Defence Forces Review 2008

‘Bullets, Bacteria and Boredom’
Bullets of a different kind were shot in November 1992. It was a quiet day and had all the
appearances of a quiet evening. I had just finished my evening meal and was looking for some
entertainment when I was ordered to proceed to Haddatha. An event was unfolding in the
enclave. On arrival at 6-38, the temporary armoured ambulance with crew was already there.
What was happening was still unclear. Eventually, an armoured convoy headed up and over
hill 880 and down to Attiri 6-44. We were still unsure of the situation.
With me in the ambulance were the Padre and the medical team. At the water hole, we met
CS Jerry Dineen and Captain Gus McNamara. I examined Michael McCarthy who was dead.
He had been shot about 300 metres away, near the cemetery, around the spot where the four
waddis meet below the brown mound – one of the most beautiful spots in the south.
I was told that the medic and another wounded solider had been taken as prisoners to SLA
regional HQ at Safa Al Howa. We placed Michael’s body in the rear and took the other two
survivors into the front of the ambulance and proceeded into the night, the sounds of mortar
and shellfire exploding in the distance. I was still unclear about what had happened. Why
And how As I proceeded up Tracer Alley lined with olive and pine trees, I could sense a great
amount of fear and also a great amount of what I might call the fog of conflict. The personnel
at 6-44 were seriously shocked. The position had come under sustained fire and they were
lucky to have escaped with their lives. I now had Michael’s dead body and three seriously
psychologically traumatised soldiers in my care. There were two others at Safa Al Howa. I did
not know the extent of their injuries or even if they were still alive. What had happened that
evening I feel the full story is still shrouded in the cloud of conflict.
While we were still at 6-44, Team Victor, the UNSTO observers, made contact to tell us that
our prisoners would be released to my care. In their company, I proceeded up the Snake Road
and into the SLA medical complex. There I met that psychopath – Gal Both, the customs man
from Byat Yuhan. He was baying for blood and wanted our lads killed. I noted what good care
had been taken of our wounded. One had been shot in both knees and had a very deep bullet
graze on his back. The other had less serious injuries. I thanked their doctor who told what
he understood had happened. The story started to take on more clarity. It seemed the SLA
attachment at the brown mound misread the situation, thinking it was a Hezbollah incursion
and ambush. They opened fire, killing three of their own – Lieutenant Joseph and two others
– as well as Michael and wounding many on both sides.
We left Safa Al Howa to the sounds of mortar and the rat-tat-tat of gun fire which broke the
silence and darkness of that eerie night. We returned, after what seemed an inordinate time,
to our own operational area and to the medical centre. There, the medics tended, with great
care – as always – to the mortal remains of Michael McCarthy. The Padre and I administered
to the survivors into the night. They were truly wounded people – in ways both physical and
psychological. What had seemed to be a peaceful and quiet evening proved to be anything but.
September 11th 2001 was a clear day in South Lebanon. We were approaching the end of our
final tour in the area. I walked to the highest point in the village where there was a monument
under construction to the Irish who paid the ultimate price. I was almost back at the camp
when I heard on my transistor radio that a small aircraft had crashed into one of the Twin
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