Missing in Action (18 page)

A few minutes later, the end came. From three sides of the armoured car the Katangan gendarmes rose as one and fired heavy bursts towards the suspected position of the UN soldier. While some Katangans maintained covering fire, others raced forward to storm the position. The ‘clang’ of rounds striking the hull of the armoured car was now even audible over the firing. Then, to the Katangans’ immense relief, an intense burst of gunfire from the ditch was suddenly cut short. As they moved forward, there was silence.

There was nothing Pat Mullins could do. When the gunfire erupted around him from three sides he realised the Katangans were storming his position. Pat swung to engage the point of heaviest fire. The short, stubby Carl Gustav shuddered in his hands from the extended burst of fire. But he couldn’t cover all three flanks at once. He never heard the volley of shots that caught him in the upper body. Suddenly, he found himself twisting in midair as if he had been kicked full in the chest by a horse, and then he landed hard on his back, but strangely felt no pain. He lay in the ditch conscious that it had gone strangely quiet.

Pat found himself staring up at the African sky as darkness cast an enveloping shroud around him. Pat had never realised there were quite so many stars. As he finally closed his eyes, the darkness on the eastern horizon seemed to falter and then recoil from the first tentative rays of sunlight. A new day was dawning in the Congo.

The first Katangans cautiously approached the armoured car, each gendarme careful to cover the movements of their comrade. Each soldier scanned the scene with their FN rifles. Despite the silence, they were wary of walking into a trap. But after a few seconds it was clear that the battle was over. The first soldiers to creep around the flanks of the armoured car spotted the bodies lying in the ditch and instantly waved the other gendarmes forward.

They were amazed to discover that there were just two bodies in the ditch. One soldier lay on his back, his face staring up at the sky – a sub-machine gun still gripped in his hands. His friend lay crumpled on his side beside the armoured car. One gendarme kicked out at what he spotted were cartridge cases lying on the ground. The Katangan corporal looked down and realised they were 9mm shells – all from the sub-machine gun. A quick look revealed that the other soldier had clearly been badly injured before he’d been shot – there were old, dark bloodstains on his uniform blouse. Had a single man held off an entire platoon for thirty minutes just to protect his wounded friend, the corporal wondered?

After a moment of silence, the younger Katangan soldiers suddenly erupted into cheers and whoops of delight at their victory. Several danced around the armoured car, jabbing their rifles in the air. They had shown the UN that they too could fight. The younger men were also proud that they had shown the Belgian mercenary that they wouldn’t run away from bullets. They were warriors too. Several of the younger soldiers jumped down into the ditch.

Down the road, the mercenary visibly relaxed and warily got to his feet. His corporal grinned and waved him towards the armoured car, which had been the focus of the firefight for the past half an hour. The Belgian simply shrugged and turned away, walking slowly and stiffly back towards the gendarme barracks. The armoured car and the UN patrol would no longer threaten the Katangan gendarme base. He had done his job. He cast a final look back at the armoured car, which was now surrounded by a rapidly thickening throng of jubilant Katangan soldiers jostling to get into the ditch, and turned away in disgust. He wanted no part of whatever else would happen this night.

Pat Mullins’ Ford AFV pictured with its front wheels stuck in a drainage ditch. This photo was taken minutes after the armoured car was first located. (Photo: Art Magennis)

The scorched interior of the Ford AFV indicates attempts by the Katangan gendarmes to destroy the armoured car after its final battle. (Photo: Art Magennis)

A graphic image of how the soft-steel hull plates of the Ford were unable to stand up to heavy fire. Katangan shells gouged holes in the ‘armour’ of both the hull and turret of Pat Mullins’ car. Note the impact of the round on the Vickers machine gun cooling jacket. (Photo: Art Magennis)

In the hours
after the surrender of Cmdt Cahalane and the Radio College patrol, senior UN commanders struggled to cope with the flood of bad news. Several UN detachments around Elisabethville had been overrun and UN soldiers seized by Katangan forces. Cmdt Quinlan and 155 Irish UN troops were trapped in Jadotville with hopes of rescue fading fast. Then, senior UN officers received the news they had been dreading. The Katangan gendarmes intended to execute the Irish officer captured at the Radio College unless the UN withdrew from all seized positions and immediately returned all captured Katangan personnel, both military and political. The Katangans also demanded assurances on the treatment of their personnel who had been seized by the UN.

The situation now facing both the UN and the 35th Battalion was rapidly spiralling out of control. The detachment in ‘The Factory’ was under fire and effectively trapped. The Radio College detachment and the patrol sent to their relief had been attacked and overcome. A Katangan Magister was strafing all suspected UN targets and had destroyed several transport aircraft at the airport. Roadblocks made moving around the city extremely difficult for UN units. The UN knew the Irish battalion had already suffered one fatality – Trooper Edward Gaffney – in a sniper incident on 13 September and there were now unconfirmed reports that at least two more Irish troopers had been killed or were missing at the Radio College.

Worst of all was the news filtering down from Jadotville. UN commanders realised that without immediate reinforcement and resupply ‘A’ Company under Cmdt Quinlan would have no option but to negotiate a surrender. The Irish detachment – comprising 155 men, mostly drawn from the Western Command – had been sent to Jadotville on the express instructions of UN headquarters in New York as a direct response to claims that Belgian settlers had been attacked by rampaging Congolese national troops. European and American newspapers were full of reports of out-of-control Force Publique troops overrunning plantations, shooting Belgian farmers and raping women. Cmdt Quinlan and his men were to set up base in Jadotville and offer vital protection for the local settlers.

However, the UN high command failed to take into account the fact the settlers were virulently opposed to the UN presence in the Congo and were staunch supporters of the Katangan secession. The UN also ignored intelligence reports of a build-up of Katangan forces in the area. When the 4,000-strong Katangan force – led by French and Belgian mercenaries – finally began the assault on the small mining town, the Irish troops were too isolated for the battalions in Elisabethville to offer proper support.

But Cmdt Quinlan was a resourceful, wily commander held in high regard by his men. He would not surrender without a fight – and if the UN could fulfil their promise to support him, he would hold his position. On arrival in Jadotville, Cmdt Quinlan quickly realised the weakness of his company’s position and ordered his men to begin digging defensive positions. It was only later that the Irish troops realised a Swedish unit had earlier been assigned to Jadotville but had withdrawn after declaring the position indefensible given the hostility of the population and the resupply distance from Elisabethville. Cmdt Quinlan knew he needed defensive positions and needed them fast. It was the crucial and timely preparation that allowed the Irish to hold their positions when the first assault poured in. For over five days the fighting proved ferocious as ‘A’ Company refused to yield their position to an enemy that outnumbered them twenty-six to one.

It is believed ‘A’ Company inflicted more than 300 casualties on the Katangans for the price of just seven wounded Irish soldiers. But lack of ammunition, food and water – not to mention being surrounded by a hostile populace – made the Irish position untenable in the medium- to long-term. UN promises of air support proved illusory, while Katangan roadblocks and enfilading fire on the strategic Lufira Bridge meant the UN could not get ground reinforcements and resupply convoys in. Even the crack Gurkhas could not breach the Katangan defences around the Lufira Bridge to reach the beleaguered Irish garrison.

With ammunition supplies virtually exhausted, Cmdt Quinlan put his men’s interests above UN politics and agreed to surrender on the promise his troops would be well treated. A refusal to surrender on terms could provoke a massacre. ‘A’ Company had staged one of the most heroic and defiant defences in Irish military history – yet their courage was for decade
s effectively ignored back home.

The grim reality for the 35th Battalion back in Elisabethville was that they simply didn’t have sufficient troops for all the critical tasks now rapidly unfolding around them.

In the midst of the confusion, came one of the most dramatic and courageous incidents of Ireland’s entire four-year involvement in the Congo – an incident that saved the lives of several captured Irish officers, if not all Irish detainees. It involved an officer, Captain Art Magennis, who had been placed under the command of the Dogra Battalion of the Indian UN troops. He had been present with an Irish armoured car unit when the Indians had captured the Elisabethville Post Office. Despite UN loud hailers pleading in French, Swahili and English for the Katangan gendarmes to surrender, the Post Office had turned into a bloody battle. After the facility had been captured, Captain Magennis was shocked to see Indian soldiers nonchalantly bayoneting the body of a dead Katangan soldier as they walked passed it. Mercifully, it was the only corpse the captain would see that day as he stayed out of the interior of the building.

Captain Magennis’ younger brother, Tim, worked as a journa-list in Nyasaland (now Malawi) far to the south-east of the Congo. He was a correspondent for
The Globe
, a South African-based newspaper, and his primary job was reporting on the fledgling nationalist leader, Hastings Banda. With nationalism raging like a bushfire across Africa, Hastings Banda was being looked to for inspiration by many aspiring African leaders. South Africa, acutely mindful of its white minority rule, was following developments in detail.

‘Tim had arrived out in South Africa and his news editor called him into his office. He said: “Look, there is no point you sticking around here – it will take you ages to come up to speed.” The news editor then said that as Tim was from Northern Ireland he should know all about British colonialism. “The place for you is up in Nyasaland with the British and Dr Banda,” he said. So they sent him up there to cover what was going on,’ Art Magennis explained.

Tim Magennis was good at his job and, as the years passed, word spread that if foreign news crews were ever visiting Nyasaland, Tim was the crucial local contact. For the price of a few beers or a meal, they could be brought up to speed on whatever background they needed for their current story. That reputation would prove crucial when a German reporter, Hans Gomani, flew into Nyasaland en route to Katanga to cover the escalating crisis. Coincidentally, the German crew arrived in Nyasaland at the very time the Irish Armoured Car Group was being ambushed on Avenue Wangermee.

Gomani, who worked for a German TV station, was an intriguing character. At that time in his early forties, he had served in the army during the Second World War and boasted a deep understanding of the military. He was also an experienced observer of African politics and, increasingly, African conflicts. Best of all, Gomani didn’t panic in war zones because he had spent enough time in uniform to know precisely how to react. That September, he was en route to Katanga to report on what now threatened to become a bloodbath, with the UN at its epicentre. He met up with Tim Magennis in Nyasaland to get a first-hand briefing on what was happening. Tim advised him to seek out his older brother, Art, who was serving as a captain in the Irish 35th Battalion with the UN in Katanga.

‘Tim said to him: “Look, there is no point talking to me about Katanga. I have a brother with the Irish army in Elisabethville. Contact him and he will tell you what is really going on.” That is how Gomani came to seek me out in Katanga,’ Art added.

Gomani then travelled through northern Rhodesia and presented himself at the Katangan border in order to secure a pass to travel onwards to Elisabethville. However, the German was stopped by Katangan soldiers and, in the presence of a white mercenary officer, was arrested and ordered into their command post. He was then told he had to carry a message to the UN in Elisabethville from Dr Godefroid Munongo, the Katangan Minister of the Interior. It was to Dr Munongo that both the gendarmes and the mercenaries answered – and it was known that he had the complete trust of President Tshombe. Munongo’s power was further cemented by the fact that he was a direct descendent of King Msiri of the Nyamwezi, one of the major tribal kingdoms of the Congo in the mid-nineteenth century.

The UN already knew that Dr Munongo was not a man to be trifled with. He was one of those responsible for Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba’s execution. Dr Munongo – unlike others who later tried to distance themselves from the killing – was quite frank when later questioned about his role in the affair. In one report he wrote: ‘I will speak frankly. If people accuse us of killing Lumumba, I will reply: Prove it.’ Hans Gomani also knew of Dr Munongo’s reputation and readily agreed to carry the message.

The message was a blunt threat from the Katangans that Cmdt Cahalane would be shot unless the UN complied with specific demands. They warned that other Irish and UN soldiers would also be shot as a direct response to a UN order that they claimed implied a shoot-on-sight policy for all those spotted carrying arms in Katanga. The gendarme commander said that if the UN’s special representative, Conor Cruise O’Brien, wished to reply to Dr Munongo’s message and negotiate new terms, Gomani would be acceptable as a go-between. The German realised he now had an opportunity both to help save lives and potentially secure a priceless exclusive for himself. Gomani – who was told he would be immediately released and escorted to Elisabethville if he agreed to carry the message – nodded his acceptance.

He was then escorted to Elisabethville. But in the chaotic after-math of the UN’s Operation Morthor, how was the German to safely contact a senior UN official? Word had spread of the fighting and he knew that if he approached the Indian lines in a civilian vehicle he risked being shot on sight. Gomani then recalled his conversation with his journalist colleague in Nyasaland and decided to seek out Captain Magennis in Elisabethville. Thus, Captain Art Magennis suddenly found himself drawn into a remarkable diplomatic manoeuvre to avoid the execution of prisoners.

Eventually, despite the chaotic communications, a meeting was arranged between Captain Art Magennis and Hans Gomani in the Leopold Hotel in the city centre. The Leopold was a favourite colonial-era haunt of soldiers, plantation owners, mining engineers and journalists who visited Elisabethville. Its wood-panelled rooms were festooned with old sofas, armchairs and wooden stools where customers escaped the steamy heat and savoured chilled bottles of the local brew, Simba Beer. Over recent weeks the Leopold had become a sanctuary from the madness spreading in the streets. Such was the scale of that madness, Magennis had to travel to the Leopold in an armoured car for fear of snipers.

After brief introductions, Gomani relayed Dr Munongo’s message and Captain Magennis visibly paled at its import. ‘He said that the Katangans were going to court-martial Cmdt Pat Cahalane in the morning, they would find him guilty and they would shoot him. Unless, of course, the UN released the Katangan propaganda officer who had been arrested a few days before,’ Art Magennis explained. ‘Surely the Katangans wouldn’t shoot unarmed prisoners?’ the Irish officer thought. But, as he gazed out the window at the carnage in Elisabethville, he knew that anything was now possible in Katanga.

The Irish captain knew the message had to be relayed to Conor Cruise O’Brien instantly. But first, Captain Magennis had to brief his immediate superior, the Dogra Battalion commander, on what he had just learned. The Indian listened carefully but immediately stressed that the only person who could now act was Conor Cruise O’Brien. He agreed to release Captain Magennis from his battalion duties to make contact with the UN special representative. That was easier said than done given the damage sustained by Elisabethville’s phone system. Following Operation Morthor, the Post Office and Telephone Exchange were left virtually as shell-scarred ruins. The exchange itself was a mass of wire and conductors spliced and knotted together like spaghetti.

Miraculously, a UN communications team had managed to re-establish a single line from the exchange – and that ran directly to Cruise O’Brien’s headquarters. The Irish diplomat was shocked when he heard of the Katangan warning and dismayed that an earlier UN order had been so misinterpreted. Cruise O’Brien stressed to Magennis that the UN was fighting according to the rules of conflict as set out in the Geneva Convention and Katangan prisoners would be treated with dignity and respect. But the Irish diplomat bluntly warned that if the Katangans executed Cmdt Cahalane – or harmed any other unarmed UN prisoners – there would be dire consequences.

Cruise O’Brien then further shocked Captain Magennis by asking if he was willing to take the message back to Dr Munongo with Hans Gomani personally and return with his reply? The Irish diplomat had ordered that his reply be translated into French, typed out on official UN paper and then copied. Two copies were handed to Captain Magennis for Dr Munongo and his Katangan commanders.

‘He [O’Brien] said he was going to write a letter to Munongo but he asked whether I would volunteer to deliver the letter? Now I am not in the habit of volunteering for anything, but I said “I am here now and I cannot volunteer for anything without the authority of my commander.” Dr O’Brien said he would get in contact with Lt Col McNamee and tell him about the situation. He rang me back after about 10 or 15 minutes and said “Lt Col McNamee has no objections to you volunteering yourself.” So I said that Cmdt Cahalane was my commander so of course I would go.’