What Happened to the Coveted Western Tanks Sent to Ukraine?

The screens covering a command post wall served up live video feeds from bomber drones, a ground drone trundling down a mud path and surveillance drones scoping out a burning house — a catalog of modern warfare.

One thing missing from the picture were the tanks that gave the 33rd Separate Mechanized Brigade’s battalion its name.

Once Ukraine’s most sought-after Western weapons, tanks now mostly sit idle, hidden in forests and collecting cobwebs. The $10 million machines, procured with great fanfare, proved no match for cheap drones that now dominate the battlefield. Yet Ukraine still maintains them and trains soldiers to use them, while trying to imagine new ways to deploy them.

“We’re making virtually no use of armored vehicles,” Oleksandr Syrskyi, who until last month was Ukraine’s top general, said recently. “This raises the question: How can we neutralize this advantage enjoyed by drones and give our armor a new lease on life?”

That question was at the heart of a clash over war strategy that led General Syrskyi to be relieved of his command last month.

Some of Ukraine’s premier tank divisions are not waiting around for the answer.

Tank crews should not be stagnant, said a fresh-faced commander in the 33rd, who, like most soldiers interviewed, gave only his call sign, Morpheus, in keeping with military protocol. That’s why, he said, he tells his battalion that they need to learn something new.

Vital, then suddenly an afterthought

Ukraine started asking for Western-made tanks almost immediately after Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022, when they seemed essential. Kyiv’s allies resisted sending them until January 2023, when Britain, Germany and the United States changed course following fraught negotiations and public pressure.

The 33rd Brigade was formed in part to receive those Western tanks. But by the time they entered the fight late that spring, cheap drones were already inflicting a deadly toll and were able to strike tanks at their most vulnerable points.

Russian forces started covering their tanks with anti-drone meshes and cages. “People laughed at them back then, saying they were making BBQ grills,” recalled a tank maintenance chief with the 33rd whose call sign is Energetyk. “But they were heading in the right direction.”

Ukraine followed suit, adding protective cages and reactive armor — external panels that detonate when struck, to deflect attacking munitions — in hopes of maintaining tanks’ relevance.

But soon both sides stopped using heavy armor for blockaults.

Prepping (not wishing) for a tank comeback

Tank crews must remain ready, said a company commander, call sign Fin, so his men stay busy training, maintaining the tanks and welding on new protections. In combat or not, there is no rest, said Fin, 26, fiddling with the Virgin Mary charm on his black rope bracelet.

The 33rd carries out live-fire exercises every two weeks or so, to keep its skills fresh. One sunny morning, between sunflower fields, troops positioned a tank and set up targets in the distance.

Commanders sat with other soldiers under a makeshift shade, snacking on seeds and sharing a liter of Pepsi.

Yuri Kosenko, 57, had just come off two weeks in a frontline dugout that he said smelled like dampness and mold. There had been no tank fighting but so many “mosquitoes,” he said — rubbing his arm then pointing to the sky to make clear he meant both the biting kind and the exploding kind — that he had to carry a drone detector to the latrine.

Like most soldiers interviewed, he said he was fine without combat engagements because he had seen enough battle. “War is war. There’s nothing to like about it,” the soldier said as shells were loaded into the tank.

Soon the crew climbed in and spun the gun around. The first few rounds were off the mark. Orders went back and forth by radio, requesting adjustments.

Three more shells fired, each setting off a blast that made only half the soldiers flinch.

“You guys missed,” radioed the commander.

“We know — we can see it from here,” a crew member replied.

The Pepsi bottle was nearly empty by that point. A tank driver, Mechan, took out pancakes filled with shredded chicken to share, brought back from his recent leave.

Hiding, towing and fixing, but not fighting

Today Energetyk, 57, works in a forest in the Kharkiv region, well behind the front line. There, birds chirp, the air smells like wood and only upon a close look can camouflage netting be spotted among the trees.

German-made Leopard tanks sit beneath the nets, their turrets turned backward in the “travel position.” Some await repairs or maintenance like oil changes. Others, like one covered in spider webs, are parked in reserve for combat, though those orders have stopped coming.

Energetyk oversaw a crew swapping out the engine of a tank that had hit a mine and caught fire. Another tank had taken a drone strike to the turret, he said, pointing to its parking spot as he set off down a mud track through the woods with ammunition slung over his shoulder.

The damage occurred not during combat but “evacuations,” when tanks towed damaged equipment, effectively acting as extraordinarily expensive tractors.

Even then, said Archie, a gunner smoking a cigarette nearby, the tanks can venture out only in bad weather, when wind, rain and poor visibility mean fewer drones.

With a steadier internet connection, he said, he might spend his newfound downtime learning — maybe improving his German.

Archie, 57, said he would not mind resuming combat missions, but Golden, 27, who was waiting to move a repaired tank to a netted parking spot, said that, for now, he would rather tanks not be used at all.

“I’ve already burned inside a tank — that’s enough for me,” said Golden, laughing uncomfortably as he recounted narrowly surviving that mission.

Learning a new kind of warfare

After the live-fire exercise, the tank driver Mechan and his crew returned to the small house they share, where delicacies made by his wife filled the fridge. He hung up his gun then swapped out sweaty coveralls and dusty boots for shorts and sandals.

Perched on his cot before cooking up a batch of his wife’s potato dumplings, Mechan said that after working on old Soviet T-64 tanks, the switch to Leopards had been a welcome one.

“It is like driving a Mercedes or a BMW,” he said, flashing two thumbs up, but now he drives only rarely, on towing missions. Mechan showed a video of his tank dragging a charred vehicle through a field.

He lamented that his skills might deteriorate without more practice, so the towing mission felt good, even if it was dangerous.

But Dima, whose cot was opposite, questioned the value of using Leopards as tractors, putting both tanks and crews at risk.

“For what? To recover a burned-out vehicle?” he added, incredulous. Better to retrain to fly drones, he said, as Mechan was doing at night, practicing with a console near his cot.

It felt strange and unfamiliar to fly drones, Mechan confessed, but he said the era of tanks is over.

Some newer recruits to the 33rd have never even touched a tank. Among them was Korzhyk, 33, who joined the brigade in 2025 and spends his days repairing ground drones in a dark workshop.

Johnny, 37, a squad commander working alongside him, used to drive tanks but did not hesitate when asked to transfer to this unit using ground drones.

Driving tanks, he said, “you close the hatch, drive out, and have no idea whether you are going to come back.”

The end of tanks?

Fin, the company commander, insisted that tanks would not remain sidelined, because new technology would allow them to adapt.

Maybe they will be outfitted with A.I. to create protective domes, he suggested, or their own drone interceptors.

But back at the command post, Morpheus said that about half his battalion had retrained as drone operators.

It’s about trying to find ways to use his personnel, Morpheus said, jiggling his leg as he watched the bank of screens.

Getting tanks back into battle would require a major technological breakthrough, he added.

“I’m convinced that tanks still have a future, but there’s one caveat,” Morpheus said, adding, “I think they will be unmanned.”