1972 by Morgan Llywelyn Page A

ordnance.”
    Frowning, Garland had examined the column’s small stock of rifles and pistols. “Is this all you brought, Shay?”
    â€œIt’s everything GHQ sent us, plus one old rifle and a sawnoff shotgun that two of the lads brought with them.”
    â€œWhat, no pitchforks?”
    â€œNot unless we steal some from this barn.”
    Garland chuckled. “We won’t need to, thank God. Every attack group’s being supplied with machine guns. We’ve two Thompson submachine guns and a Bren tucked away a few miles from here.”
    â€œWhat’s a Bren?” asked one of the recruits.
    â€œAn infantry weapon really, and more reliable than the Thompson. Thompsons have a tendency to pull to the left unless you know how to allow for it. You fire a Thompson standing up and spray the bullets around, but the Bren’s mounted on a bipod and you lie on your belly to shoot. It’s much steadier, and can take the same ammunition as the Lee-Enfield .303.”
    â€œI have a Lee-Enfield .303!” Barry cried. “I could handle a Bren.”

    Garland slanted a look in his direction. “Keen as mustard, are you? Ever used any class of machine gun?”
    â€œNot yet, but I can …”
    â€œHalloran’s quite a marksman with his own rifle,” McCoy commented. “He could be a sniper.”
    Sniper. Me! I told Gerry Ryan I was going to shoot vermin. That’s what the enemy does to our crowd, kills them like vermin. It’s only fair they get back what they give.
    Sniper. Barry liked the sound of the word. Adventurous and heroic.
    Seán Garland was saying, “In the finish-up, we can’t hope to defeat the enemy through conventional warfare. Britain will always be able to supply more men and more weapons. But we can do what Michael Collins did: we can break down the machinery of administration until the British are unable to govern. Then they’ll have to withdraw from Northern Ireland.”
    â€œHowever long it takes, we’ll get our country back,” Séamus McCoy added. His voice rang with conviction.
    This is for real. Sitting on a barrel in a barn. Legs aching. Stomach rumbling. Adrenaline prickling beneath the skin. However long it takes, we’ll get our country back.
    The barn smelled of hay and chickens.
    â€œOne more thing,” said Garland. “Up here labels are a matter of life and death. Keep that in mind. You have Catholics and nationalists and republicans; Protestants and unionists and loyalists. Those are, broadly speaking, the two sides, with the government soundly on the latter. Within those two divisions there’s a lot of crossover. All Catholics aren’t nationalists; many are just people who want to work and bring up their families in safety. Nationalists may or may not be practicing Catholics, but they want to see this island reunited.”
    â€œA nation once again!” whooped one of the recruits.
    Garland suppressed a smile. “Exactly. I don’t have to explain who the republicans are: that’s us. We want the Irish Republic we fought for in 1916 and again in 1921, not some diluted version like the Free State.
    â€œNow about the unionists: Only a small percentage are members of the Ulster Unionist Party, but the vast majority of
northern Protestants would describe themselves as ‘unionist’ because they want to remain within the United Kingdom. ‘Loyalist’ refers to an extremely sectarian group that’s developed in the Protestant working class. You could call them supremacists, like the Ku Klux Klan in America. Loyalists bash and bludgeon Catholics and claim they’re doing it to protect their Protestant heritage. Many loyalists belong to the Orange Order, one of the most virulent anti-Catholic organisations in the world. They consider themselves above the law with some justification, since the RUC lets them get away with murder. Sometimes literally. A lot of RUC