JUST PUBLISHED: The European road test: The Jeep Wrangler Rubicon

In the summer of 1940, as Europe burned and the world braced for a conflict unlike any before, the United States Army issued a call that would change automotive history forever. It wasn’t a call for tanks, bombers, or artillery but rather for something smaller, simpler, and far more urgent: a lightweight reconnaissance vehicle that could go anywhere, survive anything, and carry soldiers across the unpredictable terrain of a global war.

The requirements were astonishingly ambitious: a 600‑lb payload, a wheelbase under 75 inches, a height under 36 inches, a smooth‑running engine capable of crawling at 3 mph or sprinting at 50, four‑wheel drive, a fold‑down windscreen, blackout lights, and a total weight under 1,300 lbs.

Of the 135 companies invited, only two initially stepped forward: American Bantam Car Company and Willys‑Overland. Both were struggling financially and both were desperate for a government contract.
Bantam worked around the clock to deliver the first prototype but the U.S Army was concerned that the firm lacked the production capacity needed for wartime manufacturing. So, they shared Bantam’s design with Willys‑Overland and Ford, inviting them to build their own versions.

Willys responded with the Willys Quad, a powerful, robust machine built around their torquey “Go‑Devil” engine. Ford countered with the Ford Pygmy, a refined and well‑engineered contender.

The Army tested all three. Each had strengths, each had flaws, but one stood out.

In 1941, the Army selected the Willys design as the basis for its standardised military vehicle. The result was the Willys MB, the machine that would become known simply as the “Jeep”.

It was everything the Army had hoped for: light, durable, simple to repair, and astonishingly capable off‑road. Soldiers quickly learned that the Jeep could do almost anything — climb, ford, tow, haul, scout, and even serve as a field ambulance or mobile command post.

It quickly became the Swiss Army knife of the battlefield.

As the war intensified, the Jeep became a symbol of Allied determination and ingenuity. General Eisenhower would later call it one of the tools that won the war. Soldiers trusted it with their lives, and civilians saw it as a symbol of liberation.
From the deserts of North Africa to the forests of Europe and the islands of the Pacific, the Jeep was there, bouncing over shell‑torn roads, splashing through mud, climbing impossible slopes, and carrying troops toward victory.

By the end of the war, more than 600,000 Jeeps had been built. They were beloved, battered, and indispensable.

With peace spreading across the globe, the Willys MB became the blueprint for the post‑war CJ models. Long before lifestyle marketing became a thing, Jeep was living it. The CJ models of the 1940s and ’50s were sold as tools for ranchers, explorers, and people who lived close to the land, rather than as mere ‘cars’. That rugged authenticity shaped the modern outdoor‑adventure aesthetic. Roof racks, muddy boots, mountain silhouettes on stickers — Jeep helped invent that entire visual language.

Eight decades later, the DNA of that original battlefield hero is still visible in the Jeep Wrangler that is offered for sale today.  The seven‑slot grille and squared‑off wings are arguably design cues that have lasted the test time in the same ways that the silhouettes of the Beetle, Porsche 911 and Mini have endured.

Even sitting on my driveway, the Jeep Wrangler – with its ‘41 Military Green’ bodywork and muscular Rubicon upgrades – looks poised and ready for adventure. It’s the kind of machine that seems slightly restless on tarmac, as if it’s humouring you until the real terrain begins.

I’ve driven plenty of miles in Wranglers over the years of my motoring career, as well as extensive time in Land Rover’s Defender and in Mercedes Benz’s G-Wagon (sorry G-Class).  It’s refreshing in a period of motoring where both the Defender and G-Class have succumbed to marketing and legislative pressure to soften their utilitarian edges, that the Jeep Wrangler continues to forage the trail set out by its forefathers, unapologetic of its unpolished mechanical feel. The Jeep remains a tool, a toy, a throwback, and a promise all at once.

The Wrangler feels tall the moment you climb in. Not just high‑riding, but upright — like sitting in a bay window rather than a reclined armchair. The windscreen is almost vertical, the pillars narrow, the bonnet long and flat like a steel diving board. It’s a view that makes you feel oddly invincible, even before you’ve left the driveway.

The Wrangler’s road manners are unique in 2026, too. At A-Road speeds, it settled into a steady, slightly wandering cruise. The steering has that familiar Wrangler looseness — not vague, exactly, but relaxed, as if the front axle is thinking about your instructions rather than obeying them instantly. It’s part of the charm. You don’t drive a Wrangler with fingertip precision but guide it, like a horse that knows the trail better than you do.

Somerset’s winter hedgerows blurred past in shades of brown and green as I tested the Wrangler on its roads. Its cabin hummed with tyre noise and a faint whistle from the removable roof panels. Again, part of the charm. If you want silence, buy something else. If you want character, you’re in the right place.

More charm than poise, the steering is slow and light, the body rolls generously, and the ride can feel busy on broken tarmac. But with 500 miles under my belt – I wouldn’t want it any other way and start to contemplate buying one myself.

Whilst the latest generation Wrangler hasn’t abandoned its roots, it has evolved just enough to survive in a modern market. It’s all in the detail: sharper, more deliberate, and more premium than its predecessors. LED lighting gives it a modern edge, and the panel gaps are tighter than before. Whilst the quality is there, the Wrangler still looks like it has been carved from a single block of determination.

Step inside and you’ll find a cabin that finally feels like it belongs in the 2026. The materials are tougher than they are plush, but the layout is logical, the screens are crisp, and the ergonomics are far better than older Wranglers. The upright windscreen and narrow pillars give you a panoramic view of the world outside — a reminder that visibility used to matter.

There’s still a utilitarian flavour to everything. The switchgear is chunky, the grab handles are prominent, and the floor mats look like they could survive a pressure washer. But there’s genuine comfort here too (think Nappa leather-lined heated seats and steering wheel, and bold central 12.3-inch touchscreen that attempts to control the world). Thankfully, there are still switches to easily control the climate system and core functions.

The introduction of lane-assist meets stringent modern legislation and is the only irritant for its constant interruptions, especially in motorway contraflows where it just continuously beeps until it’s disabled in a sub, sub menu. It packs a decent infotainment system, and enough storage to make long journeys more than bearable.

Rear passengers get more space than you’d expect, and the boot is square and usable. It’s not luxurious, but it’s no longer the spartan cave it once was. Also remember that the roof and doors are all removable in the summer to recreate that 1940’s Jeep experience!

But it’s offroad where the Wrangler really starts performing. Having previously experienced a Wrangler on some of the toughest off-road trails in the country, I was pleasantly amazed with its capability. It lives up to its reputation on the world-famous Rubicon Trail, the highly challenging 22-mile off-road trail in California’s Sierra Nevada that gives its name to this range topping edition.
With its ladder frame, solid axles, locking differentials, low‑range gearbox, and generous ground clearance, the Wrangler remains one of the most capable off‑roaders you can buy without a military procurement form. It clambers over rocks, wades through mud, and crawls up inclines that would make a crossover faint. Few vehicles offer this level of capability straight out of the box.

The UK only gets the lusty 3.6 litre V6 petrol engine, mated to a smooth 8-speed automatic gearbox and switchable four-wheel drive system. This means in 2-wheel drive mode you can achieve 23.7mpg, which considering the aerodynamics is pretty tolerable.

Including all the options of this Rubicon model, the on-the-road price is £66,835 which might sound pricey but when you compare the road presence and abilities compared to a new Defender or a G-Class – I think it is good value.

The Jeep Wrangler is not a car for everyone. It’s noisy, it’s thirsty, and it handles like a vehicle designed for rocks rather than roundabouts. However, as its rivals become sleeker, quieter, and more digital, the Wrangler remains defiantly mechanical. It’s unapologetically analogue in spirit. That makes it a cultural counterpoint — a rebellion against the sanitised, algorithm‑designed sameness of modern vehicles. Driving a Jeep says something about you: that you value experience over perfection.  Whilst most modern cars make journeys easier. The Wrangler makes them richer.

Did you know…

Among the more extraordinary wartime experiments was the audacious attempt to turn the Jeep into a glider towed aircraft. Plucky British engineers envisioned a lightweight, winged version of the Willys that could be hauled behind a transport plane and released near the front lines, delivering mobility straight into contested territory. The prototype — nicknamed the “Rotabuggy” — sprouted a massive rotor and tail assembly, transforming the humble Jeep into something that looked half helicopter, half fever dream. Test flights in 1943 were equal parts promising and terrifying: the Rotabuggy actually managed to get airborne behind a bomber, but the vibrations, handling quirks, and sheer impracticality eventually grounded the project. Still, the idea captured the restless ingenuity of the era — a moment when engineers were willing to try almost anything to give soldiers an edge, even if it meant teaching a Jeep to fly.  A superb replica Rotabuggy and more details can be found at the Army Fly Museum in Hampshire.

There are several theories about how the Jeep got its name. Some point to soldiers slurring “GP” (for General Purpose), though specialists consider that explanation too neat. Others note that army motor pools were already using “Jeep” in the 1930s to describe light utility vehicles, a usage echoed in the oil fields of Oklahoma and Texas. A further account links the name to Sergeant James T. O’Brien, who reportedly borrowed it from Eugene the Jeep, a nimble problem-solving character in the Popeye comic strip. Whatever its true origin, newspaper coverage in 1941 embedded the term in the public imagination, and in 1950 Willys-Overland secured the trademark after defeating a legal challenge from American Bantam.