The signing of a peace declaration between Azerbaijan and Armenia on August 8, 2025, at the White House — brokered by U.S. President Donald Trump — is already being called the most consequential diplomatic event in the post-Soviet space in thirty years. But unlike so many symbolic agreements, this one isn’t just paper and handshakes. For the first time in the history of the conflict, both sides have moved from words to real action.
At the heart of this analysis lies one question: can the postwar balance between Azerbaijan and Armenia evolve into a durable regional security system — or will the new peace architecture in the South Caucasus remain a fragile compromise between external power games and internal contradictions?
This dilemma goes far beyond the old Baku–İrəvan rivalry. It’s about a complex intersection of global and regional interests, a technological arms race, and the formation of a new logic of deterrence — where diplomacy without strength is irrelevant, and peace without strategic leverage is an illusion.
In that sense, the 2025 peace declaration isn’t the end of the conflict but its institutional transformation. Azerbaijan, far from just a victor on the battlefield, now emerges as the architect of a new post-conflict order — one based on the concept of sovereign balance.
From Frozen Conflict to a Doctrine of Deterrence
The post-Soviet history of the South Caucasus is a chronicle not only of war but of a failed peace. After the first Karabakh war (1988–1994), the international community clung to the illusion of a “balance” maintained by outside mediators — the OSCE Minsk Group, Russia, France, and the United States. That “balance” was fiction. It froze the conflict but never resolved it.
The Second Karabakh War in 2020 shattered that artificial equilibrium. Azerbaijan’s victory upended the logic of regional security and exposed the futility of the external mediation model. A sustainable peace, it became clear, could only emerge if it were built by the region itself, not imposed from the outside.
Since then, Baku has pursued exactly that vision — a strategy of regional responsibility for regional security. This model rests on three pillars:
– Military-technological superiority as a guarantor of peace;
– Infrastructure integration through energy, transport, and communication corridors;
– Multilayered diplomacy, spanning from Turkey and Central Asia to the United States and Europe.
The 2025 declaration signed in Washington is a natural extension of this policy. It marks a shift from dependency to recognition — acknowledging Azerbaijan not as a client, but as an independent power center.
Yet, as international experience shows, peace endures not because of guarantors, but because of parity. Even the most solemn treaties collapse when power is out of balance. The durability of the Baku–İrəvan deal lies in Azerbaijan’s ability to sustain credible deterrence across military, political, and economic dimensions.
Military Power as a Framework for Peace
In today’s world, peace is stable only when the cost of war is unbearable for both sides. Azerbaijan has achieved exactly that equilibrium — not through foreign guarantees, but through strategic capability.
Following its 2020 victory, Baku shifted toward a doctrine of strategic deterrence built on technological dominance and alliance integration. According to Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Finance, the defense budget for 2025 reached 7.9 billion manats — projected to rise to 8.7 billion in 2026. That’s nearly 5 percent of GDP, higher than most NATO members. By comparison, Armenia spends around $1.46 billion — roughly 4.2 percent of its GDP — but with limited access to modern technology and poor interoperability, those numbers mean far less in practice.
The 21st-Century Army: From Manpower to Mindpower
Between 2021 and 2025, Azerbaijan restructured its defense sector from a conscription-heavy model to a professional, high-tech military. The focus is on integration — drones, satellite reconnaissance, cybersecurity, air defense, and automated command systems.
A key breakthrough has been the creation of a unified network-centric warfare system — a command structure where real-time intelligence flows seamlessly from drones and satellites to strike platforms. Joint Turkish–Azerbaijani “TurAz Qartalı” exercises demonstrated that both militaries now operate under a shared digital command and data architecture.
Armenia, by contrast, remains trapped in its Soviet-era command model — slow, centralized, and unable to transmit data across units in real time.
Air Superiority: Technology as a Peace Guarantee
Air dominance is the cornerstone of deterrence. Azerbaijan’s deal to purchase 40 JF-17 Thunder Block III fighter jets from Pakistan — a joint Pakistani–Chinese project — marks a historic shift in regional air power. Equipped with AESA radar, advanced electronic warfare systems, and long-range PL-15 and SD-10 missiles, the JF-17s represent a leap ahead.
Armenia’s planned acquisition of 10–12 Indian Su-30MKI fighters, a “4+ generation” platform dependent on Russian components, tells a different story. With Russia under sanctions and supply chains disrupted, maintaining those jets will be expensive and logistically uncertain. Armenia’s previous experience with its four Su-30SMs was already dismal — they never became operational due to lack of infrastructure and weapons.
In short, the JF-17s are game-changers; the Su-30s are a political gesture.
Meanwhile, Azerbaijan is building an integrated air-control system that fuses Israeli, Turkish, and Pakistani technologies — linking reconnaissance drones, fighter aircraft, and missile defense into a single command web. The result is layered visibility: the ability to see, track, and strike across air, land, and communications in real time.
Geo-Economics of Security
Military resilience rests on economic stability. Azerbaijan’s GDP in 2024 stood at $86.1 billion — more than double Armenia’s $22.3 billion. With a positive trade balance (exports $36.5 billion, imports $17.9 billion), Azerbaijan’s economy projects both fiscal and political confidence. Armenia, meanwhile, runs a chronic trade deficit and imports most of its energy and industrial goods.
Azerbaijan’s energy network — the Southern Gas Corridor, TAP, TANAP, Baku–Tbilisi–Ceyhan — isn’t just a set of pipelines. It’s a shield. The more Europe depends on Azerbaijani gas, the stronger Baku’s political guarantees become.
Armenia’s economy, by contrast, leans heavily on remittances — up to 12 percent of GDP, according to the World Bank — and external loans. Its industrial base is weak; its tech investment scattered. Even with higher defense spending, Armenia cannot sustain a long-term arms race. Its pivot to France and India is an attempt to substitute strength with sympathy — but dependency wrapped in diplomacy remains dependency.
External Actors and the New Geopolitics of the South Caucasus
The South Caucasus in 2025 is not merely a postwar region. It’s a new crossroads of global interests — where U.S., Turkish, Russian, Chinese, Indian, and European strategies collide. The Washington peace declaration between Azerbaijan and Armenia symbolizes a rare inversion of power dynamics: for once, it’s the regional players — not the great powers — who are setting the terms of the future.
1. United States: the “smart balance” strategy
By signing the peace declaration, Washington reclaimed not just the role of arbiter but of architect of regional stability. Yet the U.S. approach under the second Trump administration is markedly different from the Obama and Biden eras. Where previous administrations pushed a model of “democratic reconstruction” across the post-Soviet space, the current White House bets on a realist balance: backing regional centers of power capable of providing their own security.
In that logic, Azerbaijan has become a natural U.S. partner. First, it controls energy arteries linking the Caspian to the Mediterranean. Second, it has demonstrated the ability to conduct independent policy without falling into dependence on either Moscow or Tehran.
For Washington, this formula is convenient: rather than permanent military footprints, the emphasis is on economic, energy, and technological partnerships. In 2025 U.S. investment in Azerbaijan’s energy sector topped $3.2 billion, and bilateral trade reached $1.1 billion. Small in absolute terms, these figures matter strategically: the U.S. sees Baku not only as an energy exporter but as a key node in infrastructure that can counterbalance Iran and blunt Russian influence.
2. Turkey: from alliance to institutional integration
Turkey’s role in shaping the new South Caucasus architecture cannot be overstated. If Ankara was, after 2020, a guarantor of Azerbaijan’s security, by 2025 it has become a co-author of regional integration. Joint development of defense systems, creation of an integrated air-defense coordination center, and the “Şahdağ Defense” program are more than military projects — they are steps toward a shared defense space.
Trade between Azerbaijan and Turkey surpassed $7.5 billion in 2025 and is projected to reach $10 billion by 2026. New energy projects under TANAP and cooperative exploration in the Caspian are under way.
Turkey has also become the hub for coordinating transport initiatives — the Zangezur corridor, Trans-Caspian routes, and the Turan economic belt. Collectively, these projects forge a new axis of integration linking the Caucasus, Central Asia, and Europe.
3. Russia: loss of monopoly and a search for a new role
For Moscow, the declaration was a bitter symbol of waning influence. Russia long treated the South Caucasus as its exclusive sphere, but since 2022 — amid the Ukraine war and sanctions pressure — the Kremlin’s resources have been strained.
Armenia, long security-dependent on Russia, has visibly distanced itself. Fewer Russian military advisers, a pause in CSTO participation, and the gradual withdrawal of the 102nd base from Gyumri are surface signs. More fundamentally, Russia is losing not just an ally but the instrument of regional control.
Azerbaijan, by contrast, pursues pragmatic ties with Moscow based on energy and logistics rather than political dependence. Russia remains interested in keeping transit corridors open and maintaining supplies through Azerbaijani territory, but it lacks effective levers of coercion.
In the new configuration, Russia has ceded not only military but also political monopoly in the Caucasus.
4. India and France: a coalition of symbols
Armenia’s outreach to India and France reflects a diversification strategy, but its strategic payoff is limited.
France mobilizes Armenian issues for domestic and electoral politics, courting the Armenian diaspora and signalling independence from U.S. influence within the EU. Militarily, however, Paris cannot deliver comprehensive support: arms deliveries are constrained and logistical reach is limited.
India views Armenia as a showcase for its defense technology and as a foothold in Eurasia. Contracts for air-defense systems and Su-30MKIs are primarily marketing plays. In a real conflict, those deliveries are unlikely to alter the operational balance.
5. China: cautious support for stability
China acts with customary caution. Its primary aim is to preserve stability across routes crucial to Belt and Road logistics. For Beijing, Azerbaijan is not merely an energy partner but a bridge to Europe. Chinese investments in Azerbaijani infrastructure reached $1.8 billion in 2024, including terminals at Alyat port and upgrades to the Baku–Tbilisi–Kars rail link.
Beijing supports post-conflict settlement while avoiding political entanglement: for China, peace in the Caucasus is above all predictability in logistics.
Air balance after the Washington declaration: Su-30 versus JF-17 and the real air force profiles of Armenia and Azerbaijan
After the August 8 declaration at the White House brokered by U.S. President Donald Trump, both sides took concrete steps toward a stable peace. While a final, comprehensive treaty remains pending, Azerbaijan and Armenia have publicly declared the long conflict over. Unlike many international precedents, these agreements were reached without intensive external imposition — a pattern consistent with the historical lesson that even superpower guarantees do not always secure durable peace. The real guarantor is strategic balance and political will. Today, Azerbaijan’s military potential is the decisive factor that prevents any credible revanchist scenario from Armenia.
Since 2020 Baku has pursued modernization, professionalization, and acquisition of advanced systems, solidifying deterrence. By 2026 Azerbaijan’s defense budget reaches 8.7 billion manats — roughly double the 2021 level — with clear priorities: air defense, aviation, C4ISR, and unmanned systems. Armenia’s one-off boost in 2024–2025 (in the $1.6–1.7 billion range) gave a temporary impulse, but following the declaration Yerevan announced a roughly 16 percent cut in its 2026 defense spending — an implicit admission that an arms race with a wealthier opponent risks macroeconomic instability.
In this context, control of the air is not metaphorical; it is infrastructure. Air superiority and the quality of command-and-control networks set the baseline for every scenario, from crisis containment to escalation. Below is a focused comparison of Armenia’s potential heavy purchases (Su-30 family “Flanker” in Indian spec) versus Azerbaijan’s new aviation core (JF-17 Block III), and the present and projected air force compositions on both sides.
1) Su-30MKI vs. JF-17 Block III: not “heavy vs. light” but “platform vs. system”
Role and class. The Su-30MKI is a heavy, twin-engine, long-range multirole fighter produced under license by India’s HAL; it was designed for long patrols, long-range interception, and deep-strike missions with a large weapons load. The JF-17 Block III, a modern lightweight multirole developed jointly by Pakistan and China, is optimized for network-centric warfare: a digital architecture, AESA radar, access to new long-range air-to-air missiles, tactical flexibility, and a lower life-cycle cost. The Su-30MKI carries more fuel and munitions and demands greater investment in sustainment, infrastructure, and training. The JF-17 B3 is lighter, cheaper, and faster to scale — critical for states that need rapid expansion of sortie capacity and fleet size.
Radars and situational awareness. In baseline form, the Su-30MKI uses the N011M “Bars” passive phased-array radar, capable of tracking multiple targets and providing air-to-surface cueing. India’s “Super Sukhoi” upgrade contemplates AESA retrofits and electronic warfare enhancements, but that program serves India’s own fleet and is costly and time-consuming — not an immediate export solution.
The JF-17 Block III already rolls off production lines with the Chinese KLJ-7A AESA, integrated on a digital bus with EW suites and helmet-mounted cueing. Public specs show detection, tracking, and target-cueing capabilities for long-range BVR missiles and native integration into external sensor networks (UAVs, ground radars, AWACS). AESA plus a programmable cockpit architecture is the key to resilience under jamming and to rapid integration of new weapons.
Air-to-air armament. The Su-30MKI in Indian service can field Astra family missiles and legacy R-77/R-73 types depending on variant. The sticking point for Armenia would be supply chains, licenses, and integration channels: sanctions pressure on Russian defense industries and India’s own export priorities complicate delivery of a full, ready-to-fight package.
The JF-17 Block III is oriented toward Chinese long-range BVR missiles in the export PL-15E class (some sources cite ranges beyond 140 km) and the SD-10. That pairing — AESA radar plus modern BVR missiles — gives a substantive jump in engagement envelope. For Azerbaijan, which bought a sizeable JF-17 B3 tranche, this enables layered aerial interception and a “long arm” capability without dependence on Russian munitions ecosystems.
1. United States: A “Smart Balance” Strategy
By signing the peace declaration, Washington recast itself not just as an arbiter but as the architect of regional stability. The approach under Trump’s second term differs sharply from the Obama and Biden years. Where previous administrations leaned into “democratic reconstruction” across the post-Soviet space, the current White House favors a realist balance—backing regional power centers that can secure their own neighborhoods.
Within that framework, Azerbaijan is a natural partner. It sits astride energy corridors linking the Caspian to the Mediterranean and has shown it can pursue an independent course without drifting into dependence on either Moscow or Tehran.
For Washington, the formula is straightforward: swap permanent troop footprints for economic, energy, and technology partnerships. In 2025, U.S. investment in Azerbaijan’s energy sector topped $3.2 billion, and bilateral trade hit $1.1 billion. Modest in raw terms, those numbers carry outsized strategic weight. The U.S. increasingly sees Baku not just as a resource exporter but as a key node in anti-Iran and counter-Russia infrastructure.
2. Turkey: From Alliance to Institutional Integration
Turkey’s role in shaping the South Caucasus’ new architecture is hard to overstate. If, after 2020, Ankara served as Azerbaijan’s security backstop, by 2025 it’s a co-author of regional integration. Joint defense development, an integrated air-defense coordination center, and the “Şahdağ Defense” program aren’t just military projects—they’re building blocks of a shared defense space.
Trade between Azerbaijan and Turkey surpassed $7.5 billion in 2025 and is on track to reach $10 billion by 2026. Energy cooperation is deepening through TANAP and new co-exploration deals in the Caspian.
Ankara has also become the clearinghouse for transport initiatives—the Zangezur corridor, the Trans-Caspian route, and the Turan economic belt—effectively creating a new axis of integration linking the Caucasus, Central Asia, and Europe.
3. Russia: Losing the Monopoly, Searching for a New Role
For Moscow, the declaration is a stinging marker of diminished clout. Russia long treated the South Caucasus as an exclusive sphere. Since 2022—under the strain of the Ukraine war and sanctions—that dominance has eroded.
Armenia, traditionally reliant on Russia for security, has pulled away: fewer Russian military advisers, a pause in CSTO activity, and a gradual drawdown at the 102nd base in Gyumri. Beyond the optics, Russia is losing not just a partner but the toolset it used to manage the region.
Azerbaijan, meanwhile, keeps relations pragmatic—energy and logistics over political dependence. Moscow still needs transit corridors and supply routes through Azerbaijani territory, but its leverage is thin.
Bottom line: Russia’s military and political monopoly in the Caucasus is gone.
4. India and France: A Coalition of Symbols
Armenia’s push to diversify partners has drawn it closer to India and France, but the strategic payout is limited.
Paris leverages Armenian issues for domestic and electoral politics, appealing to the diaspora and signaling independence within the EU. Militarily, its support for İrəvan is constrained: deliveries are small, logistics are narrow.
India, for its part, sees Armenia as a showroom for defense tech and a foothold in Eurasia. Contracts for air-defense systems and Su-30MKI fighters are as much marketing as strategy. In a real fight, these deals wouldn’t meaningfully shift the operational balance.
5. China: Cautious Support for Stability
China moves with familiar caution. Its core interest is keeping stable the routes that feed Belt and Road logistics. For Beijing, Azerbaijan is more than an energy partner—it’s a bridge to Europe. Chinese investment in Azerbaijani infrastructure reached $1.8 billion in 2024, including new terminals at Alyat port and upgrades to the Baku–Tbilisi–Kars rail line.
Beijing backs post-conflict normalization without political entanglements. Peace in the Caucasus, for China, is a synonym for predictable logistics.
Air Power After the Washington Declaration: Su-30 vs. JF-17 and the Real Force Structure in Armenia and Azerbaijan
After the August 8 signing at the White House, brokered by U.S. President Donald Trump, both sides took concrete steps toward a stable peace. A final treaty is still pending, but Azerbaijan and Armenia have formally declared the long conflict over. Crucially, these understandings were reached without heavy external micromanagement—a reminder that even superpower guarantees don’t make peace stick. Strategic balance and political will do. In that balance, Azerbaijan’s military capacity is the decisive factor deterring any credible revanşist scenario from Armenia. Since 2020, Baku’s drive for modernization, professionalization, and advanced weapons has locked in durable deterrence. By 2026, Azerbaijan’s defense budget reaches 8.7 billion manats—nearly double 2021 levels—with clear priorities: air defense, aviation, C4ISR, and unmanned systems. Armenia, after a one-off spending bump in 2024–2025 of roughly $1.6–$1.7 billion, has announced a 2026 defense cut of about 16 percent—an implicit admission that an arms race with a stronger economy is a budgetary dead end.
In this environment, air power isn’t a metaphor—it’s the infrastructure of peace. Air superiority and a robust command-and-information network set the baseline for everything from crisis management to escalation. Here’s the apples-to-apples read on Armenia’s likely heavy buy (Indian-spec Su-30 “Flanker”) versus Azerbaijan’s emerging core (JF-17 Block III), plus where both air forces stand now and where they’re headed.
Range, Payload, and Mission Profile
Yes, the Su-30MKI wins on maximum warload and fuel—long-range, deep-strike, with serious maritime and standoff punch. But for Armenia, which lacks a mature logistics backbone and an established aerial refueling ecosystem, running a heavy twin-engine fleet “to spec” turns into a budget black box. The JF-17 B3 carries less per sortie, but it wins on cost per flight hour, turnaround speed, and basing flexibility.
Life-Cycle Costs and Technology Risk
The Su-30MKI is inherently more expensive to own and operate, with supply chains yoked to Russia and India (engines, spares, depot-level maintenance). To get those jets truly combat-ready, Armenia would need what it doesn’t currently have: hardened shelters, spare-parts pipelines, certified weapons, sims and training, engineering crews, and engine-service agreements. Azerbaijan’s starting logic is different: a large JF-17 B3 buy and a shift toward a unified fleet, scalable sustainment contracts, and integration into an existing Turkish-Israeli networked C2 and air-defense ecosystem.
Real-World Lessons: Kashmir
Indian Su-30MKIs have faced Pakistani platforms—including the JF-17—in real conflict over Kashmir and in subsequent exercises. Public takeaways on the “Flanker’s” advantages proved far more mixed than the brochures suggested, while Pakistan doubled down on BVR tactics and network effects. The signal for Armenia is clear: a heavy airframe without munitions depth, network architecture, and an air-defense umbrella is a pricey showroom piece, not a panacea.
Platform Verdict
The Su-30MKI is a powerful heavy tool—if it comes with a full, expensive ecosystem: munitions stockpiles, sustainment, simulators, upgrades, AWACS support, layered air defense, and reliable logistics. The JF-17 B3 is a “system” tool for a state building a network-centric force at a sensible life-cycle cost, with scale and software-driven agility. For Armenia, the former means outsized risk on money and time. For Azerbaijan, the latter fits hand-in-glove with existing infrastructure and allied interoperability.
2) Armenia’s Air Force: Fleet Limits and Operational Bottlenecks
Current fleet and track record. Armenia’s splashiest buy in recent years—four Su-30SMs delivered from Russia just before the 2020 war—famously arrived without full air-to-air missile kits when hostilities broke out. The jets sat on the ramp as unarmed “white elephants,” a point acknowledged publicly.
Switching suppliers. As ties with Moscow frayed and deliveries slipped, İrəvan explored an India track—from air defense to aviation. Media in India and the region routinely teased “serious talks” over Su-30MKIs for Armenia and floated a narrative about “restoring balance” with 10–12 aircraft. Mostly, that’s political messaging and media theater—not backed by the funding and infrastructure needed for a complete combat package.
Structural constraints. Even under an accelerated Su-30MKI purchase, Armenia’s Air Force hits three hard walls:
— Basing and sustainment. Engines, components, test stands, and depot capacity would take years and durable contracts to stand up.
— Munitions and training. A2A and A2G stocks, certification, integration, flight hours, and tactics development all take time—time the region’s crisis tempo doesn’t guarantee.
— The network layer. Without AWACS, robust medium-/long-range air defense, and secure comms, a heavy platform can’t cash in its theoretical advantages.
Budget math. With a declared 2026 defense cut (~16 percent), any heavy fleet becomes chronic budget pressure: higher flight-hour costs, thinner margins for error, and acute dependence on foreign vendors. Symbolism begins to outweigh combat utility.
3) Azerbaijan’s Air Force: From “Umbrella” to “Network”
Contracts and refresh rate. In 2024–2025, Azerbaijan inked and reaffirmed JF-17 Block III deals, showcased the jet at ADEX in Baku, and publicly floated a figure up to 40 aircraft including training and weapons. Translation: Baku is moving from “piecemeal upgrades” to a scalable, standardized fighter core—crucial for higher sortie rates and lower hourly costs.
Radar-missile pairing. The AESA + PL-15E/SD-10 package dramatically extends the interception “long arm.” Tied into ground radar grids, UAV reconnaissance, and Turkish-Pakistani cooperation, the result is an air-management system—not just a handful of squadrons.
C4ISR and interoperability. Since 2020, Azerbaijan has built an integrated web: UAVs (strike and ISR), EW, air defense, Turkish and Israeli tech, and training for networked scenarios. In that architecture, any new manned platform is another smart node—very different from the “buy a few heavies and call it dominance” approach.
Fleet economics. The JF-17 B3 path buys “many capable shooters” instead of “a few very heavy ones.” Life-cycle costs—including spares, upgrades, and training—stay manageable without cannibalizing air defense and artillery budgets. That avoids a lopsided force.
4) Force-on-Force: Size, Readiness, Operations
Numbers and structure. Historically, Azerbaijan leaned on MiG-29s and Su-25s, reinforced by UAVs and precision munitions. The pivot to JF-17 B3 creates a clean fighter core. Armenia fields a tiny Su-30SM contingent and a residual fleet with uneven airframe hours and upgrade paths. Azerbaijan’s engineering depth and simulator base are broader, thanks to higher flight tempo, more types, and allied training programs.
Readiness and tempo. Combat outcomes hinge less on brochure ceilings and max payloads than on runway readiness: how many jets you can launch per hour and how many turnarounds you can safely execute in a day. A light, standardized fleet with short sustainment loops gives Azerbaijan a tempo edge and tighter risk control. Armenia’s small heavy fleet without full support is slow to cycle and brittle under stress.
Information advantage. Azerbaijan’s fused network of UAVs, ground radars, air defense, and manned jets already exists. In that setup, even a heavy “Flanker” showing up over the theater lands inside a “glass dome” of sensors and paired fires. Conversely, a JF-17 B3 embedded in the network gains effectiveness you won’t find in its spec sheet.
Air defense as a force multiplier. Regional air combat isn’t a string of fighter duels; it’s “air defense + UAVs + fighters” acting in concert. Baku built its air-defense and radar lattice as a core system, boosting fighter survivability and shrinking the value of isolated heavy adversary platforms.
5) Why “10–12 Su-30s for Armenia” Don’t Change the Math
— No path to mass. Even 10–12 Su-30MKIs don’t deliver scale. Without scale, you can’t sustain tempo, rotate crews, or absorb losses.
— Incomplete power package. Without AWACS, resilient comms, and layered air defense, heavies can’t fully exploit BVR reach and are vulnerable to networked traps—false targets, radar deception, and blended UAV/ground fires.
— Logistics and budget drag. Engines, EW, diagnostics, and munitions demand contracts and cash that a tightening budget can’t cover without crowding out air defense, artillery, and communications. Every flight hour becomes a finance-ministry debate.
— Political supply turbulence. Dual dependence on Russia and India invites sanctions and timing risks. Even with goodwill in Delhi and Moscow, schedules and loadouts will slip—and timing is everything in spinning up a combat-ready squadron.
— The 2019–2020 Su-30SM lesson. “Jets without missiles” wasn’t a metaphor. Without holistic planning, aircraft turn into white elephants.
6) Why “40 JF-17s for Azerbaijan” Do Change the Math
— Scalability. Batch deliveries, unified spares, a common simulator pipeline, and standardized training accelerate combat readiness.
— Networked warfare. AESA + long-range BVR + integration with UAVs and air defense creates continuous sensing and continuous strike.
— Sustainable ops. Flight-hour and maintenance costs support high sortie rates without gutting air-defense or ground-force budgets.
— Allied compatibility. Turkish-Pakistani and Israeli tech ecosystems mean access to tactics, upgrades, and know-how without single-vendor vulnerability.
— Doctrinal fit. Azerbaijan’s postwar doctrine—deterrence through tech and networks—maps perfectly onto the JF-17 B3 philosophy.
7) Four Takeaways for Policymakers and Planners
- Air superiority is a system property, not a single-airframe trick. The Su-30MKI shines inside India-scale ecosystems; Armenia has no such ecosystem in view. The JF-17 B3 scales inside the network Azerbaijan is already building.
- Mass and tempo beat brochure “maximums.” Ten heavies without the ecosystem lose to forty networked light fighters you can keep in the air in shifts.
- Budget resilience is combat power. Armenia’s cuts paired with a heavy fleet create structural imbalance. Azerbaijan’s “air defense + JF-17 + UAV” mix saves money and boosts real-world readiness.
- “Restoring balance with Su-30s” is a political storyline, not a military plan. South Asian experience—where Su-30MKIs have faced Chinese-Pakistani platforms—shows the advantages aren’t decisive without the ecosystem. On the Caucasus stage, that’s even truer.
8) Working Scenarios for 2026–2028 (Air and Air Defense)
Scenario A: Peace consolidation. Azerbaijan fields two to three JF-17 B3 squadrons, strengthens medium-range air defense, and fuses UAV feeds into a single operational picture. Armenia opts for selective buys and focuses on short-range air defense and EW. Escalation risk stays minimal: İrəvan’s costs are too high; Baku’s mission is to maintain the “dome” and run the force economically.
Scenario B: Symbolic militarization in Armenia. İrəvan takes a small batch of Su-30MKIs (or upgrades Su-30SMs) without full munitions or AWACS. The balance doesn’t budge, but media noise rises and lobbying pressure grows for new loans and grants.
Scenario C: An air-defense tech leap by one side. Most likely in Azerbaijan via better sensor networks and tighter integration of SAMs with aviation and UAVs. The stronger “umbrella” suppresses heavy platforms preemptively—without resorting to fighter-on-fighter duels.
Who Owns the Sky?
In the South Caucasus today, airspace isn’t defined by flag colors but by the engineers and planners wiring the region’s technology. Azerbaijan is building a system where the JF-17 Block III is only the visible tip of the spear. Beneath it lies the stack that matters: air defenses, radar coverage, UAVs, secure comms, staff analytics, and logistics. Armenia, by contrast, is debating a platform without an ecosystem—banking on symbols and outside help. The sight of Russian-made fighters firing Indian missiles over Armenian territory wouldn’t flip the balance; that’s a political gesture, not a military game-changer. Yerevan wants to signal it has options beyond Moscow, but technically, economically, and operationally it can’t keep pace with Azerbaijan’s rising capacity. In this race for air dominance, Armenia hasn’t even left the runway—it’s still in preflight.
Air Power Is the Backbone of Peace
The Washington declaration isn’t upheld by paper; it’s upheld by power. And in this balance, airpower gets the final say. Whoever controls the sky controls strategic initiative. Azerbaijan grasped that early and bet not on raw metal but on integration—on a system where every component works as a single organism: fighter, drone, radar, SAM battery, analysis cell. That is modern defense: not a showroom of aircraft but an architecture of superiority.
Armenia’s Symbols vs. Azerbaijan’s System
Armenia is retracing an old path—costly symbols without infrastructure, showcase buys without a doctrine. Even if Su-30MKIs touchdown on Armenian airfields, they won’t automatically become a credible deterrent. Without logistics, without integration into air defense, without modern ISR and resilient communications, those jets are heavy, isolated islands in the sky.
Azerbaijan is moving in the opposite direction—toward technological autonomy. Its alignment with Turkey, Pakistan, and Israel turns combat aviation into a node of networked power, where every sortie, every sensor ping, every command decision is synchronized in real time. This is no longer just a national air force; it’s a military ecosystem in which software, electronics, and strategy act in concert.
Deterrence That Keeps the Peace
Here’s the paradox that really isn’t one: durable military superiority in Baku is now the main guarantee of peace in the Caucasus. It removes the temptation of revanche, cools hot heads, and renders war economically, technologically, and morally pointless. With modern hardware and a growing knowledge base, Azerbaijan won’t just defend its own airspace; it will set the region’s security standards.
The 21st-Century Formula
Air superiority isn’t a tool of aggression; it’s an instrument of peace. In the 21st century, it’s secured not by counting jets but by data speed, decision precision, and doctrinal maturity. Azerbaijan has already internalized that formula. Armenia is still looking for a foothold in the sky—without recognizing that airspace today is ruled less by brute force than by intelligence.