“Germany has currently no capacity to manufacture a [fighter] jet.” This recent declaration by new French defence minister, Catherine Vautrin, highlighted growing concern that the Franco-German plan to build a European fighter jet (the Future Combat Air System (FCAS)) is set to be scrapped. It seems that is indeed the case, with Paris and Berlin currently discussing a common off-ramp. This fracturing of bilateral defence relations has brought to the light deeper structural issues. 

For the United Kingdom, which co-leads the rival Tempest/GCAP project, the FCAS situation reveals something larger than industrial rivalry. It shows that Germany’s strategic behaviour inside European programmes often pulls capabilities toward national interests, at the expense of coherent European planning, at a time when European unity seems more important than ever. 

Industrial interests before collective strategy 

Germany’s industrial footprint is enormous, and this situation has obvious consequences for intra-European balance. The role that the Rheinmetall Group claims for itself, and which German authorities seem willing to grant it, is an illustration of this. Its appetite for securing a place in every major European defence project and every part of the defence-industrial ecosystem seems insatiable. The company has recently become a full participant in the Franco-German Main Ground Combat System (MGCS) tank programme yet simultaneously markets its own KF51 Panther as a faster alternative. European Defence Review noted that Rheinmetall’s entrance into MGCS created an ambiguous situation. “We don’t necessarily see the Panther as an MGCS competitor, we consider that for some countries it is a bridging technology,” explained Dr. Alexander Kuhrt, Vice President Next Generation Main Battle Tanks at Rheinmetall Landsysteme.  

At the same time, Rheinmetall is deepening partnerships with American firms. In June 2025 it announced a strategic cooperation with Anduril Industries to co-develop drones, rocket motors and sensors for European customers. In August, it was revealed that Lockheed Martin is seeking to have American missiles produced by Rheinmetall. These alliances make strategic sense in consolidating Rheinmetall’s growth, with its market capitalisation rising from around €8 billion in 2022 to nearly €70 billion by the end of 2025. But they also reinforce U.S. influence in key segments of Europe’s future force structure, and such partnerships are not just being nurtured with America: Japanese firm Kawasaki has also been in talks with MBDA Germany to develop Taurus missile engines. 

None of this means Germany is acting in bad faith, but for its partners, it comes across as a recurring pattern: when Berlin faces a choice between accelerating European capability or protecting local industry, the gravitational pull of domestic politics is often stronger than the pull of European strategy. 

The risks of buying America instead of building Europe 

The most significant recent example is Germany’s Biden-era request to purchase the U.S. Typhon missile system to bolster its deterrence posture. In July 2025, it was confirmed in the media that Berlin had submitted a formal request to the Trump administration for Typhon launchers, which fire both Tomahawk cruise missiles and SM-6 interceptors, via the U.S. Foreign Military Sales process. This purchase poses a direct threat to the Germano-British long-range strike missile project. Even without a confirmed in-service date, Typhon deliveries are still several years away. Will Germany really want to fund a new missile programme just after recently fielding new expensive systems? 

Germany frames this as a ‘temporary bridge’ while Europe develops its own long-range systems. Yet the implications are substantial. U.S. Congressional Research Service analysis has repeatedly highlighted the strain on Tomahawk production and replenishment capacity raising questions about export availability when both the U.S. Navy and multiple allies are drawing from the same lines. The Royal United Services Institute shares concerns about the uncertainty of US support for NATO, and that “the purchase is a sign of the immediacy of the needs for such a capability in Europe, which are unlikely to be satisfied by the pledged US battery alone.” Moreover, given constraints, there is no guarantee that the outcome will truly meet expectations—especially when six European countries, paradoxically including Germany, have launched ELSA, which is specifically designed to address these capability needs in a sovereign way. 

However, Germany’s choice lands precisely as Europe is attempting to develop sovereign alternatives. The International Institute for Strategic Studies describes a “European missile renaissance” driven by France, Italy and the UK, with systems such as MBDA’s Land Cruise Missile (LCM) which would give Europe a range beyond 1,000 km, offering a real alternative to the American Tomahawk. None of these projects will gain any momentum if the largest European buyer opts for an American stopgap.   

A pattern other European players can no longer ignore 

Germany’s economic weight gives it a unique position inside Europe’s defence landscape. It is the only country in the EU with the financial and industrial capacity to rearm at scale and at speed. The Sondervermögen fund alone brought €100 billion of fresh investment into the Bundeswehr, a level unmatched anywhere else on the continent. It is logical that German companies should benefit from this. France and the UK are doing the same, on a scale that is less disruptive for their neighbours.  

The gravitational pull of Germany’s budgets and industrial base risks having a harmful impact on all its partners. A bit like the dependence on cheap Russian gas — when Germany imported about 55% of its natural gas from Russia — which helped fuel the rise of Europe’s most successful industrial economy for decades, while Berlin simultaneously pursued aggressive policies toward competing European energy models. 

This strategy proved disastrous, as we saw after February 2022 — the result of a mix of narrowly national calculations (despite Germany presenting itself as a core driver of the European project) and a poor assessment of the risks inherent in relying on a single dominant supplier whose long-term reliability was never assured. 

Today, the pattern is re-emerging in defence, especially in air-defence (and increasingly in deep strike). Berlin is still building key parts of its defence posture around a partner (namely the USA) whose long-term reliability seems evermore questionable. This creates consequences not only for Germany’s own resilience but for the coherence of Europe’s attempt to build a sovereign, shared armaments effort. 

This is why countries like the UK and Poland should treat Germany’s choices with particular seriousness. Both are building credible long-range strike and air-defence architectures. Both shoulder real responsibilities on the northern and eastern flanks. Both must prepare for scenarios in which U.S. support could be delayed or politically constrained. A European landscape shaped by German procurement decisions risks becoming European in form but American in substance. London, more than anyone, understands that close ties with the United States are not a weakness in themselves. The issue is different: some of Berlin’s recent choices introduce long-term dependency risks (on supply chains, targeting, or operational control) that the UK has always been careful to avoid.  

As Britain looks to rebuild influence in Europe after Brexit, it must choose its partnerships carefully. As the Government’s National Security Strategy 2025 puts it, “To increase our sovereign capability, we will ensure that defence investment better supports UK-based businesses.” That principle should guide how Keir Starmer’s government selects its “pairs”: the right partner, for the right capability, at the right moment.