Missing in Action (13 page)

One of the few things known for certain in Battalion HQ was that ‘The Factory’ had already been surrounded and attacked by a large and heavily armed Katangan force. But, as far as battalion knew, Sgt Shannon had managed to hold his lines. The initial purpose of the patrol was to see if Sgt Shannon needed reinforcement – or whether he needed to evacuate his position under covering fire from the armoured cars.

However, as the patrol prepared to depart, one of the 35th Battalion’s intelligence officers, Captain James ‘Jimmy’ Parker, approached Cmdt Cahalane and Sgt Carey and shared some private concerns. Captain Parker – a native of Mitchelstown who would later become Defence Forces chief of staff – spoke of growing fears about the safety of Lt Tommy Ryan’s small Irish detachment at the Radio College. They had been assigned to garrison the facility as part of Operation Morthor, but it had been impossible to establish contact with the outpost over the past four hours and HQ now wanted the patrol to investigate local rumours that a large force of Katangan gendarmes had overrun the position and captured the entire Irish detachment.

The patrol’s primary mission now was to establish precisely what had happened to Ryan and his men. If they weren’t found at the Radio College, the patrol was ordered to occupy and hold the premises until UN reinforcements arrived.

Part of the problem now facing the 35th Battalion was logistical. The Irish units were equipped with C-12 radios that were valve-based and did not work properly when used inside a moving armoured car because of the heavy vibrations. Due to atmospheric conditions in the Congo, after nightfall the radios tended to suffer from extreme static, sometimes so bad that communication was totally impossible. Tim Carey recalled that you needed ‘an aerial stretching almost to the moon’ to get any kind of reception while on the move. Operation Morthor had landed the UN in a dangerous firefight, but confused UN commanders were now increasingly unable to keep track of either their troop positions or their combat status. That did not explain why the Irish troops at the Radio College – with access to a powerful radio transmitter – had not been able to report back on their situation. Unless, of course, the Katangans had overwhelmed them before they could raise the alarm.

Sgt Carey knew the maze of roads around Elisabethville like the back of his hand. He was the only man on the patrol familiar with Avenue Wangermee and Rue de Cuivre, the roads on which the sprawling Radio College was located. Sgt Carey’s familiarity with the road network was a crucial advantage given the Radio College’s proximity to a major Katangan gendarme base. The last thing the Irish troopers wanted was an unexpected nocturnal meeting with a large Katangan force. Cmdt Cahalane would lead the patrol, in command of the armoured car driven by Carey, with the jeep and bus following close behind. The open-topped armoured car commanded by Capt. Frank Whyte together with Sgt Peter Dignam and Cpl Paddy Holbrook would take up the rear position.

As the patrol slowly pulled out of camp, Tpr John O’Mahony watched anxiously from beside one of the base guard posts. Ordinary troopers were not consulted by senior officers about developments, but the soldiers knew full well from rumours on the base grapevine that things weren’t looking good around Elisabethville. John knew there was a good chance the patrol leaving base wouldn’t return without shots having been exchanged with the Katangans and their mercenary allies.

Other Irish soldiers not assigned to the patrol also watched as the small convoy prepared to set off. ‘I think everyone was smoking – even people who didn’t smoke at home ended up smoking in the Congo because we were issued with these awful “Belges” cigarettes as a form of payment in Elisabethville. To be honest, smoking was a way to bleed off the tension. I remember standing there smoking a cigarette with a few other lads as Pat, Mick and the others ran through their checklist with the armoured cars. A few of the lads in the bus waved to us as they prepared to depart,’ John said.

Conditions in the Irish camp had deteriorated over the past week with businesses in Elisabethville now refusing to supply the UN forces with food because of fears of retaliation by Katangan gendarmes. Over the previous three months, the Irish troops at least had access to freshly cooked food like chicken and beef, as well as local vegetables. Now, they had to resort to living off pack rations such as ‘dog biscuits’ and tinned bully beef, which was heated in a pan. The only consolation was that the Irish troops vastly preferred their own pack rations to the US rations. Many of the American meals bore absolutely no resemblance to what was specified on the tin – and some Irish soldiers grumbled that it was probably dog food repackaged. Many soldiers simply refused to eat the US rations, or tried to swap them for either Irish or Swedish rations that seemed more appealing.

‘I was cursing the fact that my hand was still in a cast and that I wasn’t allowed to undertake duty in the armoured cars. I had wanted to volunteer for the patrol but I knew Sgt Carroll wouldn’t allow me because, with one hand in a cast, I simply couldn’t operate the turret. It was just too heavy to move it one-handed. I waved to Pat and he smiled back at me and raised his hand in salute. At that point Pat was in the open-topped Scout car that was bringing up the rear of the patrol. He was manning the Browning machine gun and would be protecting the patrol’s rear. My abiding memory is of Pat waving from the open-topped armoured car as dusk fell and the patrol rumbled out the gate. I can close my eyes and still picture him waving to me,’ John added.

The patrol had only travelled a short distance down the road when Cmdt Cahalane ordered a halt for a re-arrangement of personnel between the various vehicles. Cmdt Laurence ‘Larry’ O’Toole, an officer of the Medical Corps, had initially been travelling in the first armoured car alongside Cmdt Cahalane, Sgt Carey and Cpl Michael Nolan. However, Cmdt Cahalane decided that, as the lead Ford was the most likely to see action first, a dedicated gunner for the Vickers was an absolute necessity. With Cpl Nolan assigned to radio communications and Sgt Carey driving, another trooper was clearly required. Tpr Mullins was ordered to transfer to the lead armoured car – and, with five personnel making the car too crowded to operate effectively, Cmdt O’Toole was sent back to the rear. ‘He was one lucky doctor,’ Captain Art Magennis later acknowledged.

The Ford AFV now revved up again and led the small patrol directly towards the Radio College, some five kilometres from the Irish base. The initial route took them out of the base, along Rue Savonnier, through the soon-to-be-infamous Tunnel, past the Hotel de Ville, and then, at the junction of Avenue Royale and the Cathedral, through a hard right onto Avenue Wangermee.

The patrol, moving slowly and carefully – paying attention to any signs of Katangan gendarme movements – wound its way around the western suburbs of Elisabethville. But the armoured cars were unchallenged. Approaching Avenue Wangermee, Sgt Carey brought the patrol’s speed down to a cautious crawl. Cmdt Cahalane repeatedly scanned the surrounding buildings for any sign of trouble while Tpr Mullins manned the Vickers ready to respond to fire at a moment’s notice. But there was no sign of trouble as they approached the college.

The college, founded by the Belgians in 1912, was one of the biggest and most modern facilities in Elisabethville. The building, with its brick, concrete and glass exterior, could easily be mistaken for a European or North American high school or college. The college not only boasted a powerful radio transmitter, it also housed a large bookshop and library on the first floor and a small student print shop in the basement. The building was approached through a tall arched gateway made up of steel and timber, and topped with a sign proudly boasting of the college’s fiftieth anniversary year. At either end of the college were large block structures, each of which had twenty-eight large glass windows showing the staircase inside. The building was two storeys high with a flat roof and numerous windows. The college was fronted by a rather worn lawn, which had receded in parts to show the iconic rich-red soil of the Congo. Across the road from the college was some open parkland with a few hardy African trees offering shelter from the sun for students and pedestrians.

That night there was an eerie stillness all along Avenue Wangermee. There was not a single soul in sight, despite the fact that this was traditionally a popular time for locals, free of the sticky daytime heat, to savour the cool evening air.

On either side of the Radio College were residential properties. The families that lived there were either wealthy, European, or part of Elisabethville’s fledgling native middle class. Most of the buildings were of traditional colonial design – single or two-storey, all with ample porches looking out onto the street. Most usually had European saloon cars such as Renaults, Citroens, Opels or Mercedes parked in the wide driveways. Avenue Wangermee itself was more of a boulevard than an ordinary road – wide enough for four vehicles to drive abreast. Unlike other parts of Elisabethville where road surfaces were compacted earth, Avenue Wangermee boasted a well-maintained tarmac surface.

The Irish patrol approached, keeping the Radio College on its left-hand side. ‘As we approached the college the complete patrol was together and everything seemed to be quiet. There was an ambulance on the side of the road, on our left, and I pulled into the left-hand side,’ Sgt Carey later recalled in an official army report. When the patrol halted and gazed around they saw no obvious sign of trouble. There wasn’t a single indication of fighting – there were no rifle or machine gun cartridges scattered about and the college itself seemed to be completely undamaged. There were no windows broken and no sign of any bullet impacts on the brick and concrete exterior. There was nothing whatsoever to hint at a threat to the normal colonial tranquillity of this residential area. Similarly, there didn’t appear to be any sign of Katangan forces or their vehicles. The Irish soldiers scanned the nearby buildings and avenues for any sign of Katangan armour, but saw nothing.

Yet, the absence of local residents made the Irish troopers nervous. This was a residential area – so where were the people who lived here? Elisabethville had suffered from power cuts as the Katangan crisis escalated and the entire street was now shrouded in darkness. The lack of streetlights and house lights along Avenue Wangermee made it very difficult for the patrol to see anything beyond what was immediately in front of them – not that there was anything to see, nor any sound of movement.

Of more immediate importance to the patrol was the location of Lt Ryan and his men. There was no disguising the throaty rumble of their Ford engines, which could be heard from hundreds of metres away, so the Irish detachment at the college should have heard their approach. But why didn’t they signal or acknowledge the presence of the Irish patrol? And where were Lt Ryan’s sentries posted outside the Radio College? Even if they were having problems with their radios, Lt Ryan’s men should easily be able to contact the armoured cars on the battalion’s bandwidth because of their sheer proximity.

The turreted Ford armoured car held its position in front of the jeep and bus and waited patiently for a signal from the Irish detachment. But still no signal came. The patrol would give Lt Ryan and his men a few more minutes before an armed inspection party would be dispatched into the Radio College to determine what the hell was going on. The Vickers and Browning machine guns could cover the inspection party as they approached the front door to look for any trace of Lt Ryan and his men. Several members of the patrol gazed at the silent and dark Radio College and held their breath.

Then, without warning, the darkness of the night was shattered by a meteor-like fire trail erupting from the left of the Ford AFV. The fire trail dazzled the eyes of every Irish trooper whose sight was magnetically attracted to the searing light. Less than a second later, the eardrums of every Irish soldier reeled from the concussion of a huge explosion. Then all hell broke loose along Avenue Wangermee.

An Irish trooper poses with a Katangan M8 Greyhound armoured car. The vehicle had proper hardened steel plate, six-wheel drive and a 37mm cannon. Sgt Tim Carey warned that if an Irish Ford was hit by a 37mm shell, it would go through one side of the hull, out the other and mince the entire crew. (Photo: Art Magennis)