Missing in Action Read online

  The failure to make such a formal request for search assistance remains baffling to this day. The Swedish dog handling team were trained in tracking techniques. But the Swedes remained ignorant of the missing Irish soldier. The Irish only realised weeks later that the Swedes had such a vital resource available. Any of Tpr Mullins’ personal belongings left at Battalion HQ would have provided the dogs with a vital scent from which to work. And Tpr Mullins’ last known location by the drainage ditch on Avenue Drogmans/Boulevard Elisabeth was the perfect place to commence a dog search operation.

  Meanwhile, the Irish officers staged informal briefings amongst themselves in a bid to pool information or ideas about how to search for Tpr Mullins. But, having located the armoured car so fast, the trail suddenly began to go cold. The officers only got scraps of information from local sources and none of it related to where Tpr Mullins’ remains might be located.

  One Katangan businessman, who befriended a few of the Irish UN officers, confidentially briefed them on what he had heard about the firefight on Avenue Drogmans/Boulevard Elisabeth. Captain Magennis and Company Sgt Carroll were correct in their painstaking reconstruction of what might have happened. The one crucial additional piece of information he supplied was that the Katangans were so impressed by the soldier’s courage and loyalty to his comrade that his body was separated from that of the other trooper and taken away by the gendarmes. The businessman reckoned the body was most likely taken for use in some kind of tribal ritual. Congolese tribes had for generations believed that specific body parts carried human attributes such as courage, loyalty and intelligence. Some of the body parts of a brave enemy were believed to convey courage to those who took them and, as such, were prized. The shocked Irish officers realised that, more than likely, Tpr Mullins’ body had been dismembered and used for tribal purposes.

  The information galvanised the Irish officers to redouble their efforts to find Tpr Mullins’ resting place, if such a grave existed. Battalion intelligence was charged with the task while, given the deteriorating security situation in Katanga, the rest of the officers were relieved of the responsibility and assigned to other pressing UN duties. ‘There was very little we could do except keep our eyes and ears open when meeting native people, particularly children. Children everywhere love to gather around soldiers and chat with them even through sign language. But ultimately the hard gathering of information on Tpr Mullins’ burial place would rest on the battalion intelligence section,’ said Art Magennis.

  The search was badly hampered by circumstances. Despite the ceasefire, tensions were running high between Katangans and the UN. Tshombe’s gendarmes did everything in their power to make the work of the UN difficult – setting up roadblocks along UN supply routes and shadowing any UN patrols sent out around the city. It was also routine for Katangan forces to cut electricity and water supplies to areas where the UN troops were based. Some local food stores, including bakers, were warned that supplying the UN carried dire consequences. A trade boycott inevitably erupted.

  A further problem was that any Katangans – and some Europeans for that matter – who conversed or even socialised with UN personnel immediately came under suspicion of spying or providing intelligence. The Katangan Ministry of the Interior was by now genuinely feared in Elisabethville and locals were terrified that contacts with the UN, however innocent, would have serious consequences for them.

  By early October, it began to look like another serious outbreak of fighting was likely. An Irish intelligence section officer was fired on as he drove near the battalion base. On another occasion, an Irish sergeant on a dispatch mission suddenly found his Landrover surrounded by a hostile crowd, which began to stone the vehicle. Katangan forces also increased their patrol tempo and Irish troops noticed that the number of mercenaries around Elisabethville seemed to be increasing by the day. Security concerns were so great that Irish troops were only allowed to move around in armed groups of four and social expeditions to the city centre were forbidden.

  These circumstances meant that battalion intelligence’s priorities had inevitably shifted away from the search for Tpr Mullins. Captain Magennis – acutely aware of the importance of a timely search – decided to take matters into his own hands and contacted a South African national he had befriended in Elisabethville. Bill Williams was a unique character. He had been born and raised in South Africa yet spoke with the soft lilt of the Welsh valleys. Few people knew Africa as well as Bill, and Art Magennis was now desperate for help in uncovering information about the missing eighteen-year-old soldier.

  ‘I first met Bill and his wife shortly after the main body of the 35th Battalion arrived in Elisabethville. A bonfire had been lit in the area between the HQ building and the road. The troops gathered around the fire and an impromptu singsong started. Then the battalion pipe band arrived complete with dress uniforms and started into their concert repertoire. It was a masterstroke of public relations because, within an hour, a crowd had gathered – both whites and blacks – and joined in the event enthusiastically,’ Art recalled.

  ‘I happened to be near the entrance gate when I heard a pronounced Welsh voice say: “Captain, welcome to Katanga.” That is how I first met Bill Williams. His father had emigrated to South Africa after surviving the First World War. Bill was born in South Africa but picked up his father’s Welsh accent and kept it throughout his life. He was in Katanga for about ten years and had established a very successful quarrying business supplying road-making stone to the government and to Union Minière. We soon became good friends.’

  With telecommunications now non-existent in Katanga, ar-ranging a meeting with the quarry owner was easier said than done. Irish troops were under orders only to move around in groups of four and inviting Bill Williams into a group like that in public could pose personal security risks for him. Finally Captain Magennis hit on the idea of trying to contact Bill through an intermediary, a Polish neighbour, Stan Zurakovsky, who was easy for the Irish troops to contact as he lived near the base and troopers passed his home on a near daily basis and who could carry a message to the quarry owner.

  ‘I made contact with Bill through Stan and we arranged a meeting for 24 October. He agreed to try to ferret out any information there might be amongst his Katangan employees about what had happened between Avenue Wangermee and Boulevard Elisabeth. The South African said he would make discreet inquiries but that it would take at least two or three weeks to discover anything. The date of that meeting with Bill always sticks out in my mind because, the very next day, the Katangan authorities released all the prisoners who had been captured by the gendarmes. They were released on the old airstrip by the main airport road. We were glad to see them all back safe and well.’

  Pat Cahalane – who had been a prisoner with his patrol for a month – went back into command of the Armoured Car Group though his hearing was still badly affected by the recoilless rifle round explosion. The 35th Battalion’s Armoured Car Group was now nearly back to full strength with the exception of Cpl Nolan, Tpr Mullins and Sgt Carey, who was receiving medical attention in Leopoldville.

  However, the prisoner release failed to ease the tensions around Elisabethville and November proved to be a miserable month both in terms of the weather and the tightening economic blockade now being mounted against UN forces. The rains poured down and made patrols, guard duty and vehicle maintenance an exhausting ordeal for the Irish troops. Then, in mid November, Captain Magennis finally got a message that Bill Williams wanted to meet him. It was proposed that they meet up at Stan Zurakovsky’s home.

  ‘It was obvious from Bill’s face the minute I walked into the room that the news he had was anything but good. He had learned that, early on the morning of the incident, shortly before daybreak, an armoured car had driven down Avenue Drogmans and turned left [onto Boulevard Elisabeth]. The car was travelling relatively slowly. A short while later, the car stopped and attempted to do a U-turn, but ended up sliding its front wheels into a roadside drainage tr
ench. A soldier got out by the rear door and was helping another soldier. They both got into the trench.

  ‘But some Katangan soldiers arrived on the scene and the shooting started. One of the UN soldiers was hit and fell into the trench. The other soldier continued to shoot until he apparently ran out of ammunition and he, too, was killed. The Katangan soldiers took all the kit out of the car and then they put the body of the second UN soldier to be killed into a truck and drove off towards the ethnic [African] city. They left the body of the other soldier in the trench. That body lay there for two days until it was taken away and buried in an ethnic cemetery.’

  The Irish captain’s face was ashen as he listened to his worst fears become a reality. He had hoped against hope that Tpr Mullins’ body might be located in some part of the African cemetery. But he had clearly been taken elsewhere.

  ‘Bill added that there was a long-standing practice to use the bodies of brave enemies for tribal purposes. It was most likely that this was what had happened. There was a rumour to this effect already within the African city. Further than that, Bill had no more information from his sources.’

  Art Magennis and several other Irish officers had taken note of the fact that the River Lubumbashi ran directly behind the Parc Zoologique, which was where the bullet-chipped armoured car had been found nose-down in the drainage ditch. The river was also readily accessible from the native city, which is where Bill Williams clearly believed Pat Mullins’ body had been taken after the final firefight. Was it possible that, after the tribal ritual, the remains might have been disposed of in the river rather than accorded a proper burial?

  Given the deteriorating security situation between the UN and the Katangans/Belgians, it was obvious that further enquiries were currently impossible. Captain Magennis and Bill Williams thanked their Polish host for helping arrange the meeting, shook hands and parted company. It was the last time that the Irish captain and the South African businessman would meet. In 1962, fearful of the mounting chaos within the Congo, Bill Williams moved his family back to South Africa. Incredibly, Stan Zurakovsky was later arrested by the UN on suspicion of facilitating gun attacks on a UN base. It was a bizarre accusation to level against a man who had given such assistance to the Irish battalion. Crucially, it meant that, from 1962, the Irish had few, if any, local assets to investigate the location of Tpr Mullins’ grave.

  Operation Morthor – which had been hailed as the end to the Katangan insurrection – was effectively abandoned, leaving eleven UN personnel and, according to reports of the time, fifty Katangese dead (though the latter figure is now estimated to be vastly higher). It left a legacy of hatred and mistrust between the various parties in Katanga and the province was now more militarised than at any time in its history.

  In the wake of Operation Morthor and the death of Dag Hammarskjöld in a plane crash, Conor Cruise O’Brien resigned from his post with the UN. Within the Irish army, the shock of Niemba was now followed by the hammer blow of the Jadotville surrender. Politicians and military chiefs alike effectively chose to ignore the courage and heroism displayed by the soldiers at the isolated outpost and, instead, chose to remember the fact that they had surrendered.

  Captain Art Magennis finished his tour with the 35th Battalion and rotated back to Ireland in January 1962. The captain didn’t return to the Congo until early 1963 when he was stationed at Kolwezi. By 1964, Ireland and the UN were winding down their operation in Katanga after a soon-to-be-breached peace deal had been signed between the various Congolese factions. Within twelve months of Ireland withdrawing from the Congo, the country entered the darkness of the US-backed Mobutu regime where corruption, incompetence and brutality left one of Africa’s potentially wealthiest countries on the verge of collapse.

  Meanwhile, in Ireland in September 1961, a nightmare began for the Mullins family. Two ashen-faced army officers climbed the winding road to Boher to explain to Catherine and her children that her youngest son was missing and feared dead. Tom Kent heard the news and, fearful of his wife Mary hearing about the tragedy before he had a chance to bring her to her family, he disconnected one of the fuses in the radio so that no Radio Éireann broadcasts could be heard.

  In early January 1962, Lt Col Hugh McNamee and Captain Art Magennis also travelled to Boher to explain to the family at first hand as much as they could about what happened to Pat. A short time later Sgt Tim Carey also made contact with the family to explain what had happened. Cmdt Pat Cahalane, who hailed Pat as a loyal and courageous soldier, also made contact.

  But the family didn’t hear the full details of what happened between Avenue Wangermee and Boulevard Elisabeth – in part because the army itself was not certain back in 1961/62 precisely what had happened. So Catherine Mullins simply knew that her youngest son had died in an ambush, that he had done his duty and that his body was now missing. It would be almost four decades before crucial details could be added to that summary.

  Pat Mullins’ armoured car minutes after it was towed back to the Irish battalion’s Prince Leopold Farm base following the ambush. (Photo: Art Magennis)

  Irish troops marvel at modern armoured weaponry. Note the shamrock armbands worn by the soldiers. The Swedish armoured car boasts proper hardened steel plate, four-wheel drive, wide visibility for the driver and, most intimidating of all, twin box-fed Madsen machine guns which could fire 1,100 rounds per minute. (Photo: Art Magennis)

  11 – Lessons Learned but a Teenage Irish Hero Left Behind

  As Irish troops prepared to pull out of the Congo and bring the curtain down on the country’s first major UN peacekeeping mission, it didn’t seem like much of a victory – at least not at the time. The secession of Katanga had successfully been prevented and the integrity of the Congo preserved, but, for the first time, UN troops had sustained significant losses and there were question marks over just how far ‘peacekeeping’ could go.

  The uneasy ceasefire after Operation Morthor broke down on 5 December when heavy fighting again erupted. The UN launched Operation Unokat, which was aimed at clearing routes of Katangan gendarme roadblocks and getting mercenaries out of the country. The 35th Battalion’s return to Ireland was delayed for a fortnight due to the heavy fighting. They ultimately left the Congo when the new 36th Battalion relieved them in the line under fire. On 10 December, John O’Mahony and other elements of the battalion were ordered to Rousseau Farm near Elisabethville Airport and they began to fly home on 18 December. John flew out on 20 December, but due to an engine failure on his USAF flight home, was forced to spend three days at Wheelus Field Air Base in Libya before finally arriving back to Baldonnel on Christmas morning.

  Ireland ended its Congo mission and words like ‘Niemba’, ‘Katanga’ and ‘Baluba’ permanently entered the Irish lexicon. To this day, half a century on, the phrase ‘Baluba’ is still used in a derogatory sense in some rural areas of Ireland. The Irish had mixed emotions about the country’s involvement in the Congo – Niemba and Jadotville had been a massive shock to the system of an army relatively untouched by the Second World War and the military developments of the Cold War. Worst of all, soldiers from the Southern Command – and, in particular, the cavalry units – returned home in the knowledge that the body of a comrade lay in an undiscovered African grave.

  The Congo was a bruising experience for the UN as well as Ireland. The UN had experienced the cataclysmic difference between peacekeeping and peace-enforcement – and the resultant political fallout. It also, for the first time, had the spectre of bloodshed to deal with due to rumours filtering out about how some blue-helmeted troops, most notably some of the Indian contingents, had dealt with Katangan soldiers in and around Elisabethville during Operation Morthor.

  In his excellent history of the UN’s first half century, United Nations – The First Fifty Years, Stanley Meisler pointed out that the Congo represented the steepest learning curve in the organisation’s short history and became a conflict that would mark UN operations for decades to come. The Congo not
only cost the UN the lives of some of its peacekeepers, and arguably its finest secretary-general, but also a substantial chunk of its innocence. ‘The Congo had also jarred the mood of confidence about the emerging Africa. The UN had not mounted such a large and audacious military force before. At Suez, the troops were performing what would be known as the classic peacekeeping tasks – the impartial patrolling of ceasefire lines between belligerents who were content, for the time being, to avoid conflict. The blue helmets at Suez fired their weapons only to protect themselves. The Congo operation took the UN onto much more dangerous ground,’ Meisler wrote.

  ‘The Congo now appears a greater triumph for the UN in the microscope of history. When the UN (eventually) withdrew its troops after four years, an era of chaos and murderous suppression still lay ahead in the Congo. But, amid much bitter controversy, the UN had managed to suppress the secession of Moise Tshombe’s Katanga province with his mercenary-led army. It was a grand victory of sorts.’

  What is most noteworthy is that it would be another three decades before the UN was prepared to mount an operation in any way comparable to that undertaken in the Congo. The UN was deeply reluctant to endure the kind of headlines that marred some of its military operations in Katanga. For example, the shooting of a Swiss banker by an over-enthusiastic Ethiopian UN soldier armed with a bazooka provoked such outrage in Europe that Britain’s Prime Minister Harold MacMillan was moved to comment that: ‘Even Swiss bankers have rights.’