It’s a Wednesday morning that starts like any other. My alarm goes off at a time later than I care to admit, and is met with practically zero enthusiasm for getting out of bed. Before I allow myself to sink back into my dreams of being an Initial D antagonist tormenting mountain roads in an R33 Nissan Skyline GT-R, I have to remind myself there is a day ahead, I have rent to pay and a job to attend to. One I quite like, don’t get me wrong.
Yet, this day ahead soon turned into one a little different. A cursory glance at my phone reveals a message from site editor Matt Robinson ‘20m ago’. Oh no, Matt never messages me out of hours, what’s gone wrong?
“Fancy going to drive a Torsus today?”, to paraphrase his message. In my still-awakening, groggy state, I have to remind myself what a Torsus is. One quick Google later, “Yes, yes I do”.
Torsus Praetorian
You’ve seen the lead image for this feature, so you’ve probably got an idea already. Though if you haven’t heard of Torsus before, the best way to describe it is a Czechia-based builder of versatile nuclear bunkers that happen to use internal combustion engines to power wheels and operate like vehicles.
Its halo model is the main event for today, the Praetorian. At its heart is the chassis of a MAN TG3 HGV, along with a 6.9-litre six-cylinder diesel engine producing a seemingly measly 286bhp and a not-at-all measly 848lb ft of torque.
Torsus then fits its own-developed 4×4 system consisting mostly of other MAN components, including a transfer case and 12-speed automated manual transmission, plus two locking differentials. This is all chosen, Torsus says, because it’s tried and tested – two things you need for something capable of surviving in a legitimate warzone – and MAN service centres will even deal with them.
Torsus Praetorian
Heavy-duty planetary drive axles are used for both the front and rear, with air suspension deployed across the back too. Oh, and good old leaf springs up front. Enormous tyres are naturally needed, with a set of 365/80 R20 Michelin XZLs fitted. Never has a set of 20-inch wheels looked so tiny.
If that or the pictures don’t give you a clear context of how big the Praetorian is, let me offer up the sheer numbers. 8.7m long, 2.6m wide, 3.9m tall, weighing about 13 tonnes unladen and with 34 passenger seats. Got it now? Good.
Naturally, this isn’t something you’re going to just be able to greenlane in the English countryside. So, a shower and mug of Yorkshire Tea later, it’s off to Milbrook Proving Ground I go.
If you’re not familiar with Millbrook, it’s the UK’s biggest testing facility for car manufacturers. It’s not uncommon to see in-development electric SUVs, bespoke hypercars and everything in between. Oh, and Top Gear filmed that segment with the convertible Renault Espace here way back when. It’s a place I’ve been to plenty of times before, but usually to drive economy hatchbacks or stand in the pissing rain watching someone else do fun stuff behind a camera. Never has anything quite been like this.
The sheer size of the thing in the flesh really does a job of making me feel like a tiny spec of dust on this revolving planet. It’s just absolutely gigantic, enhanced a little by the lemon yellow paint choice for this particular example, and I begin to wonder how compatible this thing is with the physics of off-roading.
Hopping on board, the nerves begin to kick in. Never have I driven anything of this size, and I’m even startled by the air cushion in the seat lowering as I perch my backside on it. In front of me is a mass of controls that, even with so many hours of Euro Truck Simulator 2 under my belt, make next to zero sense. Fortunately, there’s an instructor on hand to explain all.
Torsus Praetorian, interior controls
Gears are the first thing to wrap your head around. Everything is controlled through a single stalk neatly falling into your right hand. Most automatics are best left to their own devices, but for the sake of not getting in an automated manual pickle while taking on the ruts of the course ahead, I’m in full manual mode. Pull to shift up, push to shift down – a bit like a WRC car, although my instructor seems less impressed with that comparison than I am.
Unfortunately for the people of Bedfordshire having to deal with local flooding but very fortunately for me today, the heavens have opened up and the facilities’ off-road course is suitably trashed. It’s a chance to put the behemoth through its paces.
Wrapping your head around the sheer size of the thing is the first hurdle. Remember to approach corners wide enough that it feels like you’re about to put yourself into the hedge on your outside, so as to make sure the rest of the eight metres of Czech-built bus behind you doesn’t clip the inside.
Torsus Praetorian
Then, it’s the gears. I’ve driven an automated manual once before this, on a Hyundai i10. There, it was sluggish, horrible, indecisive. Here, it has some of those traits too – changing ratios can take an age, and you really have to think about which of the 12 speeds you’re in while tackling the rough stuff – otherwise you could find yourself mid-shift and out of gear while cresting a hill in a 13-tonne vehicle. Not good. The thing is, it’s durable, and it’s hard to argue with simply opting for something reliable on this type of machine.
Once those two are figured out, though, it’s pretty plain sailing. It’s strangely planted-feeling for something of its mass and height, and just how effortlessly it can manage an obstacle yet remain comfortable while doing so is dumbfounding.
Steep climbs on loose surfaces are effortless thanks to all that torque being delivered and those gigantic balls of rubber on each corner hunkering into the earth’s crust. What really blows my mind is how effectively the hill descent control manages all of this metal when coming back down again, allowing you to simply focus on keeping it pointing in the right direction.
Torsus Praetorian
The biggest challenge comes in the form of concrete steps to test the articulation of those planetary axles. Each bump looks big enough to swallow a Smart car yet the Praetorian glides over them at a crawling place with no issue, even when driver error sees you drop a tyre in too deep because you cocked the speed up. Handy, really, as you’d presumably need a winch with twice the gravitational force of Jupiter to pull it back out again.
Really, I shouldn’t be so surprised. This is a vehicle designed to take lots of people to places no other vehicles should really go. Torsus reckons once a Praetorian sees its first bit of dirt or mud, it’s very unlikely to ever see a smooth road again. Think mountain excursions, warzones, foreign aid. A wet bit of Bedfordshire was never really going to be a problem.
Yet, what it has just managed to do has given me a newfound appreciation that this type of engineering exists. It’s like driving a supercar knowing that you’re going to find your own limits before the car’s, except the limits of this can help explore once-uncharted lands or literally save lives as opposed to just ‘car go fast’.
Evidence I’m not miserable in every driving shot
If you’re curious, a Praetorian can be yours for about £180,000 and that’s before you start playing with some options. There’s a remarkably in-depth configurator that will even put Porsche‘s to shame, so go enjoy an afternoon of that.
Maybe if I could now take one to Mount Akina and simply climb up it, that Fujiwara kid wouldn’t be so much of a problem when I close my eyes next Wednesday night…
