When Porsche Helped The Soviet Union Try To Win The World’s Toughest Race

When the LADA Samara* car first arrived on British shores in November 1987, the now-defunct Motor magazine immediately slammed the Soviet Union’s answer to the Mk.II Volkswagen Golf, Renault 9, and Ford Escort for its “poor ride, and shoddy build quality.” 

Fair enough, that. The Samara was by no means a particularly good car. I know this first-hand. Whilst holidaying in Ukraine some years ago (pre-war!), I barrelled down a dusty, potholed track in a village somewhere west of the mighty Dnipro River behind the wheel of one. It was noisy, uncomfortable, and appeared resolute in rattling itself to bits. An interior door panel may also have been missing. 

Would I repeat this experience? No. I probably would not. 

Yet for all of its faults, the Samara was a landmark vehicle. Whilst it launched in 1984, the car’s history goes back to 1978. The Politburo decided the people of the Soviet Union needed a front-engined, front-wheel drive hatchback; a configuration that was taking Europe by storm.

A Front-Wheel Drive Car For The Soviet People By The Soviet People… Sort Of

State-owned LADA was no stranger to doing business with foreign carmakers. Much of the company’s very foundations were built on its collaboration with FIAT as a result of both nations being communism enthusiasts. Russo-Italian partnership led to the construction of LADA’s Tolyatti factory in central Russia, and the birth of the FIAT 124-derived VAZ-2103; one of my favorite cars of all time. 

Naturally, the Soviets asked their Italian counterparts to help with the development of the Samara. For reasons known only to themselves, the Italians refused. What happened next transformed the car named after a tributary of the Volga River from an all-Soviet hatchback into a genuine world car. 

Somehow, The People from Tolyatti managed to convince ZF in Germany to supply the Samara’s rack-and-pinion steering and its gearbox synchronizers; its CV joints came from Australia’s Hardy Spicer, and its disc brakes were provided by Lucas in Great Britain. 

Meanwhile, the combustion chambers in the available 1.0-litre, 1.3-litre, or 1.5-litre engines were developed by Porsche. Yes, you read that correctly–Porsche.

The history books show us that this wasn’t the first time in history that the USSR and Germany had buddied up. However, this oddball marriage between communism and capitalism came to be because Porsche was broke during the late 1970s. For much of its history, Porsche was broke. It wasn’t until the arrival of the Boxster and the 996 that Zuffenhausen started operating like a proper car company. 

A Child Of Glasnost and Perestroika 

By the time the Samara launched domestically in 1984, the USSR was hurtling towards collapse. Its vast population was suffering from war fatigue on the back of its disastrous incursion into Afghanistan, the nation was weary of its country’s gerontocratic leadership, and the economy was tanking.

The following year, the well-intended and radical reforms of glasnost’ (openness) and perestroika (restructuring) introduced by the relatively youthful new General Secretary, 53-year-old Mikhail Gorbachev, had a reverse intended effect. The USSR became more fractured than ever. Its people would be plunged into unimaginable levels of socioeconomic hardship. 

Despite the woes that befell the USSR during the late 1980s, Moscow decided in 1987– the year the Samara debuted in the West–that in 1990, LADA would take on the Paris-Dakar with its new hatchback. This plan was devised to bring in some much-needed cash to the Soviet Union’s fast-depleting coffers, and just like there is always money for drinking and smoking, car makers somehow always find the funds to go racing if it’s in their interests. 

As for the Soviet people who were being paid in toilet seats and couldn’t access necessities such as food?

Well, fuck ‘em.

The USSR Calls The French For Some Help

The Dakar-going version of the Samara, now known as the Samara T3, would be overseen by LADA’s official French importer, Poch. 

Between 1980 and 1988, the French firm fielded factory-backed LADA Nivas on the Paris-Dakar with two best results of second place overall. The project had even caught the attention of six-time Le Mans winner and all-round talented Belgian, Jacky Ickx, who took part in the event behind the wheel of a Niva during its final two years of competition. 

Given the relatively strong performance of the hardy little Nivas in the West African desert, Tolyatti handed the development of the Samara T3 over to its tried and trusted French comrades. The brief from the Soviet Union was simple: build a car that would beat Peugeot to victory on the Paris-Dakar

In 1988 and 1989, the French manufacturer dominated the event with its turbocharged 405 and 205 T16s. For 1990, the Paris-Dakar’s organizers, FISA, stated it would ban turbocharging to level the playing field for the opposition. 

With its Samara T3, LADA, then, felt it had a good shot at victory.

It would be easy for me to sit here and wheel out that hackneyed old Top Gear-ism of “ambitious but rubbish,” because Soviet cars are an easy target and were largely crap. But the truth of the matter is that the Samara T3 was a clever piece of automotive engineering.

Porsche Torque Vectoring Meets French Buran-Style Bodywork

Every panel of the T3 was designed from scratch and crafted from carbon fiber by French race car manufacturer, ORECA, the firm responsible for building the chassis of the current LMP2 field and the Alpine Hypercar in the FIA World Endurance Championship. The French connection was further reinforced by the T3’s Group B-style tubular space frame developed by engineering firm, SERA. 

At this point, I should let you know that despite the rumors, no materials from the Soviet Union’s Buran space program were used in the construction of the LADA Samara T3. I’m just as disappointed as you are about that. However, the car’s long-travel suspension–308mm and 300mm front and rear –was developed by Tupolev, the Russian aerospace and defense company responsible for the world’s first supersonic airliner, the TU-144. 

The late ’70s pact between LADA and Porsche allowed the Soviets to secure engines for its latest Dakar challenger. In the back was a 360bhp, naturally-aspirated 3.6-litre flat-six from the 964, which–for reasons unknown–was built in the United States. Upon its arrival in the USSR, it was then fettled by the NAMI, the Central Scientific Research Institute For Automobile and Automotive Engines in Moscow. 

The decision to pursue a rear-mounted engine was pursued after LADA found this configuration afforded the T3 better stability over the dunes than the Peugeots with their mid-engined layout. 

Zuffenhausen’s generosity didn’t just stop with the engines. The T3 was fitted with the clutchless five-speed manual gearbox from the 964 Carrera 4, and paired the four-wheel drive system from what many consider to be the world’s first truly modern hypercar–the Porsche 959.

When the 959 was released in 1986, 4WD was a relatively agrarian thing. Yet Porsche developed the PSK, or Porsche-Steuer Kuppling because that’s the sort of thing Porsche enjoys doing. To this day, the PSK remains one of the world’s most sophisticated 4WD systems ever produced. 

The PSK can vary its torque ratio. This was a stark contrast to other 4WD systems of the day, which could only achieve this when the wheels began to slip. In default mode, the PDK delivered 40% of its torque to the front and 60% to the rear. Under acceleration, up to 80% was redirected to the rear wheels. In adverse conditions including gravel and sand, the torque was equally split between the two axles to provide outstanding levels of grip. 

In short, Porsche had developed a torque vectoring system. With this highly advanced running gear underpinning its 1990 challenger, LADA had every reason to be optimistic about the T3’s chances, especially as Porsche took a 1-2 with the 959 on the 1986 Paris-Dakar courtesy of René Metge and Jacky Ickx. 

Paris Angers Moscow By Changing The Rules At The Last Minute 

It would be somewhat rich of the Soviet Union to accuse FISA of corruption. After all, the USSR–and Russia today– largely operated and still largely operates based on blat,  a system of informal agreements, deals, or bribes to achieve results and/or get ahead.

Yet a handful of weeks before the running of the 1990 Paris-Dakar, the Paris-based motorsport body altered the regulations to allow turbocharged cars to participate. This decision would see the Jean Todt-led Peugeot team enter at the last minute. By the end of the event, its 405 T16s claimed a podium clean sweep with led by Ari Vatanen.

Understandably, the Soviet contingent was red with anger about the 11th-hour change to the rule book. Tolyatti and Poch had spent every last resource they had on developing a regulation-compliant to give them a shot at Dakar glory. There simply was no money to re-develop a new, turbocharged engine in time for the grueling jaunt through Europe and into West Africa.

It’s a decision that still rankles Russian motorsport circles to this day. In a 2023 piece about the Samara T3, journalist Mikhail Medvedev wrote the following in sport.ru: “How could they [LADA and Poch] argue with the French, especially in their backyard? Peugeot, the Dakar organizers, and FISA were all based in Paris. It would have been impossible for anyone to take on such a bureaucratic and mafia-like organization. All in all, the Samara T3 project turned out to be in vain.” 

Deflated, the LADA team took the start of the 1990 Paris-Dakar in the French capital, but the event –as expected–quickly turned into a disappointment. Patrick Tambay’s car failed to make it out of Europe. Jérôme Rivière and Jacky Ickx would finish 11th and seventh respectively. 

As The USSR Dissolves, So Do LADA’s Hopes Of Ever Winning The Dakar 

In 1991, the Samara T3 would record its best Paris-Dakar finish with fifth place in the hands of Hubert Auriol. By the end of that same year, the Soviet Union would collapse and with it, the car’s hopes of ever improving on that result. 

Ironically, its finest hour came during the mid-1990s when Russia was making its painful transition from communism to free market capitalism under then-president Boris Yeltsin. A blue flame-liveried Samara T3 would finish second on the 1995 Master Rally; a little-known 4,000-mile, 45-day event starting in Paris and ending in Peking with stops in Moscow and Ulaanbataar in between. 

The T3’s final resting place is the LADA museum at the carmaker’s factory in Tolyatti.

As for the road-going Samara, the ending of the story is somewhat happier. A total of 5,427,000 of them were made over a period of almost 40 years when production finally stopped in 2013.

The LADA Samara was named the VAZ-2108 in the Soviet Union and is still referred to as such today in Russia and other countries once occupied by the USSR. For a short period in its early life, the Samara was badged as the Sputnik in the domestic market. Vosmyorka (Восмёрка) or “number eight” was also a nickname attributed to the car in countries where Russian was and still remains widely spoken.

Throughout its life, the Samara was manufactured in Russia, Uruguay, Ukraine, and Finland. A convertible model called the LADA Natasha was sold in a choice few Western markets. The Samara outlived the Soviet Union, Boris Yeltsin, and survived two terms under Vladimir Putin.