Supacat HMT400 'Jackal' driven

And it is rapid. The mid-mounted 6.7-litre Cummins straight six diesel punches out 516lb ft 
and will propel this deceptively manoeuvrable vehicle to speeds beyond 80mph. I know: I’ve seen it and experienced it. 

Arguably, the Jackal’s biggest stroke of genius is its suspension. Hydraulic struts allow it to squat down to a ground clearance of just 180mm and a total height of less than 1.9 metres, enabling its 2.0m-wide body to be driven into a Chinook. Hit the road, or more likely the Afghan outback and the suspension lifts by a further 300mm for full off-road readiness. Huge air springs, designed for commercial use, are mounted laterally, delivering a frankly unsettling ability to drive over just about anything at just about any speed.

To make all this function properly, there’s a four-wheel drive system, which can run in rear-wheel drive, with high and low-ratio gear sets, locking diffs and epicyclical wheel hubs. The mechanicals at each corner are identical, so if you lose a wheel, you can scavenge parts from another Jackal (or its three-axled sibling, the Coyote) and patch it up in an impressive two hours in the field.

Our test track was centred around a woodland near the historic airfields of Dunkeswell and Smeatharpe. Photographer Will went first, tentatively bumping his Kia Sorento around the track. I watched it heave and scrabble, and the Kia is a pretty capable off-roader.

I followed, trundling slowly past a crumbling WW2 hangar. The lofty driving position in the Jackal is predictably utilitarian. The seat is designed more for protection from mine blasts than for rigorous support, so you cling to the wheel as the vehicle leans heavily going around corners. There are no gears to worry about, courtesy of the five-speed torque converter auto, and the hydraulically assisted steering makes it remarkably easy to wield such a hefty bulk.

What is disconcerting initially is having the front axle beneath you, rather than in front of 
you, which can encourage an unintended early turn-in. Still, we hit the autumn-shrouded woodland, complete with an unrelieved carpet of leaves, at which point my guide and Supacat veteran Andy Roberts told me: “Floor it”.

I liked Andy. He clearly knew his stuff, and he seemed like the kind of bloke who would call a spade a spade, or indeed suggest a flat-out run only where it would be fine to do so. So I did. Regardless of tree roots, gaping potholes and an oncoming hairpin, we went for it.

There was a pause of old-school lag while the turbo took a deep breath, and before I knew it I was watching the digital rev counter tick up as I winced in readiness for the horrific suspension-jarring shudder that would come from travelling over that whacking hole in the ground. But it never came. I barely felt the body dip.

This was one of those moments when I’d convinced myself that I’d made a horrific error of judgement. I was bracing myself to deal with the consequences of damaging this £500,000 vehicle, only to discover that the engineering was way ahead of me. The Jackal was so within its limits that it was laughable.

Then we hit a hairpin, which involved some heavy braking that had the ABS kicking in, a hell of a lot of work at the steering wheel and an early throttle squeeze to get the jump on the lag, and we were off again, bowling along towards a hill that I would have struggled to walk down.