Pete Hegseth, the US Secretary of Defence, has reignited a long-simmering debate over NATO burden-sharing by publicly questioning the alliance's relevance and announcing a comprehensive review of American force posture in Europe. Speaking at a security forum in Washington, Hegseth framed the review as a necessary recalibration of US commitments in line with shifting geopolitical priorities, particularly the intensifying competition with China in the Indo-Pacific. This is not mere diplomatic posturing: it is a threat vector designed to force European allies to increase defence spending and assume greater responsibility for their own security.
The timing is deliberate. With the war in Ukraine grinding into a protracted attritional conflict, Hegseth's remarks undercut the very solidarity NATO has sought to project. The message is clear: the United States is no longer willing to bear the lion's share of Europe's defence without commensurate investment. Britain, for its part, has moved quickly to reaffirm its role as a leading NATO power, with the Ministry of Defence issuing a statement vowing to "stand firm" in its commitments. But this response masks a deeper anxiety. London realises that a US drawdown, even a partial one, would fundamentally alter the European security architecture, forcing the UK to either step up significantly or face a dangerous capability gap.
Let us examine the hardware. The US currently maintains approximately 100,000 troops in Europe, alongside prepositioned equipment, airbases, and naval assets. A review could lead to reductions in rotational forces, delayed modernisation of key platforms like the F-35 or the M1 Abrams tank, and a shift in logistics hubs further east. The implications are profound: without US airlift, refuelling, and intelligence support, European NATO members would struggle to sustain operations beyond their borders. The alliance's rapid reaction force, the Very High Readiness Joint Task Force, relies heavily on US enablers. If those assets are pulled, the entire concept of deterrence against Russia weakens.
Hegseth's strategy also intersects with the cyber domain. The Pentagon's recent Cyber Command restructuring aligns with this review: fewer boots on the ground, but more emphasis on offensive cyber capabilities and electronic warfare. The calculation is that asymmetric tools can compensate for reduced forward presence. However, this logic is flawed. Cyber operations cannot hold territory, protect airspace, or reassure allies. They are a supplement, not a substitute, for conventional deterrence.
Intelligence failures have historically plagued such reviews. The 2012 US strategic pivot to Asia was undermined by the unexpected eruption of conflict in the Middle East. Today, the risk is that a reduction in European forces will be perceived by Moscow as a window of opportunity. The Kremlin's own doctrine emphasises rapid mobilisation and the exploitation of perceived weaknesses. A US review that drags on for months, with ambiguous outcomes, is precisely the kind of signal that encourages aggressive probing along NATO's eastern flank.
Britain's reaffirmation of alliance leadership is commendable, but it must be matched by concrete investment. The UK's 2024 defence review promised a return to 2.5% of GDP spending, but implementation remains slow. The Royal Navy is stretched, the Army is at its smallest since the Napoleonic Wars, and the RAF's Typhoon fleet is ageing. If the US reduces its presence, London will need to fill gaps in airlift, strategic communications, and missile defence. The financial burden will be immense.
Hegseth's comments are a strategic pivot, but they carry the risk of a self-inflicted wound. The United States is gambling that Europe can absorb the shock and that Russia will not test the new posture. Both bets are dangerous. The review must be conducted with speed and clarity, not as a negotiating tactic but as a cold calculation of threat vectors. NATO's credibility, and ultimately the security of the continent, depends on it.
