Into Action. Dan Harvey
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: