Large transports operate at the intersection of necessity and vulnerability in modern conflicts. In Sudan, where the 2023–24 civil fighting has moved from fast-moving skirmishes to sustained operations across wide, sparsely monitored terrain, fixed wing heavy lifters are exactly the sort of platform that both sides prize and fear. They can move fuel, vehicles, and munitions in quantities tactical airlift cannot match. They also present a large, slow target whose loss can shape a campaign and its logistics in a single strike.
Operational history tells us these risks are real. The Ilyushin Il-76 is not a new design but it is a workhorse for outsized loads and austere strips. That same combination of size, payload, and ability to operate into rough fields is why the type is chosen for conflict-zone logistics and humanitarian missions alike. It is also why when shoulder-fired missiles or radar guided systems are present, an Il-76 becomes a high value target. Past conflicts provide hard lessons. An Il-76 was downed in Mogadishu in 2007 after being engaged at low altitude, an incident that led operators and states to rethink routings, flight altitudes, and risk acceptance over contested airspace.
Those lessons are not academic in Sudan. The United Nations Panel of Experts on Sudan documented the appearance and use of new and heavier weapon sets in Darfur, including man portable air defenses and other items that shift the air risk profile for tactical and strategic lift. When anti-air capabilities proliferate among irregular forces or second tier actors, the margin for operating large transports shrinks quickly. The panel brief to the UN Security Council in January 2024 underlined the emergence of new supply lines and weapons in Darfur that have practical effects on aviation safety.
From a pilot and operator perspective there are three concrete risk vectors to watch. 1) Threat environment. The presence of MANPADS and other anti-air systems within operational range of routine approach and departure profiles changes the threat calculus overnight. Low and slow profiles near front lines are especially hazardous. The mere availability of these systems forces higher minimum safe altitudes and reduces the number of usable airfields. 2) Attribution and registration opacity. In a fragmented conflict, aircraft registration, leasing chains, and ownership can be opaque. That opacity increases the chance a transport will be perceived as an enemy platform or denied neutral status by fighting parties. Ambiguity invites misidentification and deliberate targeting. Historical and recent reporting show how opaque chains for cargo aircraft can complicate the safety picture. 3) Tactical value. Large transports deliver decisive materiel. That makes them legitimate military targets under the laws of armed conflict when used for military resupply. The distinction between humanitarian lift and belligerent logistics can be exploited or confused in the chaos of war, putting civilian crews at risk.
What should operators, insurers, and regulators be doing now? First, hard risk acceptance decisions must be made at the policy level. Commercial or charter operators should not be left to make call on contested flights in isolation. Operators need clear authorization from states and an explicit risk transfer and indemnity framework. Regulators and insurers must align on a simple rule set: do not overfly or approach airfields within known threat ranges without verified coordination. This is an operational reality, not a moral judgement.
Second, transparency and registries matter. States and lessors should ensure chain of custody for aircraft and cargo manifests are clear. Open-source analysts and international bodies already rely on flight data and imagery to map suspicious patterns. Public registration transparency reduces ambiguity and the chance a legitimate transport is misidentified in the air.
Third, humanitarian actors and military forces must separate missions where possible. Humanitarian lift into or near combat zones demands internationally recognized markings, registered flight plans coordinated with all parties when feasible, and resilient communications including confirmed humanitarians on board and cargo manifests available to trusted intermediaries. Where such coordination is impossible, the flight should not go.
Finally, aviation professionals and policymakers must press for airspace risk mapping that is publicly available to operators. The absence of up to date hazard assessments and no fly advisories is a regulatory gap. States and international organizations should prioritize real time hazard advisories and, where necessary, temporary airspace closures over combat zones until safe corridors can be negotiated.
It is tempting at the operational level to chase work in conflict zones. For pilots and operators the calculus is simple. When the threat envelope includes shoulder-launched weapons and when registration or mission purpose is ambiguous, the risk is not only to the aircraft and crew. It is to the wider humanitarian effort, to regional stability, and to the legal exposure of companies and states that enable those flights. Until there is a clearer international mechanism for vetting and protecting legitimate humanitarian and medical missions in Sudan and similar conflicts, the safest course for civil operators is to stay grounded rather than become another headline about a transport shot from the sky.
The aviation community can do better. We need coordinated, transparent policy; robust risk mapping; and practical operating limits that respect both the safety of crews and the needs of civilians on the ground. Those are not technical niceties. They are the difference between delivering life saving supplies and becoming an operational casualty.