Firstr published May 25, 2025
Here’s Cummins, strutting out a 6.7-litre hydrogen combustion engine for lorries and buses, christened ‘Project Brunel’ like it’s some grand, world-saving dish. Smells like desperation, though, served up just as whispers hit the street that institutional investors are sneaking out the back door, lightening their load on a company that’s starting to feel like a bad bet. They’re crowing about a 99% drop in tailpipe carbon emissions and NOx levels so low they’re practically whispering sweet nothings to the planet. But let’s not kid ourselves—this ain’t the future; it’s a gritty, stubborn cling to the past, dressed up as salvation.
Hydrogen combustion engines? They’re like that obscure street food you try once, hoping for a revelation, only to find it’s a pain to source and leaves you hungry. Producing hydrogen is a messy, energy-guzzling affair, often leaning on fossil fuels like a crutch, which makes the whole “green” pitch feel like a barstool philosopher’s half-baked rant. Scaling this tech for commercial vehicles is like trying to plate a seven-course meal in a food truck—good luck competing with the electric vehicle juggernaut tearing down the global highway. Critics aren’t just raising eyebrows; they’re calling this a quixotic stab at relevance in a world that’s already moved on.
The project’s got UK Government cash from the Advanced Propulsion Centre UK, which is a polite way of saying taxpayers are footing the bill for Cummins’ long-shot gamble. Public money’s being tossed into a fire that might not even spark, especially when the world’s pouring its wallet into battery-electric systems. Partners like Johnson Matthey, PHINIA, and Zircotec are along for the ride, but their fancy components just scream high costs and supply chain headaches—hardly the stuff of a global revolution.
Jonathan Atkinson, Cummins’ executive director, is out here selling this engine like a street vendor hawking “authentic” tacos in a tourist trap—calling it a “viable, familiar power option” that doesn’t demand a vehicle redesign. Translation: they’re too scared to ditch the internal combustion crutch and dive into the electric deep end. Sure, they’re talking up scalability to heavy-duty rigs and construction gear, but without timelines or a price tag, it’s all just hot air, like a chef promising a dish that’s never coming out of the kitchen.
Atkinson’s begging for regulatory lifelines past 2035 and 2040, which tells you everything: they’re not sure the world’s buying what they’re selling. If global markets keep racing toward electric, Cummins’ hydrogen dream could end up a forgotten roadside diner in a world craving something fresher. And the timing? Oh, it’s no coincidence this grand reveal lands just as those investor whispers get louder, hinting at a stampede for the exits. A 15-litre version’s in the works, they say, but doubling down on a shaky bet doesn’t make it a winner—it just makes the fall harder.
In a world starving for efficiency and scalability, Cummins’ hydrogen engine feels like a greasy spoon serving yesterday’s special, trying to convince us it’s haute cuisine. Meanwhile, the smart money’s already at the electric buffet, and the investors? They’re looking like they’re ready to skip the check.
Lee Thompson
Founder – The Cummins Accountability Project