As the war in Ukraine grinds into its fourth summer, and with Russia showing no sign of retreat, two of NATO’s largest European powers—Britain and Germany—are once again searching for common ground.

Today, Monday July 21st, Defence Secretary James Cartlidge and his German counterpart Boris Pistorius convene a high-level virtual summit to discuss the next phase of military support to Kyiv. The meeting, though billed as routine, carried a tone of urgency and unease that has become increasingly characteristic of Western diplomacy on Ukraine.

This is not the first time London and Berlin have tried to align their war aims, but seldom has the geopolitical mood music been quite so discordant. Ukraine’s counteroffensive in 2024, though tactically bold, fell short of its strategic aims. Russia remains entrenched across a swathe of occupied territory, and Ukraine’s increasingly strained military capacity has become the elephant in the NATO war room.

What British and German defence leaders are attempting to manage now is twofold: the hard military reality on the ground and the growing political fatigue at home. Each presents its own set of complications. Taken together, they form the greatest test of European wartime unity since the invasion began in February 2022.

Diverging Traditions, Converging Pressures

The Anglo-German defence relationship has long been marked by difference as much as cooperation. Britain, boasting one of Europe’s most agile expeditionary forces, was among the first to send heavy weapons to Ukraine. It has emphasised speed, lethality, and deterrence. Germany, meanwhile, has moved more cautiously—hamstrung in part by its own history, and in part by the operational limitations of its long-neglected Bundeswehr.

In the early days of the war, these differences were a source of friction. Berlin’s reluctance to approve Leopard tank deliveries in early 2023 drew criticism from London and others, even as German industrial capacity ultimately outpaced Britain’s in terms of ammunition production and logistical depth. But what was once a matter of style has become one of substance: as Ukraine enters a phase of attritional war that could last years, the question is no longer who can move quickly, but who can endure.

That, in essence, was the unspoken theme of Monday’s virtual summit.

According to officials briefed on the talks, the two ministers focused not just on fresh arms packages but on “long-term sustainment”—a bureaucratic term that now encompasses everything from artillery shell stockpiles to the financial structures underpinning Kyiv’s war economy. Cartlidge, a pragmatic and hawkish figure, is said to have emphasised the need for renewed British investment in next-generation drones and electronic warfare tools. Pistorius, whose political star has risen with Germany’s shift away from pacifism, underscored the importance of ramping up training and maintenance programmes for Ukrainian crews using NATO-standard equipment.

Both agreed, crucially, on the need to “insulate” Ukraine from shifts in American policy.

Washington’s Shadow

Looming over the discussion is the spectre of the second Trump presidency. Though NATO as an institution has grown stronger—Finland and Sweden have joined, and collective spending has finally crossed the 2% GDP threshold—Europe’s leaders are no longer betting on American constancy.

This has created what one senior UK defence official described as a “window of limited alignment.” Put simply, Berlin and London believe they must agree now on how to keep Ukraine in the fight, in case Washington steps back after January 2025.

To that end, Monday’s meeting was more than symbolic. British officials floated a proposal to set up a joint UK-German defence procurement hub specifically for Ukraine—a clearing house of sorts to coordinate supply lines, avoid duplication, and pool resources for critical systems like air defence, armoured vehicles, and drones.

Germany, for its part, is pushing for a pan-European military aid commitment for Ukraine, similar in scale and structure to the EU’s pandemic-era recovery fund. This proposal, though still nascent, would mark a fundamental shift in how Europe treats defence funding—not as a national burden, but as a collective obligation.

The idea has gained traction in Brussels, but the UK, now outside the EU, is wary of being left on the periphery. Hence its push to deepen bilateral links with Germany and France, and to anchor itself as the indispensable transatlantic bridge.

Strategic Dilemmas

Yet for all the talk of unity, fissures remain. One of the most contentious topics between London and Berlin is what to do if Ukraine is unable to reclaim its territory—particularly Crimea and parts of Donbas—by the end of 2025.

Officially, both countries support Ukraine’s maximalist goal of full territorial restoration. Unofficially, defence planners are increasingly entertaining a range of less ideal outcomes, including a de facto armistice along current lines of control. The longer the war drags on, the more the question shifts from “How do we help Ukraine win?” to “What does ‘winning’ even look like?”

This matters enormously for planning purposes. British military doctrine remains oriented around manoeuvre warfare and offensive capability. German doctrine, meanwhile, is still adapting to the realities of a major ground war. The degree to which both countries are willing to recalibrate their strategic assumptions—on NATO readiness, on defence procurement, on what is politically sellable at home—will determine whether their unity is more than just rhetorical.

Public Opinion and Political Will

Both governments face domestic constraints. In the UK, support for Ukraine remains high, but inflationary pressures and a weary electorate mean war fatigue is creeping in at the margins. A recent YouGov poll showed that while 62% of Britons still back military aid, that number has dropped steadily from its 2022 high of 78%. With a general election likely in early 2026, ministers are increasingly sensitive to the optics of foreign spending when public services at home are under strain.

In Germany, the political landscape is more volatile. The governing coalition is under pressure from both the Left and the populist AfD, which has used the war to stoke nationalist sentiment and question Berlin’s priorities. Pistorius, while widely respected, walks a political tightrope. His push for rearmament and foreign aid must navigate a parliament still wary of military adventurism.

A Test of European Maturity

What makes the Anglo-German summit noteworthy is not that it happened, but the context in which it did. For decades, European defence strategy has rested on two assumptions: that America would always lead, and that serious war on the continent was a thing of the past. Both assumptions are now obsolete. What replaces them is still a matter of intense debate.

Cartlidge and Pistorius are not revolutionaries. They are, in many ways, the product of institutions still struggling to adjust to the pace of geopolitical change. But their meeting marks another step in what may eventually be remembered as Europe’s coming-of-age moment—when it moved from reacting to shaping the course of its own defence.

The question now is whether these conversations can be translated into action. If they are, Ukraine may yet find in Europe the anchor it needs to outlast Russian aggression. If not, future historians may look back at such meetings as well-meaning but ultimately too late.

For now, the frontline is not just in Donetsk or Zaporizhzhia—it runs through Brussels, Berlin, and London. And whether the West still has the will to hold that line remains the defining question of our age.