Market Data 
In early April, a new kind of Russian armored vehicle crawled onto the battlefields of Russia’s 27-month wider war on Ukraine: the “turtle tank”—a T-62, T-72 or T-80 tank with add-on metal shells made of roofing material, grates and mesh.
As weird as they look, turtle tanks actually work. Or worked. In recent days, Ukrainian troops have destroyed several turtle tanks—proving that no wartime innovation lasts forever.
Weapons historian Matthew Moss anticipated this development weeks ago. “We will probably see further proliferation of the ‘turtle tanks’ in coming weeks,” Moss wrote, “but with time the Ukrainians will probably find ways to engage these protected tanks more effectively.”
The problem for the Russians is that the turtle tanks were a technological solution to a specific technological problem: the 100,000 explosive first-person-view drones Ukrainian troops fling at Russian troops and vehicles every month.
The turtle tank’s welded-on shells block FPVs from most directions, while the radio jammers that some crews add to the shells might interfere with the drones’ control signals.
Protected from what were, at the time, Ukraine’s most important munitions, the turtle tanks could roll toward Ukrainian positions with relative impunity, clearing mines with front-mounted rollers so that other vehicles could get close enough to drop off infantry.
As long as the Ukrainians mostly had FPVs to defend their positions, the turtle tanks were a serious boon to Russian operations—and a serious threat to Ukrainian operations.
But the $500-apiece FPVs, produced at small workshops spread across Ukraine, were always a stopgap—a way for Ukrainian forces to compensate for a shortage of artillery and missiles mostly resulting from the months-long blockade of U.S. aid to Ukraine by a small number of Russia-friendly Republican lawmakers in the U.S. House of Representatives.
When that blockade finally lifted late last month, the Pentagon swiftly rushed $1.4 billion in fresh munitions to Ukraine. Those shells and missiles, combined with a large consignment of ammunition coming from the Czech Republic, are altering the dynamics along the 600-mile front line of the wider war.
When Russian regiments attack, Ukrainian brigades can now fire 100-pound shells and 50-pound missiles in addition to launching two-pound drones. That explains why so many turtle tanks are getting wrecked.
A thin metal roof might deflect a flimsy drone packing a pound of explosives. But it’s worse than useless against an artillery round whose explosive payload could exceed 25 pounds. Punching right through a turtle tank’s shell, the round could spark a fire that turns the metal-encased vehicle into an oven.
Equally problematic for a turtle tank’s crew and passengers, the welded-on metal shell impedes their visibility—and could block their escape if their vehicle gets immobilized.
A turtle tank’s poor vision and mobility weren’t necessarily major problems as long as the tanks were unlikely to take heavy damage. Now that they’re getting blasted by heavier munitions, the turtle tank crews can’t afford to be blind and trapped.
As the Ukrainians rearm in the coming weeks and months, they might find it easier and easier to knock out attacking turtle tanks. And that might compel the Russians to abandon the crude vehicle design—or modify it, at least. But shrinking the metal shell to allow for greater mobility and visibility might let more FPVs through.
“As is so common in war,” Moss wrote, “there will probably be a continued evolution of measure and countermeasure.”
