Missing in Action Read online

  ‘I remember Pat was really excited when he was telling me about the operation after it was over and he came back to camp. At one point, they were ordered to close down the airport because there were fears some of the mercenaries might try to flee capture and fly to a rural air base to link up with Katangan forces. So two Irish armoured cars – one with Pat at the Vickers machine gun – dramatically drove out onto the runway to stop planes taking off. But one pilot was determined to make it and he revved his propellers ready for take-off. Pat and the other Irish gunner simply turned their turrets and aimed the machine guns directly at the cockpit. The pilot had no option but to stop the plane. Pat was laughing as he told me how the pilot was furious and kept shaking his fist at the two Irish gunners,’ John O’Mahony recalled.

  However, for John, Operation Rampunch was a frustrating experience. Just eight days before the operation was launched, he had been on guard duty when, as the evening got cool, he marched back to his accommodation block to get a tunic for warmth.

  ‘On the way back I noticed some of the off-duty soldiers were engaged in an impromptu game of football. Passing by, I could not resist an opportunity to join in for five minutes or so. But this was to be my undoing as during a scuffle for the ball I pushed someone too hard and fractured a bone in my right hand. I heard the “crack” of the bone and felt a jolt of pain in my hand. But I continued the night on guard duty and did not report the matter for a couple of days as I hoped it would clear up by itself. However, the hand remained painful and then started to swell up in the heat. Finally, I simply couldn’t use it properly and couldn’t operate the turret handles in the armoured car to rotate the Vickers machine gun. At the UN hospital in the city, an Italian doctor fitted a plaster and ticked me off for not reporting the matter sooner. I remember him saying: “What were you waiting for – the hand to fall off?” So for the next few weeks I would be on light duties with my hand in a cast,’ John explained. The injury kept him off patrol duty for several weeks.

  Within forty-eight hours of Operation Rampunch being launched, the UN disastrously undermined its potential success by agreeing to allow local Belgian officials to complete the measures the UN had initiated. It was a fateful miscalculation, because the UN allowed the benefits of their bold intervention to be frittered away by Belgian officials operating to a different agenda – and then found themselves in precisely the same position as they started. Except now the Katangan populace had begun to regard the UN as more of an army of occupation than a peacekeeping force.

  As promised by the Belgian authorities, regular Belgian officers duly left Katanga – but the mercenaries who had previously been deported quietly slipped back across the border. Additional mercenary reinforcements were discreetly flown in and nothing further was done to disarm the mercenaries now leading the Katangan gendarmes. The UN finally realised in early September that Operation Rampunch had failed to reach its targets and it was decided that firmer measures would have to be put in place.

  The second UN assault on Katanga was earmarked for 2 a.m. on 13 September 1961. It was called Operation Morthor – the name apparently having been chosen by Conor Cruise O’Brien after learning from his Indian military advisor that ‘Morthor’ was a Hindu word for ‘smash’ or ‘hammer-blow’. It was a calculated gamble that the Katangan gendarmerie, weakened by the deportation of its Belgian officer corps, would not resist the UN troops as they seized key installations around Elisabethville.

  Conor Cruise O’Brien and his military advisers estimated that Tshombe originally had 208 Belgian officers and 302 European-African mercenaries in Katanga. The arrests and deportations were believed to have whittled the number down to just 104 – and it was not thought likely that this small force would stand and fight. During Operation Rampunch, Irish troops alone had taken forty-one officers and mercenaries into custody. But the UN failed to appreciate that Tshombe – through his own military experience – placed enormous faith in the skills of European soldiers and had been secretly hiring further mercenaries to stiffen resolve within his Katangan army. They ranged from ex-French-colonial paratroopers hardened during the brutal Algerian civil war, to adventurers from South Africa, Rhodesia, the US and even (reportedly) one Irish-American. Critically, there were also a number of former German Wehrmacht troops who had served with the French Foreign Legion.

  These mercenary recruits soon earned the nickname ‘Les Afreus’ – ‘the Terrible Ones’ – a monicker first used for French paratroopers during their anti-rebel duties in Algeria. The mercenaries clearly loved the notoriety, and some of them dressed to fit the ‘Les Afreus’ description. They wore their hair long, they grew scrub beards and they appeared in a variety of well-worn combat fatigues and were never seen on the street unless they were heavily armed, sometimes with ammunition belts draped around them. Some of the experienced mercenaries had been recruited with the offer of a £200 signing fee – the equivalent to a €20,000-plus payment in modern currency. It was an astonishing amount that dwarfed the salaries of senior engineers and diplomats. They were provided with whatever arms they required, as well as free accommodation and lodging. ‘Les Afreus’ were assigned to specific units of the Katangan gendarmes and they knew their primary targets would be the UN should a second move against the secessionary forces be attempted.

  Tshombe was an enthusiastic supporter of mercenary recruit-ment and, having seen how the Congo’s Force Publique had disintegrated into a riotous mob over the previous twelve months following the loss of its European officers, told his senior Belgian military adviser, Major Guy Weber, ‘I only trust whites.’

  Tshombe also knew that his army needed hardware and money had been spent acquiring Staghound armoured cars. The US vehicle was Second World War vintage, but was ideally suited to the Congolese conflict. It was fast, being capable of speeds of up to ninety kilometres per hour, it had a great range of almost 800 kilometres on one tank of fuel and, with eight millimetres of hardened armour, was able to withstand hits from virtually all light weapons. Its 37mm gun also meant it outgunned anything the UN could currently field against it.

  Critically, Tshombe had also secured three Aerospatiale Fouga Magister jet-trainers. While effectively obsolete as a combat aircraft, the Magister ruled in the Congo because it had no rivals. The Magister – distinctive with its butterfly tail – could cruise at 750 kilometres per hour and had a range of 925 kilometres. The latter meant that, when operating from Elisabethville, virtually every isolated UN post was within its strike radius. The Magister was really a training aircraft, but could be equipped with 7.62mm machine guns, rocket pods, 500 kilogramme bombs and even napalm. Because it was designed as a jet trainer, it had docile handling characteristics and was a stable gun platform. Against vulnerable ground targets it was a lethal foe.

  With no UN jet fighters in the theatre, the Magister dominated the skies. It instantly rendered the UN helicopters, on which isolated posts often depended for communications and supplies, hugely vulnerable. If, as local rumours hinted, Tshombe had secured Belgian mercenary pilots to fly his Magisters, then the skies belonged to the Katangan secessionists and not the UN.

  For Operation Morthor, the UN decided on a more robust repeat of Operation Rampunch – but without the previous mistakes. This time the UN would see the operation through to the finish itself and would not involve the local Belgian or Katangan authorities. But the Katangans had also learned a harsh lesson and they were determined not to be caught off-guard a second time. Katangan propaganda – later blamed by Cruise O’Brien for dangerously inflaming tensions – claimed that the UN would replace Katangan soldiers with Congolese Force Publique troops, with obvious implications for the local population. ‘We tried every means to assure them on this point but this particularly destructful [sic] piece of propaganda was one of the reasons there was such bloodshed,’ Cruise O’Brien later claimed.

  Operation Morthor’s aims were quite simple – it would quash secession by cutting the sinews of power in Katanga. UN troops would
surround Tshombe’s presidential palace and then they would seize and occupy the Telephone Exchange-Post Office and the radio centre. The Katangan interior security and communication ministries would be surrounded and raided, and key documents would be confiscated. UN troops would also raise the Democratic Republic of the Congo’s flag on all major Elisabethville buildings. It was then expected that Tshombe could be persuaded to abandon the secession.

  The UN would see the operation through to the end and not entrust seized arms or key prisoners to either Belgian or Katangan interests. Mercenaries would be immediately shipped out of Africa and Katangan heavy weaponry would be placed in secure UN storage pending an end to hostilities. But there were already ample signs that Operation Morthor would not go as smoothly as Operation Rampunch.

  On 5 September, there were anti-UN riots in Elisabethville by a group of 500 youngsters who were pro-Tshombe and dubbed themselves ‘The Katanga Youth’. They staged their rally outside the UN headquarters and UN hospital, and it escalated to the point where they stoned the armed UN sentries on duty. Police eventually had to fire shots into the air to disperse them. Radio Katanga, an installation that had been seized and then handed back by UN troops the previous week, began broadcasting virulent anti-UN news reports. For the first time, UN soldiers found themselves being berated by the white European population in Elisabethville, who accused them of making things worse, not better. The atmosphere in the city was fast becoming poisonous.

  Matters continued to escalate in the wake of Operation Ram-punch. On 6 September, Quartermaster Sergeant Seán Hamill almost lost an eye when he was struck in the face by a stone which was thrown at the jeep he was travelling in near Avenue Usoke on the outskirts of the city. The same day, a thirty-strong Irish platoon suddenly found itself being stoned by a crowd of protesters. The soldiers, unwilling to use lethal force on the crowd, sustained two casualties from the thrown stones. Irish officers admitted they were lucky no one was killed. There was worse to come.

  On 9 September, members of the 35th Battalion noted an increased operational tempo in the Katangan gendarmes. They also noted that there still appeared to be a lot of heavily armed white mercenaries around Elisabethville. Later that day, roadblocks sprang up around the city in a clear attempt to disrupt UN movement and communication. The Verfailles Garage – a facility in Elisabethville that was contracted to do service work on UN vehicles – was attacked, and the mob burned the building as well as a UN Landrover and a supply truck.

  The most alarming news came on 10 September. The previous day, a radio communication from Cmdt Quinlan and his men at Jadotville confirmed that they had effectively been surrounded by a large force of Katangan gendarmes who had erected fortified roadblocks on all major access routes into Jadotville. The town – which is now known as Likasi – was about 160 kilometres north of Elisabethville on the road to Kolwezi. Jadotville was a typical mining outpost – quiet, with very few attractions in the town beyond farms and the local mine. About ten kilometres to the east of Jadotville was Lake Tshangalele, where there was good fishing but vicious mosquitoes. In ordinary times, a Jadotville assignment represented a quiet tour of duty. But now, with large Katangan paramilitary forces surrounding the town, the UN detachment suddenly began to appear extremely isolated. Cmdt Quinlan and his men were now entirely dependent on the single road supply line south to Elisabethville.

  The 35th Battalion realised it had to resupply and reinforce the Jadotville unit without delay. However, on 10 September, a platoon sent to Jadotville reported that a strong Katangan gendarme force had established a roadblock at the strategic Lufira Bridge that they were unable to pass.

  The UN – worried at the escalating tensions – gave the 35th Battalion six specific targets. They were:

  * Seize the St Francois de Sales Radio College.

  * Seize the ‘Tunnel’ crossing at Chaussee de Kasenga.

  * Leave one infantry section to guard the Italian hospital.

  * Arrest Tshombe’s ally, Mr Jean Kibwe, at his residence at Avenue Drogmans or his ministerial office at Avenue Kambove.

  * Retain one platoon in Albert Park to take into custody Mr Patrice Kimba, Katangan Minister for Foreign Affairs.

  * Secure the refugee camp near ‘The Factory’ and arrange for the local security of Verfailles Garage.

  Operation Morthor was officially ordered at 10 p.m. on 12 September and launched at 2 a.m. on 13 September, after Cruise O’Brien and his senior military commander, Brigadier-General Kas Raja, received clearance directly from the senior UN commander in Leopoldville, the Tunisian diplomat, Mahmoud Khiary. But controversy still rages to this day over whether Dag Hammarskjöld was aware in precise detail of what was now going to happen in Elisabethville.

  Cruise O’Brien later described Hammarskjöld as ‘convoluted and Machiavellian’ in character. The Irish diplomat was adamant that Hammarskjöld knew precisely what was happening, but feigned ignorance when things went wrong. Writing in David O’Donoghue’s Far Battalions, Cruise O’Brien insisted: ‘He [Hammarskjöld] began by backing Khiary and myself in preparing the overthrow of the Katanga government by force. Then, when that began to go wrong militarily on the ground, he pretended that no such effort had ever been made and he issued a ridiculous document, which I deal with in my book To Katanga and Back in the chapter entitled “The Fire in the Garage”. He had an imperious use of language so that words would mean whatever he chose that they should mean.’

  The military operation was entrusted to three UN battalions – one Irish (35th), one Swedish and one Indian. The Indian battalion largely comprised Dogra units, later supplemented by one large detachment of Gurkhas. These troops – drawn from the foothills of the Himalayas – boasted a ferocious military reputation and ranked as amongst the toughest soldiers on earth. Such was the reputation of the Gurkhas that they were the only colonial regiment maintained by the British army after the end of the empire. Only the top graduates from Sandhurst, Britain’s renowned military academy, are allowed the honour of leading a Gurkha unit. But, crucially, the attitude of the Indian Dogra troops during Operation Morthor proved significantly different to that of the Swedish and Irish troops. Whereas the European troops tended only to fire their weapons in self-defence, the Indians regarded any failure to comply with orders as a direct military threat and acted accordingly.

  Back in their bases, the Irish troops knew that tensions were mounting and suspected that conflict was now inevitable. Pat Mullins had been listening to the rumours and stories that swirled around, but remained stoic in the face of it all. ‘I think Pat was born to be a soldier,’ Des Keegan recalled. ‘Nothing seemed to faze him, nothing ever seemed to bother him. He was as cool as a cucumber. I remember him as a very quiet lad – and he always seemed happy just to get on with his job.’

  For John, it was a period of enormous frustration as his injured hand limited his ability to participate in the dramatic events un-folding around him. ‘I could only watch as the lads undertook patrols in the armoured cars. I was restricted to light duties which meant I was usually on security patrol around our base. I hated the cast and used a penknife and the barrel sight of a Carl Gustav to whittle off a piece of the plaster near my thumb so that it was easier to hold and fire my weapon. But the hand was still awkward to use.’

  Pat and the Armoured Car Group of the 35th Battalion knew they would be critical to the success of any impending UN operations. They would escort UN troop movements around Elisabethville and would most likely be tasked with ensuring that supplies and reinforcements reached isolated outposts including Jadotville where Irish troops had gone to secure the area for the UN and protect local white settlers.

  In Jadotville, Cmdt Pat Quinlan began to feel increasingly uneasy. The Irish commander ordered his men to dig in and prepare defensive positions in preparation for a possible attack. Those defensive preparations would soon be tested to the limit.

  Many of the Irish personnel attached to the Armoured Car Group had private concerns ab
out any forthcoming action, largely in relation to the standard of their equipment. The main weapon fielded by the 35th Irish Battalion was the Ford Armoured Fighting Vehicle (AFV). The vehicle looked the part – big, rugged and with the legendary reliability of the old Ford V8 petrol engine. Col J.V. Lawless, founder of Ireland’s Cavalry Corps, was determined that the army secure some type of suitable armoured fighting vehicle and he maintained a determined one-man campaign for the design until the government finally, and reluctantly, released funds for the fleet of Fords.

  However, the Ford was a design inspired as much by the materials available to the poorly funded Defence Forces as by Ireland’s need for an armoured fighting vehicle. ‘They had some Landsverks up in the Curragh. I think Ireland had bought about eight of them from the Swedes. The Landsverk was a big, heavy car with a Scania truck engine and was armed with a 20mm Madsen cannon. Few people knew that it was actually designed by the Germans, who were prevented from making such vehicles because of the Versailles Treaty. What was remarkable about it was that it had two steering columns – one in the front and one in the rear. If the car had to be reversed in a hurry, the radio operator was sitting facing backwards and he could take over the driving,’ Des Keegan explained. In the turret of the Landsverk, alongside the 20mm Madsen cannon, there was a .303 Madsen machine gun. There was another .303 machine gun in the front of the hull that could be fired by the relief driver.