Exploring Samara's All-Terrain Vehicle Museum: What Did They Use to Traverse Rough Terrain During World War II?

Samara is full of secrets: after all, during the war, the city, then called Kuibyshev, served as the reserve capital of the USSR. Locals tell tales of Stalin’s bunker, tunnels beneath the Zhiguli mountains—so wide that two tanks could pass through them—and the secret Volga waterway, where submarines docked at the entrance to underground bunkers… Among these myths and truths is a collection of all-terrain vehicles, housed in one of the mansions of the Volzhsky settlement—the private Samara All-Terrain Vehicle Museum, which holds over 40 models! By examining them, you can clearly compare the approaches of different engineering schools to the common challenge: how to ensure mobility across rough terrain in wartime conditions.

Maximalism is not only characteristic of automotive designers but especially of them. As soon as they were tasked with designing an all-terrain vehicle, they would make a tank out of it!

GAZ designer Vitaly Grachev, in 1941, deliberately chose quarter-elliptical leaf springs for the front axle of the GAZ-64, a light reconnaissance all-terrain vehicle, ensuring that nothing protruded in front of the wheels. The idea was that the vehicle, when hitting a mound, a log, or a vertical escarpment, would pull itself over the obstacle. Unfortunately, unlike tank tracks, the traction provided by the tires wasn’t sufficient for this. Grachev gave up: a bumper appeared on the second prototype.

With no less ambition, during the same years, designers from the small French company Laffly created the VLT, Véhicule de liaison tout-terrain—a “vehicle for rough terrain.” The all-terrain vehicle had to move across a field scarred by explosions—like a lunar landscape. For this, they installed support rollers in the front overhang and under the body. They used a side-drive transmission that prevented wheel slippage. With a single (inter-axle) differential, the angular speed of each axle’s wheels was almost the same, so no additional differentials were needed.

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Vitaly Grachev would return to the side-drive configuration after the war when designing the famous all-terrain vehicles for evacuating spacecraft. These machines truly surpassed tracked carriers in cross-country ability. But is it fair to expect the same from light all-terrain vehicles?

Any complication is a potential problem on the battlefield—and excess weight. And weight means cost. The economy of war is ruthless: simple and cheap always beats complex and expensive. The U.S. Quartermaster Corps literally measured the specifications for a reconnaissance vehicle in pounds! The idea outpaced the design. Why take an obstacle head-on? If the all-terrain vehicle is small and light, it can go around it, push it a bit, or even carry it by hand.

In American press, the future Jeep was called a four-wheeled motorcycle! And here’s an interesting parallel. Historian Yuri Pasholok found a report in the Central Archive of the Ministry of Defense (TsAMO) on the testing of the prototype GAZ-64 at the testing grounds of the Main Autoarmored Directorate of the RKKA in Kubinka in April 1941. When the test ground gave a crushing review of the prototype, Grachev reminded them that the vehicle had been created “for use in motorcycle units of the army.”

As Evgeny Prochko writes in his monograph Light All-Terrain Vehicles of the Red Army (Moscow: Exprint, 2004), the history of the GAZ-64 began when Grachev was summoned by the People’s Commissar of Medium Machine Engineering, Malyshev, who pointed to a photo in an American magazine Automotive Industries and ordered a similar vehicle to be made. That photo supposedly showed a Bantam all-terrain vehicle climbing the steps of the White House (in reality, it was a Willys Quad on the Capitol stairs). Grachev later recalled that they required him to narrow the track width to match the American vehicle, which was designed to fit inside the belly of a DC-3 transport plane. But why did the Red Army need such a narrow gauge?

The engineers from Gorky created the prototype in just 51 days. Then they addressed the customer’s main issues—and the result was a vehicle that exceeded the Jeep in many ways. If only it weren’t for the narrow axles! The GAZ-64 had a tendency to tip over. Additionally, its chassis was based on the BA-64 armored vehicle, which had a higher center of gravity! In 1943, the all-terrain vehicle was switched to a wider track, after which, with a series of modifications, it was given the GAZ-67 index.

As for the pointed vents in front of the windshield, Grachev clearly borrowed that idea from the two-engine (front and rear) all-terrain vehicle Tempo G1200 from the Hamburg-based company Vidal & Sohn Tempo-Werk GmbH. Tempo underwent comparative tests against the GAZ-64 and NATI-AR. The two-stroke motorcycle engine clearly lacked the necessary power, so a second engine was added! The driver could start either of them or both together. The throttles, clutches, and gearboxes were synchronized—it’s something to see!

A technical curiosity? That’s exactly what museums are for—providing the opportunity to compare different solutions to the same problem “in metal.”

“Zhukov’s Car”

The most valuable exhibit at the All-Terrain Vehicle Museum is the GAZ-61-73 four-wheel-drive car, based on the “Emka” (GAZ-11). Ten years ago, the vehicle was found in the village of Upravlensky, near Samara, in an abandoned, partially buried garage.

This find is truly unique, as the only known surviving GAZ-61-73 was the one that transported Marshal Konev. Military vehicles from that era are generally very rare. In the Combat Glory of the Urals museum in Verkhnyaya Pyshma, you can see a GAZ-4 pickup and a few surviving pre-war armored vehicles. The rare all-wheel-drive truck ZIS-32 was found by the patriotic group Lenrezerv from St. Petersburg. The owner of the Moon furniture factory in the Moscow region, Yevgeny Shomansky, restored unique half-track vehicles ZIS-33 and ZIS-42. By the way, it was Shomansky who, after many struggles, acquired Konev’s GAZ-61.

It is not known who the Samara 61st was used by. It is only known that the all-terrain vehicle was put into service with the reserve headquarters of the Supreme Command, which was based in Kuibyshev. Historian Pasholok discovered a document in TsAMO confirming the shipment of one GAZ-61 to “the Deputy People’s Commissar of Defense, General of the Army Zhukov” on September 29, 1942. So, perhaps this was one of Zhukov’s cars.

However, the value of the vehicle as a monument to technical history is indisputable, as it is the first production four-wheel-drive passenger vehicle in the world with a closed all-metal body! The prototype for this vehicle was the Marmon-Herrington LD2, a single “American” model that the Gorky Automobile Plant acquired in the autumn of 1939. It is worth recalling that at the time of its creation, the GAZ-61 initially had a phaeton body, while the closed bodies of the GAZ-73 model, based on the GAZ-M1, were only installed during the harsh winter of 1941–1942 at one of the military repair plants.

Only a tiny number of GAZ-61s were produced—just 212 units. But from them, a deep track will lead to the Niva.

Junkyard Finds

Where do the exhibits come from? Many of them are literally pulled from the ground. You can tell right away—parts discovered by diggers on battlefields. Having been buried, they are covered with dents, much like the pockmarked face of someone stricken with smallpox. Corrosion has penetrated the metal in specific spots, much like how German tank wedges found weak points in the Red Army’s defenses in the summer of 1941. When these finds are subjected to sandblasting, the rust is removed, leaving only the pitted metal. Sheet steel, in particular, doesn’t take well to sandblasting because after 75 years of “responsible storage” in the ground, it becomes corroded all the way through. Most of the time, parts from sheet metal have to be remade. Even patches don’t help: sometimes there’s simply nothing left to weld them to!

This makes exhibits like the Steyr Typ 270 1500A all-terrain vehicle even more valuable (by the way, it was developed by Porsche’s bureau—Typ 147). The Germans abandoned the vehicle in the middle of a village near Stalingrad. Whether the fuel line condensate froze or our tanks suddenly broke through—it’s unclear—but they abandoned it. The Steyr sat there, slowly sinking into the hospitable Volga soil. It’s said that even years later, local children were hesitant to play in it. Almost intact (at least, recoverable), it ended up in the hands of the owner of the Samara collection.

Ah, the power of our language when it comes to new terms: “kopanina” (digging)! Television has divided practical historians into two categories: Kibalchishs and Plokhishs. The good “Malychishs” join military-patriotic clubs and re-bury fallen soldiers, while the bad ones dig up weapons and explosives to sell to devious terrorists. Propaganda doesn’t allow for a middle ground. Never think of tampering with the earth without support from the “core”! However, not all diggers are “black.” And not everything found below the soil layer belongs to the state. But what does?

Russian law “On Subsurface Resources” does not specifically address the search for old machinery (Section 6 of Article 6 refers only to collecting “…mineralogical, paleontological, and other geological materials”). It’s unlikely that an all-terrain vehicle unearthed from the ground could be classified as geological. Although, in keeping with the saying “The law is like a reed…” Article 33 of the same law prohibits any activity on land declared “in accordance with the procedure… as nature reserves, sanctuaries, or monuments of nature or culture.”

“In the event that objects of scientific or cultural interest are found during the use of subsurface resources… users must halt operations at the relevant site and report it to the licensing authorities.” How many dreams have been shattered by the treacherous wording “…and other objects”!

There are also more serious legal levers. Specifically, Article 7.15 of the Russian Administrative Code “Conducting archaeological surveys or excavations without permission.” If you’re caught in the forest with a metal detector and a shovel, and the authorities find a map of battles on your tablet—expect trouble, proportional to the legal knowledge of the enthusiast. Interestingly, it’s easier to defend yourself if the administrative protocol states “conducting archaeological excavations” rather than “archaeological surveys” (both are terms from the Russian law “On Objects of Cultural Heritage (Monuments of History and Culture) of the Peoples of the Russian Federation”). Why? A survey implies a firm intention to find something, whereas with excavations, it’s necessary to prove that the ground was disturbed within the territory of an archaeological heritage site.

But this is just a fine. In the case of Article 243.2 of the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation “Illegal search and/or removal of archaeological objects from their sites,” one could face up to six years in prison. A good lawyer will certainly help: the law doesn’t specify what constitutes the damage or destruction of the cultural layer. It only gives examples of how the act is classified—such as digging a shaft. No academician of the Russian Academy of Sciences will risk going into the swamps of Bryansk for an expert evaluation. However, the very process of being charged and the costs of a lawyer are unpleasant.

It’s better to search in swamps, rivers, and lakes: no shafts here! The most you might need to do is call the police and bomb disposal experts if you stumble upon weapons and ammunition. But not remains! Let it be a car abandoned three times! And preferably one abandoned by the enemy. Otherwise, you will fall under the law “On the Immortalization of the Memory of Those Who Died Defending the Fatherland” from January 14, 1993, No. 4292-1. You’ll get stuck in the patriotic-bureaucratic swamp.

Yes, and one more thing: God forbid you uncover a German armored personnel carrier or a T-34 tank! Weapons and armored vehicles in our country belong to the military. According to Order No. 28 from the Russian Ministry of Defense, dated January 19, 2006, the military is responsible for any found military equipment, specifically the Military Memorial Center of the Russian Armed Forces. They will take it, and you won’t say a word! Buying in Europe and bringing it over is fine, but finding it in Russia—no way.

Technology and Tactics

Another curious exhibit is the Mannschaftskraftwagen on the Mercedes-Benz L 1500 A chassis. “Vehicle for the squad,” translated literally. The Germans understood the value of such vehicles towards the end of the war, when they gained an unexpected strategic advantage—a front line of relatively short length and a rear area with an excellent road network. This allowed them to quickly move reserves to dangerous areas. A new type of military unit emerged: anti-tank squads. Under the leadership of Albert Speer, the Reich’s industry produced a million Faustpatron anti-tank grenades per month! These squads, known as “Faustniks,” were mounted on Mannschaftskraftwagen and sent against the tanks of Konev, Zhukov, and Rokossovsky.

Such vehicles were standardized in the German army as Kfz.70. They were produced by companies such as Ford Köln, Horch, Mercedes-Benz, Phänomen, Steyr, and Wanderer. The author of this idea, Colonel Adolf von Schell, paid dearly for this standardization! He managed to standardize just the bodies. The industrial magnates and self-serving party officials united in opposition to his clever proposal, and Hitler’s favorite, von Schell, was sent to serve in Norway.

The base for Kfz.70 vehicles were all-wheel-drive 1.5-ton or heavy passenger cars. What an oxymoron: “heavy passenger car”! The Americans, in contrast, classified their all-terrain vehicles as trucks: Willys MB and Ford GPW were categorized as quarter-ton trucks, while the Dodge WC was also a truck, but rated for ¾ ton. And by the way, history repeats itself: today’s military ATVs have already surpassed the WW2 Jeeps in their specs.

One day, they too will end up in museums—perhaps even as trophies. Since 1943, Moscow’s Gorky Park hosted the “Exhibition of Captured German Weapons.” Generations of boys passed down legends about it. There was nothing else to do: once the exhibition lost its propaganda role, most of it was sold for scrap. Looking at the Samara exhibits, you realize: these are different times! Clean, well-maintained, with carefully placed pallets (everything runs, oil leaks). Eyes wander—here they are, the childhood dreams: the Italian SPA, Czech Tatra, British Humber, French La Licorne, German Schwimmwagen, and even the Japanese Kurogane! And for the simpler models: GAZ-67B, Willys MB, Dodge “three-quarters.” A tangible, weighty history of a time that we speak of with a barely perceptible irony: “the unpredictable past.”

Bantam BRC-40 in Motion

“Bantik”! This affectionate, diminutive form is how our drivers referred to the all-terrain vehicle. Small and playful, it’s like a living, animated character straight out of Walt Disney’s creations.

The body appears to have been cut out with giant scissors from roofing metal. Identical round pedal pads stick out from the floor like mushrooms in a clearing. The deliberately pompous oval instruments, in the style of streamline modern, were clearly added by accident. And the sounds? The engine wheezes with a cold, raspy growl, the muffler coughs, the transfer case hums steadily, the ZIP covers rattle, the left CV joint crackles, and something taps in the chassis—I’m not sure if it’s the U-joints or the spring eyes.

The encounter with the “Bantik” was brief. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on how much this unique vehicle cost the owner. (The car was restored by American Dunkar Rollz, a leading expert on the Bantam brand.) First gear engaged, and off we went: shifting with the long “shovel” requires some getting used to—the Borg-Warner T84 three-speed gearbox lacks both selectivity and precision. However, the pedals, despite being floor-mounted, are quite comfortable. The steering feels much softer when hitting bumps compared to the GAZ-67B. In turns, the sensation in the rim is not feedback, but rather resistance. Unlike the “goat” seats or the Willys, the front seats of the Bantam BRC-40 have side bolsters, so you don’t slide around on the cushion. What also surprised me was that the 45 horsepower is more than enough for the “Bantik”—at least for a safe ride on a sandy trail.

The feeling of riding as if on a quad never leaves, due to the low sidewalls with cutouts. The taut canvas top will rub the tall driver’s bald spot faster than an officer’s cap—faster than a former Kremlin cadet’s. Perhaps WWII soldiers were shorter, or the designers didn’t grow tall enough.

We created the collection project together with the renowned restorer Vyacheslav Len. We used Bart Vanderveen’s Historic Military Vehicles Directory—the Bible of military vehicle collectors. We maintain a high restoration standard. All-terrain vehicles that don’t meet this standard are kept in reserve for now.

We are not yet ready to open the collection for public viewing. Three years ago, we established a private cultural institution. We present exhibits at various venues—such as the Central Museum of the Great Patriotic War at Poklonnaya Hill in Moscow and at Patriot Park in the Moscow region. We also participate in parades in Samara.

Photo: fortepan.hu, sa-kuva.fi | Andrey Kryukovsky | Denis Orlov

This is a translation. You ca read the original article here: Частный самарский музей вездеходов: на чем передвигались по бездорожью во времена Второй мировой?