A brutal lesson is being taught daily over the skies of Ukraine. Swarms of Russian drones and volleys of cruise and ballistic missiles rain down on cities and infrastructure, testing not only Ukrainian resolve, but the adequacy of modern air defences in a 21st-century European war.

This is a lesson that ought to be heeded far more urgently in Berlin, Paris, Brussels and London. For the uncomfortable truth is this: Europe is woefully unprepared to withstand a Russian aerial onslaught without the United States.

For decades, European nations have taken shelter under the American nuclear and conventional umbrella. The NATO alliance has long rested on the assumption that U.S. forces, particularly the formidable array of American air and missile defence assets, would always be present in sufficient strength to deter or defeat any threat from the East. Now, with Donald Trump’s return to the White House, that assumption is crumbling fast. The question that follows is stark: can Europe stand on its own if the American shield is lifted?

A Patchwork Shield With Holes

Europe’s air and missile defences are a patchwork of nationally owned systems – some modern, others verging on obsolete – bound together by a fragile tissue of NATO coordination. In theory, the continent is protected by a multilayered architecture involving long-range systems like the U.S.-made Patriot and the newer German-led European Sky Shield Initiative (ESSI), medium-range defences such as France’s SAMP/T, and shorter-range point defence systems including Germany’s IRIS-T and Israel’s Iron Dome, which several NATO countries are now acquiring.

In practice, coverage is deeply uneven. A handful of countries , chiefly Germany, Poland, France and the UK, operate or are procuring advanced missile defences. Many others, particularly in southern and eastern Europe, remain dangerously exposed. Stockpiles are low. Procurement is sluggish. Interoperability remains more of a goal than a reality. And despite recent rhetorical unity, the will to fund and prioritise missile defence across the EU remains fragile.

Germany’s Sky Shield, launched in 2022, was billed as the backbone of a new European missile defence architecture. Backed by 21 countries, it envisages a tiered defence using the Israeli Arrow 3, the U.S. Patriot, and the German IRIS-T. But crucial players like France and Poland have opted out, citing concerns over duplication and loss of sovereignty. France, ever protective of its defence autonomy, is instead pushing its own systems in a microcosm of Europe’s chronic disunity.

The UK, while not part of Sky Shield, is taking parallel steps. RAF air defence assets remain capable, and procurement of new anti-drone and hypersonic-tracking technologies is underway. But British defence planners privately acknowledge that, in the event of a mass missile assault, the kind Kyiv faces almost daily, current capabilities would be rapidly overwhelmed.

Lessons from Ukraine — and Warnings

Ukraine’s experience is illuminating. With Western-provided Patriots, IRIS-Ts, NASAMS, and ageing Soviet-era systems like the S-300, Kyiv has created an impressive, if improvised, air defence network. It is managing to shoot down up to 90 per cent of incoming threats on good days. But even with Western assistance, the sheer volume of attacks takes its toll. Infrastructure is damaged. Civilians die. Interceptors run low.

Now transpose that experience to a NATO frontline state like Poland or the Baltic nations – or worse, to the cities of western Europe. The scale of devastation could be catastrophic unless a similar density of defences can be fielded – and fast. Currently, it cannot.

European militaries have far fewer interceptors than Ukraine, and replenishment times are glacial. In a high-intensity war, even well-stocked systems like Germany’s IRIS-T would be exhausted in days. Industry cannot produce enough to sustain the tempo. Supply chains remain fragile. And Europe, unlike Ukraine, may not be able to count on American backfilling if Trump pulls support.

A War Economy Without the War Industry

The root of Europe’s vulnerability is its underdeveloped defence industrial base. Decades of underinvestment, post-Cold War peace dividends, and a heavy reliance on U.S. imports have left European arms manufacturers ill-prepared for a wartime footing.

Yes, some progress has been made. Rheinmetall is building new factories in Germany and Hungary. MBDA, the missile consortium, has ramped up production of key systems like CAMM and Aster. France’s Dassault and Thales are accelerating delivery of radar and anti-air platforms. But even under current peacetime ramp-ups, Europe’s defence firms say it will take years and not months, to deliver sufficient quantities of interceptors, drones, radars and fire-control systems to fully equip NATO territory.

There is also the perennial problem of fragmentation. National export restrictions, differing standards, and a lack of joint procurement continue to stymie efficiency. The EU’s efforts to promote common defence projects have met some success, but remain hampered by bureaucracy and infighting. Without a radical shift to a true “war economy” akin to the U.S. mobilisation in World War II Europe simply cannot gear up quickly enough to meet a Russian threat on its own.

And make no mistake: Russia’s ability to produce and launch weapons remains disturbingly intact. Despite Western sanctions, Moscow is churning out cruise missiles, drones and glide bombs at scale, often with help from Iran, North Korea and Chinese dual-use components. The Kremlin has adapted its production model to a prolonged war footing. Europe, by contrast, still behaves as if peace is permanent.

Brussels: Built for Bureaucracy, not War

A further constraint is political. European decision-making, especially at the EU level, is not designed for wartime urgency. The European Commission may boast about its new defence directorates and plans for joint procurement, but its culture remains lethargic, legalistic and consensus-driven.

In a full-blown crisis, such as a Russian incursion into the Suwałki Gap or an all-out assault on Ukraine’s western border, the EU’s response mechanisms are unlikely to match the speed or decisiveness required. NATO, theoretically more agile, still depends on the unanimity of its 32 members and the political will of key players like the U.S. and Turkey.

Even within national capitals, the reflex for deliberation remains strong. Germany’s “Zeitenwende” moment in 2022 promised a sea change in defence policy. Two years on, much of the promised €100 billion fund remains unspent. France and Italy prefer strategic autonomy over NATO interoperability. The UK, though rhetorically Atlanticist, is preoccupied with domestic political churn and budgetary constraints.

If a war broke out tomorrow, Europe’s defence would depend more on muscle memory and bilateral improvisation than any cohesive EU mechanism. This is a dangerous way to run a continent.

Trump’s Return: A Strategic Shockwave

Into this mix now steps Donald Trump. With U.S. elections looming and the Republican frontrunner making no secret of his disdain for NATO freeloaders, Europe faces the real possibility of an American strategic decoupling. Trump has already threatened to pull troops, end arms deliveries to Ukraine, and abandon allies who do not pay their “fair share”. This is not rhetoric; it is policy in waiting.

The numbers are stark. The U.S. currently fields more than 100,000 troops in Europe, with significant air and naval assets spread across Germany, Italy, the UK and Poland. American Aegis ships in the Mediterranean and North Sea provide vital missile-tracking and interception capabilities. U.S. satellites offer 80 per cent of Europe’s early warning coverage. Remove these assets, and the continent is left blind, deaf and dangerously exposed.

The UK, despite Brexit, remains more integrated with U.S. defence than many EU states. RAF Lakenheath, home to U.S. F-35s, and Menwith Hill, a critical node in global missile detection, are American-run but British-based. If Trump orders a drawdown, Britain would lose key capabilities overnight — and its vaunted “special relationship” may offer little protection.

Could Europe fill the void? Theoretically, yes. Practically, not within the timeframes war would demand. Building a sovereign European missile warning system would take years. Training personnel, constructing launch platforms, and reconfiguring battle doctrines are all mammoth tasks. There is no silver bullet, no off-the-shelf replacement for American military might.

Towards Strategic Maturity

Yet the crisis could also be catalytic. Trump’s volatility may finally jolt Europe into serious rearmament. The signs are emerging. Poland is buying South Korean tanks and U.S. HIMARS launchers at breakneck speed. Finland and Sweden have joined NATO, bringing formidable capabilities. France has proposed a European Security Council. The UK, under both parties, now openly discusses the need for higher defence spending.

But this awakening must be sustained. It must be systematised. And it must be honest. Europe cannot pretend that patchwork national efforts will suffice. It must either build a truly integrated missile defence that spans from the Arctic to the Aegean – or resign itself to dependence.

The road ahead requires three things. First, a crash programme of joint missile defence procurement, led by Germany, France and the UK, but open to all NATO members. Second, the creation of a European Command and Control Centre, capable of acting without U.S. input. Third, a legislative shift within the EU and national governments to enable emergency defence decision making outside normal bureaucratic procedures.

Above all, it requires political courage; the courage to tell voters that peace is no longer guaranteed, that sovereignty entails responsibility, and that defence is not optional.

A Window That Is Closing

Europe today stands at a moment of extraordinary peril, and rare opportunity. The threat from Russia is real, growing, and unmoved by Western platitudes. The American guarantee is fading, perhaps irrevocably. And the continent’s air and missile defences, while improving, are nowhere near ready to withstand what Ukraine faces daily.

The post – Cold War illusion that history had ended, that peace was permanent, and that America would always protect Europe has been shattered. What replaces it remains uncertain.

If Europe does not act now to build credible missile defences, to reinvigorate its defence industry, and to reform its ponderous institutions, it may find that the next war comes not just from the skies over Kyiv, but over Vilnius, Warsaw or even Berlin.

By which time it will likely be too late.

Main Image: Luftwaffe Patriot PAC-2 Luftwaffe Darkone — Travail personnel via Wikipedia.