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ОглавлениеCHAPTER 1
Chaos in the Congo (Niemba)
Congo’s vast natural resources of mineral wealth were in stark contrast to its people’s poverty. An enormous country, Congo’s former colonial history had been brutal, yet its independence in 1960 swiftly brought it towards, then beyond, the brink of bloodshed. A huge humanitarian tragedy was in the offing and the country itself faced fragmentation. Now Katanga, its primary province, was perched perilously on the precipice of pandemonium.
Soldiers from seventeen countries, including Ireland – all member states of the United Nations – had contributed to a peacekeeping force attempting to stabilise the situation before it imploded. That such an undertaking had come to pass owed its origins to when the European powers – Germany, Britain, France, Belgium and Italy – some seventy-six years previously at the Berlin Conference hosted by Otto Von Bismarck in November 1884, entrusted the Congo not to Belgium per se, but rather uniquely to the personal control of King Leopold II of Belgium. Unwilling to risk hostilities over the, as yet, unclaimed regions of Africa, the European colonists were happy to amicably divide up what was left.
Initially a loss maker, Congo’s bountiful wild rubber was soon exploited, resulting in huge personal financial gains for Leopold II by satisfying the demand for tyres for the newly emergent and thriving car industry. In their quest for ever-increasing quotas of rubber produce, zealous overseers inflicted appalling abuses and atrocities on the native Congolese when failing to meet these laid-down quotas.
Congo’s abundance of raw materials – timber, ivory, rubber and vast quantities of minerals – were quickly monopolised by Belgian firms paying high dividends to Leopold for the privilege. Inevitably, envious competing interest from others, including British businesses unable to gain a highly lucrative market share, exploited the concerns of outspoken missionaries over the shockingly inhumane treatment of the Congolese and raised such concerns in the British Parliament. As a result, in mid-1903 Roger Casement, at the British Consul in the Congo, was directed to conduct an investigation. By the year’s end, after a thorough, systematic and highly conscientious undertaking, his report laid bare in graphic detail the maltreatment being meted out to the Congolese, including the severing of hands which were then preserved by a smoking process – proof of money not wasted on bullets. Casement’s report earned him a knighthood and caused widespread condemnation and criticism of Leopold II. The resultant international hue and cry led to Belgium itself being given control of Leopold II’s personal African fiefdom. However, the horrors did not fade overnight.
Diamonds, uranium and other minerals from Congo’s seemingly inexhaustible supply of valuable natural resources soon replaced timber, ivory and wild rubber as income-earning exports for the Belgians. It was shortly after the First World War that the province of Katanga, where vast resources of copper had been discovered in 1913, attracted fortune-seeking European and American mining and mineral firms led by Union Minière, a large Anglo-Belgian concern. It became one of the most highly lucrative mining centres in the world, accounting for 50 per cent of Congo’s wealth.
An Irish search party arrives at the broken bridge ambush site over the River Luweyeye at Niemba.
Courtesy of the Military Archives, Dublin
The preservation of potential ongoing returns focussed the attention of these corporations as the region prepared to enter the countdown to its post-colonial era. However, while other colonial countries had prepared their respective indigenous populations to ease the transition towards independence, Belgium undertook no such preparations for the Congo. Theirs was the presumption of continuance through utter necessity. Disastrously, they believed that the existing white administrative level would continue to administer. There were few Africans in positions of responsibility in the Congo and its 25,000-strong army was commanded by in excess of 1,000 Belgian officers. On being granted independence, this army became the Armée Nationale Congolaise (ANC). Its layer of white command was removed and with it, it has to be said, control. In addition, some 200 Congolese tribes were just released from Belgian control.
Granted sudden independence, the Congo – with huge mineral wealth but no public administration layer – was unable to impose control on its so-called army to ensure stability and security – its new government’s first duty – and the result was chaos. This disintegration arose directly from two speeches, the first by King Baudouin of Belgium, the second by Patrice Lumumba, the new prime minister of the Congo. In his address to the Congolese, Baudouin encouraged them to be deserving of the advantages granted by his grandfather, Leopold II, a personage hugely disliked throughout Congo. Insulted, Patrice Lumumba set aside his prepared conciliatory speech, instead delivering an impassioned denunciation of the Belgians, which had immediate repercussions. Political opportunists seized the momentum, the army mutinied and many tribesmen sought reprisals for generations of white supremacy.
There were some 10,000 Belgians living in Congo and many white families, previously associated with mining and plantations, became targets for robbery, rape and murder. Lumumba, not anxious to seek the assistance of Belgium, hinted he might contact China for support. He did in fact communicate with the Russians but then, advised by Congo’s US Ambassador, turned instead to the UN. The old colonial power, Belgium, now had a pretext for intervention – the protection of its citizens – and sent in paratroopers who took possession of Élisabethville, the epicentre of the mineral-rich province of Katanga and one with much international interest. The following day, 9 July 1960, Moise Tshombe declared Katanga’s independence. Alarmed by possible Russian involvement at the height of the Cold War, the US exerted pressure on the UN leadership and Security Council Resolution S/4387 was adopted on 14 July 1960. Within a fortnight the Irish were on their way, marching into the madness of tribal strife, anarchy and a web of economically motivated vested self-interests – and even an undertow of Cold War machinations.
Precious metals were at the heart of the madness, some of which were used in the manufacture of jet engines and radar apparatus. Moreover, Katanga supplied a tenth of the world’s copper and over half of the world’s cobalt. There was also uranium and many minerals, including large quantities of diamonds. Thus 10 per cent of Congo’s population generated 50 per cent of the nation’s income and the Katangese wanted to protect their interests, as did those European entities that had much to lose and more to gain. Enter the boots of the Casques bleus – the Blue Helmets of the UN – onto Central African soil and headlong into the Congolese maelstrom. The UN was in at the deep end from the beginning and the pace of events was moving rapidly.
Reality Check
In the thick bush and tall grass either side of the Manono road, on both sides of the damaged 20-foot bridge over the River Luweyeye thirteen miles from Niemba, a large Baluba war party, baptised with ‘magic water’ and hyped up by ritual words, lay in wait for an eleven-man patrol from the 33rd Irish Battalion, sent to the Congo as part of a UN peacekeeping mission and under the command of Lieutenant Kevin Gleeson. The Baluba tribesmen were determined that the Irish would not go beyond the broken bridge and had received explicit instructions from Grand Chief Kasanga-Niemba to that effect. The Baluba war party, led by ex-Congolese Premier Sergeant Lualaba, had ripped most of the large wooden decking planks off the bridge, throwing them into the river below. Now, with a patient determination to kill, they silently waited for the arrival of the Irish peacekeepers.
When the eleven-man Irish patrol arrived at the bridge they left their vehicles to inspect the broken structure and were taken completely by surprise when the group of Baluba tribesmen appeared suddenly out of the dense head-high elephant grass. Carrying bows, with arrows whose tips, it was largely believed, had been dipped in the fatal venom of the black mamba snake, as well as spears, hatchets, knives and clubs, the tribesmen quickly formed into a war party. Six abreast the Balubas strode forward, perhaps forty in all with as many more hidden in the thick undergrowth. Without warning they started screaming and shouting and flung themselves wildly at the hapless Irish patrol. Firing a hail of arrows, they set upon the Irish, yelling raucously and roaring. The overwhelming number and sheer aggression of their opponents shocked the unsuspecting Irishmen who, having gone forward from their vehicles to inspect the bridge had left most of their weapons behind. The rapidly advancing Balubas moved between the Irish and their two vehicles and cut off recourse to their only means of survival – their weapons – which were agonisingly close yet still out of reach. With the few weapons they had the Irish patrol fought for their lives, a desperate defence against being bludgeoned and hacked to death.
Neither Lieutenant Kevin Gleeson nor Sergeant Hugh Gaynor, in Niemba since early October and familiar with Baluba activity, suspected the broken bridge to be a Baluba ambush position. The majority of the other nine on the patrol, newly arrived in Niemba from Kamina the previous day and unfamiliar with the area, did not know what to expect.
The Balubas, a newly established group of highly assertive warriors, was attempting to consolidate its position in the area and had erected numerous roadblocks in an attempt to impede the presence of the Katangan Gendarmerie. They had previously come under attack from pro-Katangan and allied forces and the roadblocks were an attempt to keep their attackers at bay. They therefore resented the UN’s removal of their only defence.
The previous day, a combined contingent of Irish troops under Commandant PD Hogan joined with Lieutenant Gleeson and some of his platoon, a combined strength of forty from all ranks, and travelled north-south to join a concurrently moving south-north patrol under Commandant Barry. Their task was to simultaneously clear all obstacles encountered en route and to rendezvous at noon at Senge Tshimbo. They made a contingency that both patrols, whether or not they successfully linked up, were to begin their respective return journeys at 1300 hours. In the event they did not meet. Commandant Hogan’s and Lieutenant Gleeson’s patrol made slower progress than Commandant Barry’s, encountering and clearing no fewer than eight felled trees and having to bridge or fill in five trenches cut across the route, resulting in them covering only thirteen miles in just under seven hours. This brought them to the bridge over the River Luweyeye, where unknown to them they were not alone. Only a few metres away, hidden amongst the scrub, bush and high grasses, was the expectant Baluba war party.
Lieutenant Kevin Gleeson’s Platoon prior to departure to Congo, July 1960. Kevin Gleeson is in the front row, sixth from left.
Courtesy of the Military Archives, Dublin
Sergeant Lualaba was also taken by surprise. He was looking at a bigger than expected Irish convoy, eight vehicles instead of the normal one or two, and a large a group of Irish peacekeepers. He was put further off-balance when some of his Baluba lookouts were spotted by some of the Irish troops. For their part the Irish were more concerned with estimating how long it would take to repair the damage to the bridge, which they considered to be several hours work, than worried by the presence of a few natives. Nonetheless, the Balubas were questioned and when they claimed to be pygmies out hunting were given the benefit of the doubt. Too late in the day to begin repairs, the patrol returned to Niemba village.
With Commandant Hogan later departing for Albertville, Lieutenant Gleeson was given orders to continue to patrol the Manono road and see if he could take the patrol as far as Kinsukulu. The following morning, 8 November 1960, Lieutenant Gleeson and ten others were to patrol to the Luweyeye and be confronted with far more than a damaged bridge. Arriving at the bridge mid-afternoon the following day (1500 hours), the eleven-man Irish patrol, a familiarisation exercise for the seven newly-arrived troopers, got out of their vehicles to further investigate the damage to the bridge. Lieutenant Gleeson, Sergeant Gaynor and two others ventured onto the roadway on the far side of the bridge, looking for a possible fording place across the Luweyeye for their vehicles as they went. Suddenly aware of a Baluba presence on that side of the bridge, they sensed something menacing in the tribesmen’s demeanour.
Lieutenant Gleeson immediately ordered Sergeant Gaynor back across the river to turn the lead vehicle, a pick-up, back towards Niemba village in the direction they had come. While Sergeant Gaynor was doing this he became aware of a tree being felled across the road behind him, blocking off their retreat. While Sergeant Gaynor was attempting to turn the pick-up, Lieutenant Gleeson and those with him turned back across the river and the Irish formed a single line facing the direction from which they had arrived at the bridge. Coming into full view now was a Baluba war party emerging from the bush onto the roadway, assembling into a formation, six abreast. Facing them, and aware of others behind them, there came the sinking realisation among the Irish and a horrible awareness that a trap had been sprung; it was an ambush, and the Irish patrol was where the Baluba attackers wanted them to be, in the killing area.
Little more than 100 metres, barely the length of a football field, separated the two sides. (See map on p. vi.) The time taken to cover the distance between them would be no more than fifteen or so seconds and it had become all too obvious that the Irish patrol was hopelessly outnumbered. Neither were all the Irish armed, worse, the Bren guns were in the rear of the Land Rover, the second of the two vehicles. The Balubas had achieved complete surprise and too late had the Irish realised the danger. The tense stand-off lasted only for a few seconds. Their hostility palpable, the Baluba warriors hurled themselves at the hapless patrol.
It had all happened in quick succession – from arrival to alert, from alert to ambush, from ambush to attack. As the Balubas advanced they broke into frenzied charge and closed fast on the Irish patrol. Lieutenant Gleeson shouted: ‘Hold your fire, we have to wait until they fire first.’ Hardly had he spoken when the Balubas, barely twenty metres away, unleashed a hail of arrows. The order to fire was given and those with weapons returned fire immediately. Fifteen Balubas fell dead, nearly as many were wounded, and as many again kept advancing. Suddenly more tribesmen were moving in from the bush, from in front and behind. The Irish troops were in a hopeless situation. ‘High ground’ was the immediate thought in the Irish minds and Lieutenant Gleeson led his patrol in an attempt to make for a rise, retreating across the river, with the Balubas in pursuit, continuing firing arrows all the time. On reaching the rise, the Irish turned and faced their attackers; here they would make a stand.
With minds racing, hearts pounding, gasping for breath and fearful, the Irish were wounded and in a state of shock. What had been the routine repair of a broken bridge had been used as ‘bait’ by the Balubas, and it had worked. Such a possibility could not have registered on the patrol’s index of suspicion, but the reality they faced, to their horror, was a Baluba war party preparing to move in for the kill. The typical reaction is one of fight or flight and the Irish tried both. Too few in number to begin with, only some had weapons to hand and their ammunition was running out, they tried putting ‘stand-off’ distance between them and their attackers. The Balubas lined the bank of the river, some ten or fifteen metres away, shouting and continuing to fire. The Irish regrouped on the rise, and Lieutenant Gleeson attempted to speak with the war party, but he received only arrows in return, many of which found their mark. There was realisation among some of the Irish that they were going to die, especially if they stayed where they were. In any event the Balubas rushed forward and fierce hand-to-hand fighting erupted. The Irish were desperate to survive the onslaught and Dougan, Gaynor, Gleeson, Kelly and McGuinn were killed.
Commanding Officer’s driver examines wreaths at Albertville airport, 18 November 1960.
Courtesy of the Military Archives, Dublin
Amazingly, six of the Irish troops managed to fight through the encircling Balubas and a desperate pursuit began as the running battle continued into the bush. The frenzied Balubas wanted to continue killing, while the Irish desperately wanted to evade certain death. Firing as they ran, the surviving Irish peacekeepers clung to the slender hope that if they could outrun their hunters they might yet escape. The skirmish continued in this vein for a short while but the dense bush and the close-packed vegetation was too thick for the Irish troops to navigate quickly. They became dispersed and the pursuit broke down into individual evasive efforts to stay alive. Killeen, Fennell and Farrell were killed while Kenny, through exhaustion, and Fitzpatrick and Browne, through having no other option, found that although the dense growth hindered motion it also provided cover.
In different places and independent of each other, Kenny and Fitzpatrick crawled into the undergrowth, lay still, and hid. They could hear the Balubas looking for them and the noise made by the individual encounters between the Irish and tribesmen around them. The closely-packed vegetation proved a successful sanctuary for Fitzpatrick, while Kenny, although discovered, feigned death. Despite being badly beaten he did not betray his pretence and survived the ordeal. Browne too escaped the chase. He fought himself clear but was not to cheat death. In the immediate aftermath of the ambush, patrols dispatched to the bridge on the non-return of Lieutenant Gleeson and his party discovered Fitzpatrick first, and later, Kenny.
Fr Crean HCF saying mass for the Irish deceased of the Niemba ambush at Albertville airport, on their journey homeward to Ireland, November 1960.
Courtesy of the Military Archives, Dublin
Trooper Browne’s fate and body were only discovered two years later. He had succeeded in putting two miles distance between him, the war party and the ambush site. Heading north, it is believed he sought help from two native women near the village of Tundulu and giving them money asked for food and directions; however, they alerted young warriors who killed him.
The Niemba Ambush was a seminal moment for Ireland and the Defence Forces. It occurred only three months after the first Irish contingent of two battalions (32nd and 33rd) were deployed amid a mood of national exhilaration. The Irish Defence Forces’ involvement in UN services overseas was a national tonic as it heralded the dawn of a new outward-looking, more modern Ireland. The sudden deaths of nine of its soldiers, the Defence Force’s biggest single loss of life in one tragic overseas incident, then or since, was a stark reality check and a loss of innocence for Ireland. The dead Irish peacekeepers were given a State funeral and over a quarter of a million people turned out in Dublin to witness the funeral cortège as it made its way through the capital to Glasnevin Cemetery.
The Balubas did not know the Irish would not be belligerent, the Irish did not know the Balubas would be, and so there was chaos in the Congo. The Balubas mistakenly considered that because the Irish troops were white they presented the same threat posed to them by the white mercenaries in the pay of Moise Tshombe, a tribal rival. They were soon to learn of the impartiality of the Irish, whose own painful history rendered them free of any colonial baggage and in due course provided much needed protection for the Balubas and other tribes in refugee camps. The naivety of an Irish nation was ended and lessons were learned by the Defence Forces, but the drama and the death in the Congo was set to continue.
Les Affreux – The ‘Frightful Ones’
In Africa, the real danger came from the vast inaccessible terrain, the extreme climate and rampant disease. In overcoming these enemies, the opposing soldiers and peacekeepers first had to fight to stay alive before they could engage any human opponent. For UN peacekeepers belligerence was the enemy, its human form ominously manifest in the many mercenaries in the pay of Tshombe. In south west Congo at the close of 1960, Katanga was at war internally with the Balubas and externally with the ANC (Armée Nationale Congolaise), the army of the newly independent Democratic Republic of the Congo, from which Katanga had been trying to break away. Katanga’s president, Moise Tshombe, had significantly strengthened the spine of his force with the addition of hundreds of well-armed, highly trained and combat-experienced mercenaries. Their presence provided Tshombe with an assertiveness and a disinclination towards a negotiated détente with the UN; instead their existence inevitably catapulted the Katangese towards conflict with the UN forces.
White mercenaries (Belgian, French, British, Rhodesian, South African, some Germans, almost unavoidably one or two Irish), all soldiers of fortune and ex-military adventure-seeking veterans mostly motivated, if not pure and simply, by money, were recruited across Europe and elsewhere as ‘advisors’, ‘technicians’ and ‘police officers’ for the Katangan Gendarmerie. Their paid participation granted the secessionists an on-the-ground tactical and an overall strategic capability, a potency thrusting the Katangese headlong into combat with the United Nations Operation in the Congo (ONUC).
The mention of mercenaries immediately evokes an almost romantic mystique, but a mercenary is simply an ex-soldier who sells his military skills for money. A soldier is a member of an army and is trained to fight and kill. Tshombe recruited hundreds of these ‘dogs of war’ to bark for him and deliver a decidedly offensive edge to his forces, thereby strengthening the overall resolve of his Katangan Gendarmerie.
An Evening Herald article of the time tells its own tale:
An ex-French Army Officer was being held today on a charge of trying to recruit ‘technicians’ to work in the troubled Congo province of Katanga. He was held under a law that prohibits recruiting foreign armies on French soil. Police said he had interviewed several men in his hotel room after running this advertisement in local papers:
CENTRAL AFRICA: Good pay, former soldiers and young men recently discharged. Those having experience in central Africa preferred. With or without speciality, drivers, radiomen, mechanics. Passport necessary, URGENT.
Authorities alleged he paid recruits 1,000 francs (£70) as a bonus to sign. Bachelors were paid 1,970 francs a month and married men 2,190 francs.
An Irish mercenary, recruited by interview in a London hotel after answering an advertisement for ‘Safari guides’, enlisted for $800 a month, over six times what he could otherwise earn elsewhere. During the early stages the inducement was less, at $300 dollars a month, but still an attractive enticement and sufficient to draw the interest of many ex-military men. There were no American mercenaries among them as it was generally believed, incorrectly in fact, that those who enlisted for military service under a foreign flag were in contravention of US law and could have their passports confiscated.
The mercenaries naturally fell into three distinct groups: Belgian, French and the English-speakers – the Compagnie Internationale – mostly from the UK, South Africa and Rhodesia. When off-duty the former two, in particular some of the French, were given to un-soldierly behaviour that gave rise to an unnecessary notoriety. When in the public eye some sought attention by courting a macho-type image: unshaven, long-haired, needlessly in possession of many weapons and wearing well-worn combat fatigues, swaggering from bar to bar in a swashbuckling derring-do fashion. All this gave rise to an exaggerated impression that they were a collection of ill-disciplined, gung-ho hellraisers, a representation not lost on the media, and the phrase ‘Les Affreux’ – the Frightful Ones – became synonymous with the appearance of some of Katanga’s French mercenaries.
In overall command of the mercenaries was a Belgian, Colonel Crevecoeur, and his second in command was Major Matisse. The French group was under Colonel Faulques, formerly a major in the Foreign Legion, a veteran of Dien Bien Phu and fresh from many encounters in Algeria with the Front de Libération Nationale (FLN). Bob Denard (a.k.a. Gilbert Bourgeaud), whose story was widely credited for the feature film The Wild Geese (Andrew V McLaglen, 1978) and the novel Dogs of War by Frederick Forsyth, was also involved. The Compagnie Internationale was initially commanded by Dick Browne, whose brother was Conservative MP Percy Browne, and included Colonel ‘Mad’ Mike Hoare and Alistair Wicks among its members. Sometimes confused early on with a unit called the White Legion, this much smaller mercenary outfit were, however, destined to be taken prisoner by UN Ethiopian troops at Kabala in northern Katanga.
The mercenaries were very well equipped, and their armament included brand new weaponry from Belgian manufacturers such as the 7.62mm FN rifle (the British equivalent was the L1A1 Self-Loading Rifle (SLR), or the American M16), the belt-fed 7.62mm General Purpose Machine Gun (GPMG), the FN Browning 9mm High Power Pistol, the 9mm Vigneron M2 and the FN 9mm UZI sub-machine gun.
Speed, noise and immense firepower were the tactics employed by the mercenaries to counter the Baluba. Noise was associated with great power and conveniently was a by-product of the firepower which was used to maximum effect to saturate any Baluba target areas, whether real, possible or even simply suspected. The speed was achieved by being organised into several units known as ‘Groupes Mobiles’. At the forefront of each were up to six heavily armed ‘Willys Jeeps’ with a mounted GPMG or a .3 or .5 Browning Heavy Machine Gun (HMG). With its heavy barrel, the .5 was an updated model of the 1930s design. Two million were initially manufactured and it remains one of the most powerful machine guns in existence. Irish troops were to encounter it, or more precisely, were subjected to its highly disruptive effect, and initially had little equivalent viable response. These highly mobile columns were sometimes spearheaded by light armoured vehicles. Whether jeeps or armoured, or a mix, they were supported by truck-borne Katangese Gendarmerie. The required speed, firepower (noise) and accuracy were delivered to good effect in many whirlwind attacks.
Communications were provided by the PRC-9 short-range backpack radio sets used by the US Army. Powerful radio transmitters were used as rear-links to communicate with the état-major (Gendarmerie/mercenary headquarters in Élisabethville) when the various Groupes Mobiles were operating in the Bushveld (a dense bush-filled region in southern Africa) or hemmed in along routes by impenetrable jungle forests, at ranges of up to several hundred kilometres.
The mercenaries were employed to ‘pacify’ the Balubas and take on the central government’s ANC. In the first instance, fighting unsophisticated Balubas demanded an unorthodox approach because of the cultural nature of their comprehension. Uncomplicated, badly organised and poorly armed, they could nevertheless be fanatically brave. Frequently fortified by marijuana and heavily influenced by tribal witch doctors, their preferred tactic was ambush or frontal assault in overwhelming numbers. The prospect of falling prisoner to the Baluba was inconceivable, as they were known to practise grotesque ritual torture, causing the victim excruciating pain and suffering before death. Nor were the Irish immune from the Baluba, their eleven-man patrol having been attacked and nine butchered at or near Niemba. Yet within a matter of some eighteen months it was Irish and Swedish UN troops that were to defend Baluba refugee camps in Élisabethville during the fighting of 1961 and 1962, and at one point some 40,000 Baluba and other tribal refugees were under their protection.
The Baluba had once formed a mighty empire larger than Belgium and Holland combined, which had since waned and by the 1960s they were living as a minority tribe in northern Katanga with a rival, now more powerful tribe, the Lunda. The Bayeke, fierce and warlike, were a third and strong tribe to contend with and ancient tribal rivalries continued to exist. Tshombe was a member of the Lunda royal house and so a natural rival of the Baluba. Since gaining independence, and unrestricted by colonial subjection or obedience to tribal permissions, young adult Balubas had rampaged across northern Katanga, armed with rudimentary weapons and attacking white Belgian settlers and black tribal rivals. These included poisoned arrows and spears, clubs studded with six-inch nails, and sharpened bicycle chains which could shred human flesh to the bone.
Getting to grips internally with the Baluba was one thing – and ongoing – but the time would surely come for military assertiveness in support of the secession. Set against the backdrop of the powerful and competing influences already tearing the Congo apart, three critical circumstances – the death of Congolese Prime Minister Patrice Lumumba, a second UN Security Council Resolution, and the increased activity of the ANC – resulted in events unfolding quickly.
In December 1960, through deception and double-dealing, Patrice Lumumba, along with two others (Maurice Mpola and Joseph Okito), were arrested by Colonel Joseph Mobutu and President Kasavubu of the Leopoldville government and delivered into the hands of his tribal and political opponents, resulting in the announcement of their deaths on 13 February by the Katangese minister of the interior, Godefroid Munongo. Seven days later, on 21 February 1961, the UN Security Council adopted a new resolution allowing the ONUC to use force to restore order and take whatever steps necessary to prevent civil war erupting in the Congo. The UN resolution also demanded the immediate evacuation of all mercenaries and other foreign military and political advisors. The authority for ‘the use of force, if necessary, as a last resort’ was a mandate to act, changing the nature of the UN forces’ rules of engagement from passive peacekeepers (opening fire as a last resort and only if fired upon) to active peace enforcers, allowing a more robust, vigorous, proactive posture. Finally, under Mobutu, the ANC increased their activities, particularly along the internal provincial borders of Kasai and Katanga.
Into this turmoil, Irish Lieutenant General Sean McKeown was appointed Force Commander of ONUC in January 1961. From early to mid-1961, the period following Lumumba’s death, order continued to further deteriorate throughout the Congo. Late in August, Lumumba’s replacement, Cyrille Adoula, was elected as the new prime minister of the Congo. He immediately announced his intention to end the Katangan secession effort and special legislation was enacted to allow the government to expel foreign officers and mercenaries. To achieve this, Adoula requested the assistance of the UN force sent in to keep the peace and maintain order. In effect he was requesting a more partisan participation than the UN force and its contributing members had anticipated. He wished them to become more measurably immersed in the internal fighting than they had intended and take on a deeper dimension in the developing drama. Had the innocent UN been manipulated unwittingly towards mission creep, allowing an escalation of its role, or was it simply that this was what maintaining order required? For sure, order within Congo could not be restored until the Katangan secession threat was addressed, and order within Katanga could not be resolved until the menace of the mercenary threat was addressed.
The First Battle of Katanga – September 1961
In the likely event of coming into harm’s way, the first action required is to remove the source of danger. Before daybreak on 28 August 1961, the UN’s Irish, Swedish and Indian battalions were out in force and active in Élisabethville, their objective to pre-emptively oust the foreign military and white mercenaries from the Katangese Gendarmerie’s order of battle. The logic of the surprise UN offensive was to outwit them now rather than having to overpower them later. Operation Rampunch, which became known as ‘Operation Rum Punch’ by the English-speaking peacekeeping forces, was the UN’s first direct response to the ever increasing belligerent behaviour of the Katangese. The UN was taking the mercenary fuel from the Katangan fire to contain the Congolese flames.
All mercenary, foreign military and paramilitary forces were targeted for arrest. It was an attempt to reduce the kinetic-effect potential of Tshombe, his Katangan regime and his mercenary-led military force. By defusing his military power and prowess it was intended to cause him to seek a negotiated settlement more earnestly. For the previous six months (January to July 1961) peace talks had – frustratingly – not yielded the desired results and Irishman Dr Conor Cruise O’Brien, appointed as UN Special Representative in Katanga by UN Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld, was charged to deliver a solution to the reintegration of Katanga back into the Congo. Thwarted by Tshombe’s evident determination to keep Katanga independent, Cruise O’Brien was equally – and as stubbornly – determined to bring the secession to an end. Tshombe and his overseas advisors were hoping to outlast the UN initiative, knowing the UN for its part was in the early days of pioneering its peacekeeping policies, making them match their on-the-ground coordination of military, political and diplomatic strategies. The Katangan secession was backed by European commercial patronage, whose own interests lay in ensuring that Katanga’s wealth did not fall into the hands of Congolese nationalists. A more forceful posture was required to demonstrate that the UN was serious about ending Katanga’s succession and Operation Rampunch was launched.
Well organised and effective, the UN caught many of Élisabethville’s mercenaries off-guard with no casualties suffered or inflicted and very few shots fired. The pattern was the same throughout Katanga and initially it was a resounding success; all of the operation’s military objectives were achieved, the majority of the mercenaries were captured, Godefroid Munongo, the interior minister, was placed under house arrest, and control of a number of installations was wrestled from Gendarmerie hands. In staging a show of strength, the UN had demonstrated their willingness to forcibly implement the resolution of 21 February and – temporarily at least – seized the initiative from Tshombe.
Meanwhile, on 4 August in north Katanga, another Irish unit, the 1st Infantry Group, took over command of Kamina Base. Their tasks were airfield defence, defending the base and its approaches, general administration of the base and protection of the Kilubi Dam and its hydroelectric station, located some sixty miles north east. In pursuance of that task, B Company, 1st Infantry Group, had taken over Kilubi on 16 August. Lieutenant Michael Minehane (later Major General and Force Commander, United Nations Peacekeeping Force in Cyprus (UNIFYCYP) 1992–94) remembers:
Things took a serious turn from the 19 August onwards when headquarters in Leopoldville organised what was known as Operation Rampunch. This was [the] UN’s plan to haul in all the white mercenaries in Katanga, detain them and repatriate them. For us, that required the immediate setting up of a Detention Centre in Kamina and it also meant that we must be prepared for the hostility which it would give rise to in the Kamina area. The Detention Centre was prepared and our defences were upgraded in anticipation of the inevitable reaction that it would provoke. Detention started in all of Katanga on 28 August and within days we were hosting 150 men [as prisoners]. Tension mounted in Kamina and in the rest of Katanga. Detaining that many rogues created problems for us and we were happy to see a couple of Sabena 707s airlift them out of Kamina between the 9 and 14 September. By 14 [September] we had serious concerns about the intentions of the gendarmerie battalion in Kaminaville.
Our unit had its first experience of action within days. Nobody in their wildest imaginings could have forecast that an attack would come from the air, but it did! A [Katangese Air Force (FAK)] Fouga jet appeared over the base and indicated to our observation tower that he intended to attack us. The pilot discussed likely targets and his general intentions with the staff of the tower. We had to consider some form of defence against this unexpected threat. The best we could come up with was our Vickers MMGs, which were mounted by our two artillery officers in an anti-aircraft mode for which they were never intended and ill suited. Nonetheless, fire was directed at the Fouga on its next visit. In all, the Fouga paid us about six visits during which he strafed airport buildings and defensive positions. On his second visit to us the pilot indicated that he intended to do damage, that the joking was over. Sure enough he selected a DC-3 on the runway and offloaded his hardware on it. He scored a bull’s-eye and the plane went up in flames. This was pretty serious and we were left to ponder the future without defence against a developing and serious threat. He represented our very first taste of warfare, our first shots fired in anger. It was truly a benign introduction to fighting but for any soldier it was a singular experience.
Katanga Gendarmerie on mobile patrol.
Courtesy of the Military Archives, Dublin
Sporadic fighting had broken out in Élisabethville [and during] the following days there [were] heavy exchanges of fire in the city. At Kamina [Base] we were aware of rumblings to the south in Kaminaville. Troops were assembling and their area of interest could only be the strategically important airbase at Kamina. They were eventful days and for me they were about to become even more eventful. My area of responsibility within the company was the support weapons, i.e. MMGs and our tiny 60mm mortars. The company was commanded by Commandant Kevin MacMahon and my platoon was commanded by Captain Thomas Hartigan.
On the late evening of 14 September 1961 I was called to Kevin’s office where I received a brief, to the effect that the Swedes at Kaminagate [sic] were under attack by the Gendarmerie, and were in dire need of support. Since mortars were my business, Kevin instructed me to get on up there and give them a hand. Mortars come in a variety of sizes. At 60mm, my three mortars were the smallest made and not likely to impress the Swedes as serious support. We had to help them and soon I was on my way with a crew of Sergeant McCabe, Private Jack McGrath and others.
We rendezvoused with a guide at about ten in the evening and some three miles south of the base. I remember it as a beautiful moonlit night and I vividly recall all the sounds of an African evening, especially the crickets. I remember too, as we moved towards the Swedish position, the voice of a Swedish radio operator in our vehicle, calling to his base: ‘Alpha Rudolf, Alpha Rudolf, kum, kum.’ Movement forward to the Swedish position was eerie and worrying, since we were in totally strange territory. However, we were led in safety by our Swedish guide. We were extremely happy to find prepared mortar trenches located in a very suitable place just to the rear of the Swedish forward trenches.
Early in the day a company-sized detachment of Gendarmes had tried to penetrate the base along the road. The Swedes fought well and held off the attack. The Gendarmerie took casualties and backed away, leaving behind a large truck laden with ordnance. As dawn broke I was able to observe the truck some 300m from our positions. Its driver was dead in the cab and on top of the cab was another dead soldier who had been manning a machine-gun mounted atop the cab. As the light improved it was possible to see that the Gendarmerie were making serious efforts to recover their truck and its ordnance. By that time my crew was set up and ready for whatever came our way. The Swedish commander came and talked to me about neutralising the truck with mortar fire. I advised him that while he was asking the impossible, we would give it a go. The mortar is essentially a neutralising weapon. It is not a pin-point target weapon. Even the idea of targeting a truck at the distance seemed fanciful. In true artillery style we bracketed the truck – one round just beyond, then one round short and the next landed smack, bang on the truck. The Swedes were delighted and, needless to say, full of admiration for our skills (good fortune)!
On the first day of Operation Rampunch 73 mercenaries were arrested in the province – 41 by the Irish – and by 8 September, 273 non-Congolese personnel in the Katangan Gendarmerie (mercenaries and Belgian officers) had been repatriated, with some 65 awaiting a similar departure. In all, more than 75 per cent of known mercenaries in Katanga were arrested and flown out by the UN. ‘The game was up’ was how matters were generally perceived among the mercenaries, although it was estimated 104 had slipped the net. The military momentum gained as a result of Operation Rampunch was, however, neither politically nor diplomatically maintained, and so the advantage was lost. Mistakenly, the UN allowed local and Belgian officials to complete the measures the UN had initiated, but these proved unsuccessful. While the operation did see off a large part of the Belgian officer corps of the Katangan Gendarmerie, with additional UN pressure on Belgium, the deported mercenaries flown out by the UN were directly, although discretely, flown back in by Tshombe, only in additional numbers; the game was very much back on.
A by-product of the operation – of no small future significance – was the seizure of fourteen assorted Katangese aircraft (two Sikorsky helicopters, three Alouette helicopters, three Dakotas, four Doves and two Herons). Virtually the entire Katangese air complement had fallen uncontested into UN hands. However, five aircraft not at Élisabethville (two Fouga Magister Jets, two Doves and a Tri-pacer) escaped impoundment and while seriously diminished the skies were still the preserve of the mercenary pilots and, albeit much reduced, they still enjoyed air superiority; in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
With no UN fighter aircraft available, the Katangan Fouga Magister was master. This combat jet trainer from Aérospatiale, though somewhat obsolete, remained unrivalled in the Congo skies. Swallow-like in appearance, with a highly distinctive butterfly tail, its cruising speed was 750 kph and it had a range of almost 1,000 km. It could strike any target with its rockets and 7.62mm machine guns or bomb it at will; altogether it was a lethal force multiplier. A lone Fouga was itself a serious single prospect to have to deal with and in the hands of Magain, the stocky Flemish–Belgian mercenary pilot, UN ground forces were particularly vulnerable and susceptible to its armaments.
After Operation Rampunch a vicious campaign of anti-UN propaganda was conducted by the Katangese government and anti-UN demonstrations were orchestrated in the centre of Élisabethville. There was also increased Gendarmerie activity and a noticeable intensification in the presence of mercenaries around the city. On 9 September roadblocks sprang up throughout the capital to impede UN troop movements and the following day in Jadotville (Likasi), a quiet mining town 160 km north of Élisabethville, a mercenary-led Gendarmerie force of over 2,000 troops cut off an isolated company of 157 Irish peacekeepers in what was to become known as the Siege of Jadotville.
