If you’d told a military historian ten years ago that Cold War-era tanks like the T-54, T-55, and T-62 would be back in action across Ukraine’s battlefields in 2025, they probably would’ve laughed. These were machines that belonged in museums or military parades, not modern war zones. But here we are, observing these metal hulks rumble again, their peeling paint and improvised armor conveying a richer narrative—one of adaptation, desperation, and the will of human beings to persevere.
Russia’s decision to mobilize these tanks from storage isn’t a weird little tidbit of history. It’s a clear sign of the strain their army is under. By May 2023, open-source analysts at Oryx estimated Russia had lost over 2,000 tanks, out of the approximately 3,000 in fighting condition when large-scale hostilities commenced. There are few new tanks, and sanctions did not allow for easy access to high-tech replacement parts, so they fell back on what was available: old stores. Ukraine’s military intelligence says the bulk of the T-62s are being refurbished in factories like the one in Atamanovka and shipped west to the front.
But let’s not get too wistful. The tanks are returning not because they’re effective, but because Russia lacks better alternatives. The T-54 and T-55 are from the years shortly after World War II. The T-62 was antiquated decades ago. After years in open storage, they are rusted, lack important components, and entirely lack the digital targeting equipment and protection that contemporary crews have come to depend on. Some are emplaced in the ground as fixed guns; some are employed as giant artillery pieces, firing shells from behind cover as an expedient for shortages of self-propelled artillery.
They are technically well-matched by current equipment. Modern anti-tank missiles and spying drones reduce them to nothing in a straight-up battle. Russian crews have attempted to cover up their weaknesses with home-built repairs—welding on slat or cage armor designed to defeat drone attacks or fool hostile targeting systems. But these makeshift repairs, said one Russian tank commander, Alexei Ukhachev, create more problems than they fix. Some tanks wind up with non-rotating machine guns, broken radios, or even safety systems that seal the crew inside during a fire. After a few near-misses, most crews have abandoned the add-ons and rolled the dice on the original design.
Even those old machines, though, have discovered a new purpose. They’re no longer bullying straight into direct combat—Russia learned that first lesson early. Now they’re employed for support fire, surprise raids in the cover of night, and hit-and-run. Observers at the UK’s Royal United Services Institute point out that if fired from a distance of safety—or from zones where Ukraine’s anti-tank weaponry is thin on the ground—these vintage tanks are still capable of causing harm. In one of the war’s darker moments, they’ve even been repurposed as unmanned explosive carriers, launched forward on suicide missions to clear enemy lines.
Ukraine, as well, has utilized older tanks. Consider the T-55 model called the M-55S. With improved armor and advanced targeting systems, it’s much more effective than its Cold War-era predecessors. Upgrades typically come courtesy of foreign allies and indicate how both parties are maximizing what they can. When supply lines are tight and newer technology is limited, sometimes older equipment—retrofit and remanufactured—lives again.
But behind all this machinery is a more personal, more human story. Imagine being a young Russian conscript, sent into battle inside a tank your grandfather might’ve trained on. Morale, understandably, is low. Some crews have reportedly abandoned their vehicles as soon as things go south. Others have looked for safer alternatives, like using remote-controlled tanks filled with explosives, and then reporting the loss as an unsuccessful attack.
This combination of fear, imagination, and fundamental survival drive does not transcend tactics or technology. It’s about human beings—how they manage under stress, how they try to survive, how they sometimes manage to subvert orders that cannot be followed. It’s messy, sad, and remarkably human.
So when we look at these old tanks rolling across the Ukrainian steppes, let’s not simply view them as instruments of war. Each of them is a testament. A welded piece of scrap metal, a taped-together radio, a crew who quit and walked away instead of staying and dying inside it—these aren’t merely indicators of a decaying army. They’re indications of how, even in the worst of times, people improvise, struggle, and resist.
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