Latest / The Story of Armenia: Survival Through Empires and Genocide — Fexingo History / The Armenian Air Force of 1918: Pilots, Planes, and a Desperate Fight
Transcript
- Lucas: When we talk about the First Republic of Armenia — those desperate years from 1918 to 1920 — we usually focus on the ground war. Sardarabad, the fedayeen, the Treaty of Batum. But there's a whole other dimension that almost nobody knows about: Armenia had an air force. Luna: An air force? In 1918? How? Lucas: Exactly. It sounds impossible. The republic had no money, no army to speak of, and was literally fighting for survival. But somehow, a handful of pilots — Armenians, Russians, even some French — got their hands on a few planes and started flying combat missions over the Caucasus. Lucas: The key figure here is a man named Stepan Melkonian. He's considered the first Armenian military pilot. He learned to fly in Russia before the revolution, and when the First Republic was declared, he made his way back to Yerevan. Luna: What kind of planes did they have? Lucas: Mostly French and Russian models left over from the Great War. Nieuport 17s, Farman F.60 Goliaths — those big, boxy biplanes that looked like they were held together with string. Some were salvaged from Russian airfields, others were donated by French officers who sympathized with the Armenian cause. Lucas: The first Armenian airfield was just a flat stretch of ground near Yerevan. No hangars, no runways, nothing. Mechanics worked in the open, fixing engines with parts stripped from crashed planes. It was improvisation all the way. Luna: Did they actually see combat? Lucas: Absolutely. In the summer of 1918, while the Ottoman army was pushing toward Yerevan, Armenian pilots flew reconnaissance missions over Sardarabad. They spotted Turkish troop movements and dropped hand grenades — literally, just lobbed grenades over the side of the cockpit — on enemy positions. Lucas: There's a report from August 1918: an Armenian Farman bomber attacked a Turkish column near Sardarabad, killing several soldiers and causing panic. It was more psychological than destructive, but it mattered. The Turks had no air cover, so those few planes gave Armenia a real advantage. Luna: How many planes did they have at their peak? Lucas: Probably no more than a dozen, and not all were operational at once. But they kept flying. In 1919, when the republic was struggling to hold its borders against Georgia and Azerbaijan, the air force bombed Georgian positions near the border. And in 1920, during the Turkish invasion, they struck Kars and Alexandropol. Lucas: But it wasn't just bombing. They also dropped leaflets in Turkish and Russian, calling on enemy soldiers to desert. Psychological warfare from the air. Luna: So who were these pilots? Lucas: A mix. Some were ethnic Armenians from Russia, like Melkonian. Others were Russian officers who fled the Bolsheviks and joined the Armenian army. A few were even French volunteers from the Allied mission in the Caucasus. One of the most famous was a Russian named Colonel G. V. Mgeladze, who became commander of the Armenian air force. Luna: What happened to them after the Red Army took over? Lucas: That's the tragic part. When the Red Army invaded in late 1920, most of the pilots evacuated to the south. Stepan Melkonian died in a plane crash in November 1920 — some say it was an accident, others suspect sabotage. A few pilots managed to escape to Iran or Georgia. The rest were captured and executed or imprisoned by the Bolsheviks. Lucas: The Armenian air force ceased to exist. But for a brief moment, it was a real fighting force. And it shows you how far a desperate nation would go to defend itself. Luna: It's incredible that they managed to pull that together at all, given everything else they were dealing with. Lucas: If today's episode gave you a new angle on that period — and honestly, if it felt like something you'd want more of — there's a link in the show notes. Buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. For the cost of a coffee, you keep this show ad-free and support the kind of deep-dive history you just heard. No pressure, but if it was worth it, that's the link. Luna: Absolutely. Every bit helps keep these stories alive. Lucas: So back to the pilots. One detail I love: the Armenian air force had its own insignia. A red, blue, and orange roundel — the national colors. It was painted on the fuselages of those rickety Nieuports. Imagine seeing that over the slopes of Mount Ararat in 1919. Luna: That must have been an incredible sight. A tiny republic with its own air force, fighting for its life. Lucas: And it wasn't just propaganda. Those planes gathered intelligence that saved lives. They spotted ambushes, directed artillery, and carried messages between isolated garrisons. In a war fought with rifles and horses, the air force was a glimpse of the future — even if the future was cut short. Luna: I've never heard about Melkonian before. What was his background? Lucas: He was born in 1886 in Shushi, in Artsakh — a region that's seen more than its share of conflict. He studied at a Russian military academy and qualified as a pilot in 1914. During World War I, he flew reconnaissance for the Russian army on the Caucasus Front. After the revolution, he made his way to Yerevan and offered his services to the new republic. Lucas: He wasn't just a pilot, either. He helped train the first generation of Armenian mechanics and ground crews. He personally salvaged planes from abandoned Russian bases. He was, by all accounts, a tireless organizer. Luna: And he died in that crash in 1920. Do we know the details? Lucas: Not many. He was flying a Nieuport 17 from Yerevan to Alexandropol when the engine failed. He tried to land, but the plane clipped a hillside and burned. He was 34. Some historians wonder if the engine was sabotaged by Bolshevik sympathizers, but there's no real evidence. It might just have been a mechanical failure on a worn-out plane. Luna: A fitting end for a force held together with spit and wire. Lucas: Exactly. The whole air force was like that. By 1920, they had maybe five operational planes. Two were destroyed in a Turkish bombing raid on the Yerevan airfield. But they kept flying until the very end. The last mission was on December 2, 1920 — the day Armenia surrendered to the Bolsheviks. Lucas: So when we talk about Armenian independence, we should remember not just the soldiers at Sardarabad, but also the handful of men who looked down from the clouds at Mount Ararat and thought, 'We can do this.' Luna: That's a powerful image to end on.