A Russian Il-76 landed in Niš for the fires: 42 tonnes of water and one well-directed image

A Russian Il-76 from the Ministry of Emergency Situations landed at „Constantine the Great\" airport in Niš. The aircraft was sent to Serbia on the orders of Vladimir Putin, to help fight the forest fires.

The aircraft will be deployed over the Deliblato Sands, coordinated with the helicopter unit of the Serbian Interior Ministry. The firefighting version of the Il-76 can carry up to 42 tonnes - that is, 42,000 litres of water or extinguishing agent.

The figure is worth holding onto for a second. Forty-two tonnes per flight - that is a quantity no country in the region can deliver on its own.

A fire that will not let up

The fire in the Deliblato Sands is still active, and strong winds are hampering attempts to bring it under control. Around 4,000 hectares have burned despite the deployment of multiple units on the ground and in the air. Experts estimate this could be the largest fire ever recorded in this protected area.

The Deliblato Sands is not an ordinary forest. It is a special nature reserve, the largest sand expanse of its kind in Europe, with species that grow nowhere else in the region. What is burning there does not grow back in one season.

When help arrives with a signature

A representative of the Russian Ministry of Emergency Situations thanked those present for the welcome after landing. The welcome, after all, had been organised - cameras, footage, an announcement that the plane was sent „on the personal orders\" of the Russian president.

And here comes the part worth naming out loud: to the person whose house is burning, the plane's origin means nothing. Forty-two tonnes of water are forty-two tonnes of water. But to those staging the welcome, the image of a Russian plane landing in Niš is worth far more than the water it will pour over the sands.

That is not an accusation against the help. It is a remark about how the help is packaged.

A region that burns every summer, and is surprised every summer

We watch this scene in some form every year across the Balkans - a fire slipping out of control, local capacity that is not enough, and then a foreign aircraft as front-page news.

The question rarely anyone asks is a different one: why did no country in the region have its own machine for that job when it was needed? Instead, every July and August we wait for somebody else's plane to show up and we call that solidarity.

The wind over the sands does not ask who is paying. But once it dies down, somebody will have to add up the bill for how long the region has been leaning on other people's wings.