian TV, the pilot tried landing twice in Grozny’s soupy conditions before the third attempt turned into a mid-air fireworks display:
“Something exploded… some of the aircraft skin had blown out.”
An explosion like that? Odds are, it wasn’t a friendly tap.
The evidence points to an air defense missile, the kind that can turn a routine landing into an unscheduled descent. It’s hard not to draw parallels to the tragic shootdown of a Ukrainian passenger jet by Iran’s twitchy missile crews. Whether it was a senior officer green-lighting the launch or an overzealous operator with a trigger-happy finger, the results are the same: a catastrophic screw-up that probably didn’t need to happen.
But let’s widen the lens here. Russia’s airline industry is hanging on by a thread—or, more accurately, by counterfeit Chinese spare parts and some backdoor deals. The bulk of their fleet consists of Boeing and Airbus jets, and Western sanctions have cut off their supply of legitimate replacement parts. Enter China, the global purveyor of knockoffs, stepping in to fill the void with spare parts of, shall we say, questionable pedigree.
Still, it’s not just the sanctions and shoddy parts that make flying in Russia a gamble—it’s also their aging fleet. Planes held together by duct tape, hope, and black-market widgets are just one bird strike away from becoming a Darwin Award. Russia’s inability to maintain its aviation infrastructure is more than a logistical issue; it’s a ticking time bomb at 30,000 feet.
And now we add this latest incident to the ledger. A plane diverted by fog, shredded by an explosion, possibly courtesy of its own air defense system. You couldn’t script a darker comedy if you tried. But hey, maybe this is Russia’s way of proving they’re still capable of hitting a target—just not the right one.
In the end, this isn’t just about one tragic incident. It’s a grim reminder that Russia’s crumbling aviation industry and paranoia-fueled defense posture are setting the stage for more of these disasters. The skies over Russia aren’t just dangerous; they’re a no-fly zone in every sense of the term.
An Embraer passenger jet took off from Baku, Azerbaijan, on Wednesday morning but didn’t make it to its destination, thanks to dense fog and a Russian air defense system that apparently doesn’t believe in second chances. According to one surviving passenger who spoke to Russian TV, the pilot tried landing twice in Grozny’s soupy conditions before the third attempt turned into a mid-air fireworks display:
“Something exploded… some of the aircraft skin had blown out.”
An explosion like that? Odds are, it wasn’t a friendly tap.
The evidence points to an air defense missile, the kind that can turn a routine landing into an unscheduled descent. It’s hard not to draw parallels to the tragic shootdown of a Ukrainian passenger jet by Iran’s twitchy missile crews. Whether it was a senior officer green-lighting the launch or an overzealous operator with a trigger-happy finger, the results are the same: a catastrophic screw-up that probably didn’t need to happen.
But let’s widen the lens here. Russia’s airline industry is hanging on by a thread—or, more accurately, by counterfeit Chinese spare parts and some backdoor deals. The bulk of their fleet consists of Boeing and Airbus jets, and Western sanctions have cut off their supply of legitimate replacement parts. Enter China, the global purveyor of knockoffs, stepping in to fill the void with spare parts of, shall we say, questionable pedigree.
Still, it’s not just the sanctions and shoddy parts that make flying in Russia a gamble—it’s also their aging fleet. Planes held together by duct tape, hope, and black-market widgets are just one bird strike away from becoming a Darwin Award. Russia’s inability to maintain its aviation infrastructure is more than a logistical issue; it’s a ticking time bomb at 30,000 feet.
And now we add this latest incident to the ledger. A plane diverted by fog, shredded by an explosion, possibly courtesy of its own air defense system. You couldn’t script a darker comedy if you tried. But hey, maybe this is Russia’s way of proving they’re still capable of hitting a target—just not the right one.
In the end, this isn’t just about one tragic incident. It’s a grim reminder that Russia’s crumbling aviation industry and paranoia-fueled defense posture are setting the stage for more of these disasters. The skies over Russia aren’t just dangerous; they’re a no-fly zone in every sense of the term.
If the planes don’t get you, the missiles might. Choose your seat wisely, folks.
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