AUTOCAR M3 HALF-TRACK
The donkey-work king of the US Army
IT’S HARD TO make a surreptitious entrance in a half-track. For starters, noise carries when you’re halfway up a mountain in central Portugal, and an Autocar M3 is commotion itself. Your arrival is trumpeted from a mile away, perhaps further, depending on wind conditions. The sound of a ginormous straightsix under load is matched for volume by transmission whine and road roar. Oh, and laughter tinged with disbelief. The shock and awe at somehow not demolishing every local landmark has taken its toll on both the driver and on the trusting occupants in the back: the ones who are now hoarse from barking instructions that consisted mostly of ‘No, my left!’ and ‘Look out for the…’
Juddering to a halt, it’s as though a seismic disturbance has unsettled the air. The heatsoak is immense, that’s for sure. Saucer-eyed tourists reach for their phones. Everyone is smiling, firing off questions while resisting the urge to clamber aboard. Somehow you doubt this was the case when this vehicle last saw active service. Its occupants would rather have been somewhere – just about anywhere – else. It’s all relative. M3s appeared front and centre in so many theatres of war, and not just the famous ones. This particular example outran the battlefield and the scrap man’s cutting torch and is as captivating as it is terrifying.
Just look at it. The M3 intimidates on first contact. For starters, it’s 20ft 3in long, 6ft 5in wide, and 7ft 5in high. The jutting proboscis, home to a self-recovery winch that by itself weighs more than the average small car, precedes louvred shutters that protect the radiator. The flanks are rough-hewn and peppered with outsize bolts, the box-like rearend seemingly designed with the aid of a setsquare and a blunt pencil. It’s brutally ugly, but magnificent with it.
Nothing about this leviathan is in the realm of the normal, not least its origins. This most American of personnel carriers has decidedly French roots, albeit by at least three degrees of separation. The narrative began in 1925 after the US Army acquired a brace of CitroënKégresse half-tracks. They were put through their paces at the Aberdeen Proving Ground in Maryland, and the top brass was clearly impressed as another order was placed later on. US firms were subsequently engaged to refine and develop the concept on behalf of the US Ordnance Department. This in turn led to the White Motor Company creating the T14 halftrack prototype that broke cover in 1939, just as Europe descended into hell.
In September of the following year, the T14 was standardised as the M2, or ‘Half-Track Car’. Its intended role was not, however, as a
troop mover. It was to have been a ‘gun tractor’; a beast of burden that towed heavy artillery. Near concurrently, a version developed by Diamond T with a 254mm (10in) longer body was created with the intention of ferrying soldiers, and standardised as the M3.
Scroll-forward to May 1941 and Diamond T began deliveries, with White and Autocar also manufacturing the M3 in series. Distinct from the M2, this evolutionary strain featured an access door to the rear, with two rows of five seats in the back and room for three in the cab. The M3’s hull comprised 6mm (0.25in) armour plating, with 12mm (0.5in) hinged shields over the cab window apertures. M3s were initially fitted with a pedestal mount just ahead of the front seats to accommodate a .30 calibre machine gun. However, from mid-1942 an M49 ring mount for a .50cal Browning was fitted in a raised and armoured ‘pulpit’ mount over the wingman’s seat. In this form, the vehicle was designated M3A1.
Power came from a 6330cc White ‘160AX’ engine allied to a four-speed manual nonsynchro ’box and a two-speed transfer case from which drive was taken to both the front axle and the track drive sprockets. Developed by BF Goodrich, the signature tracks comprised rubber moulded around steel cables with steel crosspieces and metal track guides. The rear suspension, if you can call it that, used vertical volute-type springs, while leaf springs were employed up front.
‘They were part of the Army backbone as they were an armoured and tracked vehicle,’ says owner Salvador Patrício Gouveia. ‘They could go everywhere and transport soldiers and ammo in a much safer way, unlike lorries, for example. They were slower than trucks on the road but, other than that, they gave a lot more protection and were a means of penetrating all kinds of terrain. They had so many different roles, not least as ambulances. They could also carry machine guns or even bigger artillery such as anti-aircraft cannons. They could actually enter combat, too.’
Which they did on all major fronts during World War Two, endless permutations being supplied to the US Army and Marine Corps. They were put to work in Europe, North Africa and the Pacific. Not only that, M3s were fielded by British and Commonwealth forces under the Lend-Lease programme, and also the Russian Red Army. ‘The Germans also had a half-track, the Sd Kfz 251, which was built by Hanomag, Horch and Škoda, among others,’
‘The jutting proboscis is home to a winch that by itself weighs more than a small car’
Patrício Gouveia adds. ‘They are extremely rare these days, like all German war material, as the survival rate was so low. As in every war, material was taken and reused, so you had German divisions using US half-tracks with their symbols repainted on the sides for recognition – to avoid friendly fire – and the other way around.’
Not that the M3’s role came to a halt with the end of WW2. Umpteen variants and spin-offs continued in service as late as 2009. They featured in conflicts spanning the Korean War and the Lebanese Civil War, and in more than 20 countries, from Argentina to Yugoslavia via Pakistan and Laos. Israel, for example, was gifted several M3s by the US and set about modifying and updating them, with varying degrees of success.
The irony is that while these half-tracks came to be admired during their service life, and lauded in the present day, they weren’t well received by grunts on the ground early on. So much so, M3s earned the unfortunate sobriquet of ‘Purple Heart Boxes’, an off-colour reference to the US Army’s decoration for wounds incurred in combat. This was due in no small part to the lack of overhead protection for those ferried in the rear from artillery barrages. A lack of interior storage space was also the bane of soldiers’ lives, which is why you often see sepia-tinged images of half-tracks in action with kit and other paraphernalia dangling from every conceivable bracket and hoop on the outside of the vehicle.
Another significant problem with the M3, at least to begin with, was the tendency for its fixed rear idlers to break. Which meant that, while those on the ground came to rely on the half-track, they couldn’t necessarily depend upon it. A spring-loaded mod was perfected, after put-upon mechanics had been obliged to improvise under duress. However, the M3 underwent something of a critical reappraisal later during WW2, its ability to take on several roles, often simultaneously, earning it the respect of those obliged to live – or die – by it.
The precise backstory of the 1943 example pictured here is unknown. Arch-collector and historian Patrício Gouveia discovered it in The Netherlands and transported it back to Portugal, where it’s currently on display in the superb Museu do Caramulo alongside his Kübelwagen, Dodge WC52 and other militaria. Or at least it is when he isn’t using it, the locale being perfect for demonstrating the half-track’s abilities to the uninitiated. That said, he isn’t above sharing the
wealth, either. If you can start it, you can drive it, appears to be his mantra.
First, there’s the small matter of scaling the beast. There is something approximate to a step, but it’s still quite a climb into the cabin. Once aboard, it’s all chequer plate, levers and rivets; lots and lots of rivets. It’s very steampunk. Firing the M3 isn’t that hard. It helps that there are plaques everywhere, including one that bears the legend: ‘1. Press starter button firmly. 2. Do not repress button until engine comes to complete rest (approx 5 seconds) if not started on first attempt. Serious damage to cranking motors may result if above rules are not followed.’ Good to know.
The mighty in-line ‘six’ barks into life first time. It sounds gruff and purposeful, as you might expect, and time spent warming the beast up is put to good use absorbing other information writ large across the dashboard. First, don’t forget to not rev it past 2000prm until the cooling system has reached 160 degrees Fahrenheit, and disengage front-wheel drive when on paved roads. And then we’re off, departing a car park with a guttural bellow and an awkward whoops-a-daisy as the rear tracks bite and the front end convulses.
More power, more noise and we’re properly up and running, the route to the off-road course being a billiard-table smooth thoroughfare during the week and a hillclimb venue at weekends. The route climbs and climbs and then climbs some more, the M3 labouring deafeningly to near the summit, where lush vegetation gives way to an almost lunar landscape. Top speed on the flat stuff is 45mph (unladen), all the while delivering 3mpg at best. Progress is slow, then, but it still requires guidance. There is no time to admire the scenes of breathtaking grandeur.
Heading off-piste with four-wheel drive engaged, it soon transpires that the faster you go, the less the front end digs in. But it’s a hoot to drive, even if the gearchange is beyond vague. The shift pattern is normal enough, but the lever feels flaccid and indirect. Such is the immense torque, however, you could leave it in top all day and it would drag itself along happily, if rowdily. Soon, rocks are thumping against the undercarriage, a semi-controlled slalom around some natural obstacles leading to what might euphemistically be called a ‘moment’. Suddenly, we’re heading over a crest just as the trail ahead falls precipitously away. It transpires that the hand signal for ‘slow down’ doesn’t mean ‘go faster’ after all. Cue a 27-point turn on a dusty track about as wide as the M3 is long. That, and an overwhelming desire to breathe into a paper bag for a wee while.
Not an option for those hardy souls who guided this monster and others like it in combat. A mere half-an-hour spent driving the M3 makes you appreciate not only its abilities – and there are many – but also what life must have been like for those in the firing line. It isn’t for the faint of heart, nor was it ever.
‘Suddenly, we’re heading over a crest just as the trail falls precipitously away...’