The F-35 Lightning II was the aircraft that was supposed to unite the air power of NATO once and for all. With a slim body, stealth features, and loaded with cutting-edge technology, it was meant to be the only fighter capable of doing everything—air combat, ground support, intelligence gathering, and also nuclear bombing. Once upon a time, that dream looked doable.
Countries across Europe went around taking turns procuring their own copies: Belgium, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Romania, Switzerland, the UK, Canada, and, naturally, the United States. Even non-NATO allies like Japan, South Korea, Australia, and Israel got into the program. But today, nonetheless, the hope of a single jet forging the cohesion of the alliance is starting to crumble.
The F-35 was never just another fighter. It was to be the future backbone of NATO, one aircraft that made coalition warfare easy. It was with shared communications, ammunition, training, and spares that the idea was simple: one type of aircraft equaled allies being able to fight more easily together and more effectively.
Fans still assert that there’s no other fighter that rivals its sensors, stealth, and versatility, and that its central role in NATO’s nuclear-sharing mission to drop the upgraded B61-12 bomb makes it an aircraft beyond classification. Replacing elderly aircraft with the F-35 was viewed as a giant leap toward keeping the alliance’s deterrent credible.
So, where did it all go wrong? Some of the fault rests in politics. Washington’s changing position on NATO in recent years has undermined confidence in the reliability of the U.S. as a partner. A handful of countries are delaying or reversing, while others, including Spain, have gone entirely to European-built fighters, because defense sovereignty takes precedence over being committed to an American program.
European powers have been talking more and more about building up their own defense industries, and several are funneling spending into domestic companies instead of buying American planes.
Whispers of a so-called “kill switch,” the idea that America might be in a position to shut down the plane by remote control, have contributed little but to skepticism. Authorities pooh-pooh it, but there’s substance in the rumor because it captures a real anxiety: owning the F-35 is not just about machinery, it’s about becoming dependent on America for software updates, spares, and technical assistance. If things go south, fleets could be immobilized. That weakness has led nations to ask themselves if they would rather use European substitutes, even if they lack the F-35’s revolutionary stealth.
Substitutes like the Eurofighter Typhoon, Dassault Rafale, and Saab Gripen are gaining traction, not only because they’re European but also because they’re cheaper and simpler to maintain. Spain is doubling down on the Typhoon and the soon-to-be Franco-German-led Future Combat Air System, while France is actively marketing the Rafale to countries that are wary of the F-35.
But it is one thing to replace F-35s at a large volume. The program’s production numbers are unprecedented, shipping hundreds a year, while European jets have a much slower rollout. Even when European alternatives are chosen, the transition would be gradual, and many of their critical parts are still attached to supply chains outside Europe.
As this is going on, NATO’s nuclear-sharing purpose is ready to lose face. The F-35 was chosen to serve as the bearer of U.S. tactical nuclear weapons in Europe, and countries like Germany acceded to it partly to express their dedication to that purpose. If allies were to withdraw, that threat of military action would then be weakened. The issue is compounded by NATO members going it alone. Turkey, a former hub of the program, was pushed out after buying Russian systems and is now shopping around elsewhere, a move that broke trust and strategy within the alliance.
NATO has a fragmented future ahead of Some will stick with the F-35, some who lean to the European jets, and future sixth-generation programs like FCAS and British-led Global Combat Air System in ton horizon, but still years away. The result is a patchwork rather than the integrated airpower vision that the F-35 once embodied. The crisis has confirmed that sovereignty issues, industrial independence, and alliance solidarity carry equal importance as performance requirements.
What was meant to be the jet that would unify NATO is now putting its unity to the test. Without the ability to establish trust and renew cooperation, the F-35 may come to be remembered not as the aircraft that unified Europe’s skies, but as the symbol of how difficult it is to keep allies singing from the same hymn sheet when politics, commerce, and strategy separate.