Sometimes, a second look is worth it: For the 23rd edition of our customer magazine ATLAS, we’re breathing new life into previously published articles – with fresh perspectives, new developments, and the benefit of hindsight. This piece refers to the article "The Land Rover of the Skies" from ATLAS #05, which can be read in full here.

Then…

The 14-man crew of this Antonov works three months at a stretch. During this period they circumnavigate the globe countless times and transport the most incredible equipment: gigantic turbines, entire lorries, military hardware. Incidentally, the German armed forces used Antonovs when they pulled out of Afghanistan.

“We are stupidly in demand,” Bob tells me. He lives near Stansted Airport outside London and has been working for the Ukrainian airline for 20 years. In his view, it’s the ideal job: “Because I have no boss up here,” he says, an expression of amusement on his face. His job is to organise everything: he negotiates with the local authorities, caterers and hotels. He supervises all the processes, manages the bookings and pays the bills. In short, he does the works. Even deciding on the route seems to be part of his remit. He shows me an email to that effect. I needn’t worry about flying over ISIS territory on the way from Bucharest to Qatar, he adds. We will be taking a detour over the “safe parts” of Iraq – and for that matter, of the Ukraine as well.

The other men hail from either Russia or the Ukraine. All short-haired or with shaven scalps, they are powerfully-built specimens of mankind. Their main work is on the ground, loading and unloading. Basically they don’t talk at all, not even among themselves. I am dying to ask how the war on the home front has affected the crew’s mood. There are so many things I’d like to know: How can anyone get enthusiastic about this back-breaking work? On the move – from time zone to time zone, country to country: is that really what freedom means? Is a normal life – i.e. on the ground – even possible in this job? What is it like to be welcomed at every airport in the world by aeronautical aficionados who gather to marvel at your plane? And how do you solve the unavoidable day-to-day problems that come from being squashed into a 15-square-metre space furnished with a few bunks?

Bob is the only one I can ask. But now is apparently not a good time. He tells me to focus on my provisions. ”Eat something,” he commands. “Enjoy yourself!” My lunch package, which he organised shortly before takeoff, consists of a fish and seafood platter, a generous plate of cheeses, fruit salad with fresh berries, loads of sandwiches, rolls and baguettes, a selection of croissants with and without filling, assorted small biscuits and baked sweets, a can of cola, another of Fanta and a litre of apple juice – not to mention the aluminium-foil wrapper containing a dinner for heating in the on-board oven. For afters there’s a big tub of Bavarian yoghurt with fruit and a bar of chocolate. More than enough for the entire crew – but they are all similarly supplied.

Bob turns out the light in the cabin. He takes off his shoes, trousers and shirt and stretches out on one of the old bunks. I spend the rest of the six-hour flight in the dark. Occasionally I head to the toilet in the back, where a folding chair is positioned next to a small window. There is a fantastic view, with snow-covered mountains bordering an ocean. Where are we? Unfortunately, I can’t ask Bob right now.

Despite a desert storm, the touchdown is so smooth that I can’t even feel it. Our descent is accompanied by none of the discomforting changes in pressure that are so familiar from commercial flights. I suspect that an Antonov produces the same decibel level cruising along the runway at 30 kph as it does in mid-air. The crew immediately sets about unloading the cargo. Bob, clearly refreshed after his nap, issues me a document (“Declaration of Health“). He says it will help me at Immigration. If it doesn’t work, I can call him anytime. They will be here until tomorrow. Then the Antonov will chug onwards like a robust old Land Rover – to Dubai, where its next mission awaits.

And I would climb aboard again at the drop of a hat, even without the choreographed safety instructions.

…now

Back in 2015, Russian and Ukrainian companies such as Volga-Dnepr Airlines (Russia) and Antonov Airlines (Ukraine) were still working closely together in international air freight, as Frank Haas’s travelogue for ATLAS mentioned almost in passing. Indeed, it was common practice for Antonov AN-124 flights to be operated by a mixed Russian/Ukrainian crew at the time.

Today, that is unthinkable. Russian airlines find themselves on the sanctions lists of western nations and the global fleet of AN-124s is significantly reduced in number. Volga-Dnepr has suspended most of its flights, and Antonov Airlines is focusing its remaining aircraft on NATO/UN missions and international freight transport – with all-Ukrainian crews. Haas’s AN-124 trip now stands as a throw-back to a bygone age of pragmatic cooperation between the two countries, one in which political differences were clear and present, but did not escalate into war.