Civil War: Battle of Campos de Álvarez

Battle of Campos de Álvarez

Monument erected on the site of the Battle of Campos de Álvarez, fought on 31 January 1852

Juan Manuel de Rosas and Ángel Pacheco, respectively, facilitated for the Empire of Brazil and for Urquiza the easy success they achieved in their triumphant march into the interior of Buenos Aires Province. Rosas referred all matters to Pacheco, and Pacheco, in turn, failed to take timely or effective action. One need only consider the decisive events that shaped the operations culminating in the Battle of Caseros.

A month before Oribe’s capitulation, Colonel Martiniano Chilavert submitted a memorandum to Rosas in which he presented numerous reasons and favourable prospects for having Oribe move to engage Urquiza and, at the same time, preparing an army to invade Brazil. Rosas approved the memorandum and said he would consult Pacheco—but meanwhile allowed Oribe’s army to be undermined.

When Urquiza was gathering his forces in Gualeguaychú, Chilavert again urged Rosas to defend the Paraná River line, offering to lead the defence himself. Rosas responded that he would consult Pacheco. Soon thereafter, Pascual Echagüe was forced to abandon Santa Fe. When Urquiza moved from Rosario and Pacheco ordered Lucio Norberto Mansilla to withdraw from positions along the Paraná, Mansilla assumed this was to reposition him with infantry and artillery to the northern front dominated by Lagos with 8,000 cavalry, in order to defend the line of the Arroyo del Medio. Pacheco would then reinforce him from Luján, and together they would present battle to Urquiza. In the event of defeat, they could retreat to the barracks at Santos Lugares. This strategy would also buy Rosas time to raise the southern campaign in a unified effort and place Urquiza in a critical position, encircled and cut off from his supply lines. Mansilla presented this logic to Rosas, who again directed him to consult with Pacheco. Urquiza then advanced his vanguard to the Arroyo del Medio.

When Urquiza reached that point, and Pacheco insisted that Hilario Lagos retreat to headquarters, Lagos protested to Rosas, stating that he and his soldiers were determined to stand and defend the invaded land. Rosas responded affirming his confidence in Lagos's patriotism and advised him to harmonise his actions with General Pacheco's orders.

There were moments when Rosas showed signs of reacting—particularly when he sensed the disorganisation of his forces. He summoned Major Antonino Reyes, commander at Santos Lugares, and spoke of convening a war council of senior officers. But the impulse passed quickly. It was Pacheco—his constant reliance on Pacheco—that caused him to waver. Still, he told Reyes: “I’ll need you by my side; we must urgently appoint someone to command your battalion, the coastal battalions, and other units that together would make up about 1,500 men with six artillery pieces.” Reyes proposed Colonel Pedro José Díaz, a seasoned officer residing in Buenos Aires since being captured at Quebracho Herrado (28 November 1840) with the last remnants of Lavalle’s infantry. Díaz responded: “Tell the Governor I appreciate the trust he places in me; though a 'Unitarian', I will fulfil my duty as a soldier under the orders of my country’s government.” This led to the formation of that infantry brigade—the only one that, alongside Chilavert’s renowned artillery, held fire until the very end against the imperial forces.

Pacheco’s decisions, however, consistently cleared the path for the allied advance. On 26 January, as the allies reached Arroyo del Gato and moved on to Laguna del Tigre (near Chivilcoy), he ordered all troops withdrawn from the “Guardia de Luján” (present-day Mercedes), leaving only 600 men under Colonel Lagos—the sole commander actively resisting the enemy. Yet on the 28th, Pacheco wrote to Lagos suggesting he proceed as he saw fit with his forces, referring vaguely to movements supposedly made on the night of the 26th. He claimed that Major Albornoz was withdrawn because Lagos’s division was strong enough on its own.

But Pacheco’s assumptions were false—no such movements had occurred. Moreover, he ordered the withdrawal of all reserves, leaving Lagos isolated with a small division facing the enemy. Lagos replied on 28 January:

“Colonel Lagos, sir, made no movement whatsoever with the divisions encamped at Arroyo de Balta on the night of the 26th. I was informed by Major Albornoz that Your Excellency had ordered the withdrawal of all forces from Guardia de Luján on that same day. If I have been forced to engage the enemy solely on their left flank, it was because I was reprimanded for advancing with my force to Laguna de las Toscas, which I calculated (correctly) would be the enemy’s route.”

At the same time, serious accusations circulated against General Pacheco—some alleged that between 26 and 27 January he had established secret contact with General Urquiza, even removing Colonel Bustos’s aides from the area around Luján to that end. Bustos relayed the matter to Rosas through Major Reyes. Rosas simply replied: “He’s mad, sir.” The same was said of a Justice of the Peace who travelled from his post to confirm the rumour, and even of a prominent member of the legislature who echoed the report: “He’s mad,” Rosas repeated.

The allied army advanced from Chivilcoy to Luján, arriving on the morning of 29 January. By the 30th, its vanguard was positioned at Campos de Álvarez, just over two leagues from some of Buenos Aires’ forward divisions, located along the left bank of the Río de las Conchas (today the Reconquista River), defending the Márquez Bridge. Pacheco had just crossed the bridge without issuing orders and took the road to his estancia at El Talar.

Upon hearing of the enemy’s approach, Rosas instructed Lagos to engage them in battle, assuring him that General Pacheco would defend the Márquez Bridge with superior forces. With his own division and those of Colonels Domingo Sosa and Ramón Bustos (son of the Córdoba caudillo Juan Bautista Bustos), Lagos gathered approximately 2,500 men. At dawn on 31 January, he organised three parallel columns, deployed light cavalry to the front, and advanced to confront the enemy.

The allied army had formed in an extended line on the left flank, matching Lagos’s direction. General Juan Pablo López held the left; Colonel Galarza commanded the Entre Ríos cavalry in the centre; Colonels Aguilar and Caraballo positioned their divisions on either side. The allied force numbered about 5,000. The elite Buenos Aires squadrons clashed with the seasoned cavalry of Entre Ríos. These initially wavered when Lagos personally led charges that earned him lasting renown in Argentine military history. But the allied regiments, reinforced by López’s timely support and flanking manoeuvres, overwhelmed Lagos’s inexperienced squadrons. He then regrouped his best troops, led a final charge to stall the enemy, and withdrew in good order to the Márquez Bridge, losing around 200 men—including Commander Marcos Rubio—and several officers, weapons, and horses.

Allied reports and General César Díaz’s “Unpublished Memoirs” (pp. 265–267) claimed Lagos had 6,000 of the finest cavalry, and inconsistently reported both a lack of resistance and 200 casualties among Lagos’s forces, while stating the allies lost only 26 men. General Díaz had no direct knowledge, as he was two leagues from the battlefield and only joined the allied vanguard the next day. It was assumed Lagos still commanded the same force with which he had withdrawn from the northern line, but in reality, at Álvarez he had:

• His own division, militia from Bragado, and veteran detachments: 600 men

• Sosa’s division: 1,300 men

• Bustos’s division: 600 men

Echagüe’s and Cortina’s divisions did not participate. The bulk of Lagos’s Bragado division had been redirected by Pacheco across the Márquez Bridge.

Lagos expected to find Pacheco at the bridge with infantry and artillery, as instructed. But Pacheco was not there—he had left not a single man. Lagos requested orders, reporting he was still skirmishing with the enemy’s advance units. From Santos Lugares came the reply: “Hold your position.” On 11 February, the entire allied army assembled at Álvarez. Lagos informed Santos Lugares, and only late that day was he told that if the enemy attempted to cross the river, he should retreat to headquarters.

In this context, Pacheco resigned as General-in-Chief, stating Rosas was already at Santos Lugares in command of the army. Rosas took it as a personal blow. Showing the resignation to Major Reyes, he said: “Don’t you see, sir? Pacheco is mad, sir.” Yet, as Pacheco had informed all commanders of his resignation and urged them to report directly to Rosas, Rosas responded that he had “not accepted General Pacheco’s request; and given the importance of his role and his distinguished performance, the illustrious general continues in command.”

Rosas, however, flew into a rage when told Pacheco had failed to defend the Márquez Bridge with the troops withdrawn from Luján, as previously ordered: “It cannot be—surely the General Pacheco could not have disobeyed the orders of the Governor of the Province!” On the night of 31 January, Benjamín Victorica arrived at Santos Lugares on Pacheco’s behalf. Rosas dismissed him without hearing the message. The following afternoon, Pacheco himself arrived. Reyes announced him and returned to speak with Colonel Bustos. Moments later, both men were astonished to see Pacheco leave Rosas’s quarters, head down, without speaking, mount his horse, and ride to Witt’s estate, from where he witnessed the subsequent military events.

The victory at Álvarez was naturally celebrated in Urquiza’s camp and boosted allied morale. In light of the ease of their progress, they began to believe—perhaps rightly—that they would soon enter Buenos Aires with weapons in hand. In Rosas’s camp, although the defeat was keenly felt, it produced no outward sign. On the night of 1 February, some 400 men deserted from the allies and joined Santos Lugares, greeted by cheers from their former comrades.

Among the Buenos Aires population, strong support for Rosas persisted, rooted in a cultural loyalty reinforced by shared adversity and struggle. Many soldiers believed they were defending national honour against a foreign invasion. Was that merely poetic? Perhaps, but it was the poetry of honour—an inner truth resonating within individual conscience. The rural population saw only the astonishing fact of the Brazilian Empire’s invasion and rallied around Rosas as the personification of national salvation.

General César Díaz, commander of the eastern division of the allied army, observed:

“The people of Luján displayed the same studied indifference as those of Pergamino; and to the outward signs of sympathy for Rosas, they added actions clearly reflecting their sentiments. They exaggerated the size and quality of Rosas’s forces, recalled the many political storms he had weathered, and were convinced he would once again emerge victorious.”

Upon the full allied army’s arrival at Álvarez, Díaz recounts Urquiza’s thoughts:

“I went to visit the General and found him in the Major General’s tent. He spoke of the bitter disappointment in the spirit we had expected from Buenos Aires. Until then, we had not faced any resistance. The General said, ‘If it were not for my interest in promoting the Republic’s organisation, I should have remained allied to Rosas, for I am persuaded that he is a very popular man in this country.’”
And Díaz concludes:
“If Rosas was so publicly hated, or no longer feared, as was claimed, why did the people not seize this opportunity to realise their long-held desires? Why did they show such exaggerated zeal in defending their own servitude? From what I witnessed, I am deeply convinced that Rosas’s authority in 1852 was as strong—perhaps stronger—than it had been a decade earlier, and that neither popular submission nor confidence in his leadership had ever abandoned him.”

Sources:

• César Díaz – Unpublished Memoirs – Adriano Díaz Publications – Buenos Aires (1878)

• Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado

• Portal: www.revisionistas.com.ar

• Adolfo Saldías – Historia de la Confederación Argentina – Ed. El Ateneo, Buenos Aires (1951)

Reproduction permitted with citation: www.revisionistas.com.ar

Captured Land Based Exocet Launch System (ITB) Trial in 1985

Argentine Confederation: Embargos on Unitarians in Flores

Embargo on the Unitarians of Flores

The Jueces de Paz (Peace Judges) replaced the former Alcaldes de Hermandad (Brotherhood Majors) when the Cabildo of Buenos Aires was officially dissolved in 1821. To the traditional rural lower-court powers held by their predecessors, new responsibilities were gradually added—especially during the Rosista era—turning them into central figures in the machinery established by Juan Manuel de Rosas to control life in the countryside, thereby consolidating their role as an effective instrument of rural population control.

Between 1832 and 1852, only four men held the office in the Partido de San José de Flores: Martín Farías, Vicente Zavala, Eustaquio Martínez, and Isidro Silva. The years 1841–1842 imposed an even heavier burden on these Justices of the Peace, beyond their usual judicial and policing functions, as they were tasked with enforcing the decree of 16 December 1841, which ordered the seizure of property from the opposition known as the “Savage Unitarians”:

“All movable and immovable property, rights, and claims of any kind, located in the city or countryside, belonging to the savage Unitarian traitors, are to be used to compensate for the damages inflicted on the fortunes of loyal Federalists by the hordes of the unnatural traitor Juan Lavalle; for the extraordinary expenses incurred by the public treasury in resisting the barbaric invasion of this execrable murderer; and for the rewards granted by the government to the regular army, the militias, and the other brave defenders of the freedom and dignity of our Confederation and that of America.”

Estates in Flores belonging to the “Savage Unitarians” that were seized:

• Achaval, José

• Blanco, Francisco

• Borches, José

• Carabajal, José María

• Castro, Joaquín

• Cortés, Alejo

• Díaz, Fermín

• Florete, Manuel

• Mainuetas, Manuel

• Mayoral, Regina

• Ramos de Lastra, Josefa

• Ramos Mexía, Francisco

• Ramos, Ramón

• Ruvino, Ignacio

• Zurita, Francisco de Paula

The same decree required the Justice of the Peace to submit a monthly report detailing the condition of the animals and properties that had been confiscated. These reports, titled “Monthly report showing the status of the animals that belonged to the Savage Unitarians, kept in winter pasture, specifying location, condition, and quantity”, were accompanied by correspondence sent to Santos Lugares, which was the General Regiment. They reveal compliance with the decree through records such as:

• Notes on animals in winter pasture

• Tree maintenance

• Firewood dispatches

• Wages for firewood cutters

• Transfers of money from firewood sales

• Sale of seized livestock

• Requests for wages for firewood cutters

• Funds for caretakers of winter pastures

• Funds to repair carts

• Funds for the construction of sheds

• Hiring of labourers

This measure was a response to one of the most severe crises faced during Rosas’s long rule, which included the French blockade of the port of Buenos Aires (1838–1840). The blockade severely disrupted the province’s foreign trade and, as a result, its public revenues. This period also saw the 1839 rural uprising in the southern campaign of Buenos Aires, known as the Libres del Sur. Finally, in 1840, Rosas was confronted with an invasion from the north of the province led by General Juan Lavalle, his old rival.

The principle behind the measure was not unprecedented, neither before nor after Rosas. In our civil wars or major social upheavals, confiscation and embargo have consistently been employed by governments to punish opponents or secure funding. Consider, for example, the confiscations during the French Revolution, or in the early 20th century during the Russian Revolution. It is, at first glance, logical that the material damages of war or revolution should be paid by those who seemingly provoked them; for the state, or peaceful citizens, ought not to bear the burden of conflicts they did not seek.

In the 1840 annual address, Arana justified the measure in unequivocal terms, which confirm this interpretation of what had become an almost codified custom:

“The government found itself faced with the choice of either passively allowing the wealth of the enemies of the Republic to support the barbarian invaders, or depriving them of every means of hostility. It could not hesitate in its choice.”

And, indeed, it did not.

Source

Deppeler, Néstor R. – Los embargos en la época de Rosas -, Ed. La Facultad, Buenos Aires (1936).
Efemérides – Patricios de Vuelta de Obligado
Gavilán Enciso, Digna – Pueblo y campaña en la época de Rosas: San José de Flores, 1832-1852 – UNAM, San Justo (2018).
Gelman, Jorge y Schroeder, María Inés – Los embargos a los “unitarios” de la campaña de Buenos Aires – Duke University Press, (2003).
Heras, Carlos – Confiscaciones y embargos durante el gobierno de Rosas – UNLP, La Plata (1921).
Portal revisionistas.com.ar

Malvinas: Call Sign Fortin 1

Call Sign Fortín 1

In 1982, he was an experienced squadron leader in the VI Air Brigade. Assigned with his squadron to the San Julián Military Air Base, on May 1st he answered the bugle call and climbed into the aircraft. The FORTIN fighters were to cover the attack and subsequent return of the TORNO squadron on a bombing mission. After takeoff, as a precaution, he ordered the cannons tested. He pulled the trigger several times and checked the fuses: his cannons weren't working. Perhaps he should return, but... how could he leave his comrade alone? "It doesn't matter," he thought, "the British don't know my weapons aren't working." While the TORNO fighters were successfully attacking the ships shelling the Malvinas runway, a British patrol began to pursue them. The Malvinas radar operator, who also didn't know that FORTÍN 1 lacked cannons, ordered it to position itself between the two squadrons. The pilot ordered the jettisoning of its auxiliary fuel tanks and dove toward the Harriers. The sun in its face jammed its missiles, preventing them from launching, but "the British probably don't know that either," he figured, and continued accelerating, trying to impress the enemy. The false signal of the ace of spades worked. Alerted by a ship's radar, the British broke off the pursuit.



On May 21, dozens of ships invaded the San Carlos Strait. In a small bay, they began their landing, and only the air force was there to try and stop them. This time, FORTÍN 1 was ordered to load bombs. It took off at the head of three M-5s, hoping to hit the target. Formed in line, about two hundred meters apart, they approached the area. Ears, attentive to instructions; eyes, searching for the distant silhouette of the enemy. Suddenly, a number sounded the alert: “Aircraft to the right.” Going against orders to jettison the bombs and return, the hunter's spirit of FORTÍN 1 prepared to engage them. He lightened the aircraft, traded speed for altitude, a Harrier below his Dagger, and he dove. Without tracer ammunition, guided by instinct, he predicted the opponent's trajectory and angrily squeezed the trigger. It was a hypnotic instant, an instant in which he imagined that one of his shots would hit the Harrier, an instant in which he had to react and recover the aircraft plummeting to only thirty or forty meters above the ground. He initiated a turn, attempting to engage again, but abruptly lost control. A missile had mortally wounded his Dagger, and the only option was to abandon it. He reached the ejection seat; the explosive charges ripped the cockpit apart, then his seat was ejected, the wind buffeted him, and he quickly deployed his parachute. One push and he was suspended in mid-air. As he fell, Captain Guillermo Donadille tried to recall the instructions from the survival course, those given to hunters for when the fate of combat abruptly clips their wings... but not their spirit.

 

Argentine Civil War: Letter from Juan Manuel de Rosas to Juan Facundo Quiroga

Letter from Juan Manuel de Rosas to Juan Facundo Quiroga, stained with his blood after being assassinated in Barranca Yaco

Figueroa Estate in San Antonio, December 20, 1834

My dear comrade, Mr. Juan Facundo Quiroga,

In accordance with our agreement, I begin by informing you that I have come to believe that the disputes between Tucumán and Salta, and the dissatisfaction between their governments, may have been caused by former Governor Mr Pablo Alemán and his associates. This man fled to Tucumán, where I believe he was received cordially and treated with friendship by Mr Heredia. From there, he orchestrated a revolution against Latorre, but when he returned to the Rosario frontier to carry it out, his plans failed and he was apprehended and taken to Salta. There, he was released on bail on the condition that he not return to the province, and while passing through Tucumán, it seems he maintained good relations with Mr Heredia.

All this, understandably, would have angered Latorre and emboldened Mr Alemán’s faction. In such a context, the Unitarians—who are ever watchful like wolves lying in wait for a lapse in vigilance—sought to exploit this situation, perhaps through the notorious student López who was held on the Pontón, using these developments to reassert their influence.

However, regardless of how this came about, I find Mr Heredia’s request for damages and compensation to be unjust. He himself admits in official notes to this government and to Salta’s, that his grievances are based on indications and conjecture, not on certain and undeniable facts that would eliminate all doubt regarding Latorre’s allegedly hostile conduct.

In this case, the law of nations would only permit Mr Heredia to request explanations and guarantees, but certainly not reparations. Affairs between States cannot be resolved under the laws governing private disputes, for such laws are dictated by particular circumstances only relevant in the State where they are enacted. Furthermore, it is not customary to sentence a party to indemnify another based solely on signs and suspicions.

Even if this demand for indemnity were not repugnant to justice, it surely is to politics. First, it would foster an eternal hatred between the provinces, which, sooner or later, would bring great harm to the Republic. Second, such a precedent would open the door to intrigue and bad faith, allowing factions to provoke disputes that would serve as a pretext to force some provinces to sacrifice their fortunes for the benefit of others.

In my view, we must not lose sight of how carefully Mr Heredia avoids addressing the charges Latorre makes about his handling of Alemán, who, according to Latorre’s own complaints, incited a revolution from Tucumán using that province’s resources with Mr Heredia’s knowledge and tolerance—a matter mentioned in Latorre’s proclamation published in Thursday’s Gazette, which you will have read.

Justice has two ears, and in order to find it, you must uncover matters from their very origin. If it should become evident, based on indisputable facts, that one of the two disputants has openly betrayed the national cause of the Federation, in your place, I would advocate that he be removed from office.

As I consider it unnecessary to dwell on some other points, which the Governor has already well explained in his instructions, I shall now proceed to the matter of the Constitution.

It seems to me that in your efforts to restore the peace and order that have been so unfortunately disturbed, the most powerful argument and the strongest reason you must convey to these Governors and other influential figures—whenever you have the opportunity—is the retrograde step the Nation has taken by pushing further away the long-desired day of our great National Constitution.

What is the current state of the Republic but the consequence of this delay? You and I deferred to the provinces, allowing them to focus on drafting their own constitutions so that, once proclaimed, we might then lay the groundwork for the great National Charter. We acted not because we were convinced the time had truly come, but because the Republic was at peace and the need for a Constitution had become widespread. We felt it prudent to proceed as we did to avoid greater evils.

The results are painfully evident: the succession of scandals and the truly dangerous state in which the Republic now finds itself, a sombre picture that extinguishes any hope of remedy.

And after all this, after what experience so clearly teaches us, can anyone still believe that rushing into a national Constitution is the solution?

Permit me a few observations on this matter, for although we have always been in agreement on such an elevated topic, I wish to leave in your hands, well in advance and for whatever use it may have, a small portion of what I think must be said.

No one more than you and I is persuaded of the necessity for the organisation of a general government, and that it is the only way to give substance and responsibility to our Republic. But who can doubt that such a government must be the happy result of all means properly aligned for its creation? Who aspires to an end by marching in the opposite direction? Who, when building a structured and compact whole, does not first organise and solidify the parts that are to comprise it?

Who attempts to form an orderly army from groups of men lacking officers, discipline, or subordination, who are in constant conflict with each other, dragging the rest into their disarray? Who forms a living and robust body from dead, torn, or gangrenous limbs, when it is evident that the life and strength of the whole must come from the vitality of its parts?

A bitter and costly experience has shown us that a federal system is absolutely necessary in our case, primarily because we completely lack the elements required for a unified government.

Consider how the dominance of a faction deaf to this reality has destroyed the resources once available to us. It has incited animosity, corrupted public opinion, pitted private interests against each other, spread immorality and intrigue, and fractured society into factions to such a degree that almost no ties remain. Even the most sacred bond—the one that could restore the others, religion itself—has not been spared. In this deplorable state, everything must be created anew, beginning with small efforts, fragment by fragment, until we can establish a general system that encompasses all.

A Federal Republic is the most disastrous illusion if not composed of well-organised States. When each State retains its sovereignty and independence, the general government’s internal power is virtually non-existent. Its primary role is purely representative—to speak on behalf of the Confederated States in dealings with foreign nations. Thus, if individual States lack the means to maintain internal order, the creation of a general representative government merely risks spreading disorder across the Republic at each local crisis.

This is why the United States of America did not admit new territories or provinces into the Confederation until they were able to govern themselves. In the meantime, they remained unrepresented, considered as territories attached to the Republic.

In our current state of unrest, with populations corrupted by Unitarians, lodge members, aspirants, secret agents of other nations, and the major lodges that disturb all of Europe, what hope can there be for calm when drafting a federal pact, the first step a Federative Congress must take? In our current poverty, brought on by political upheaval, who will fund the assembly and maintenance of this Congress, let alone a general administration?

[Due to length, the translation continues in the next message.]

Continuation – Translation of Juan Manuel de Rosas’s Letter to Juan Facundo Quiroga (Part 2):

How shall we fund the national foreign debt, incurred for the benefit of the entire Republic, which will immediately become a pressing concern upon the establishment of a general administration?

Furthermore, when we can barely find capable men to govern individual provinces, from where will we draw those who are to govern the entire Republic? Are we to hand over the general administration to the ignorant, the ambitious, the Unitarians, and every kind of opportunist?

Did we not witness how the so-called constellation of wise men could find no better candidate for general government than Don Bernardino Rivadavia, and how he was unable to form a cabinet except by taking the priest from the Cathedral (1) and bringing Dr Lingotes (2) from San Juan to serve as Minister of Finance—though he understood that department no better than a man born blind understands astronomy?

Finally, when we look upon the Republic’s pitiful condition, which of the heroes of the Federation will dare take on the general government? Who among them could gather a body of federal representatives and ministers, possessing the intelligence and cooperation necessary to perform their duties with dignity, succeed in office, and not ruin their reputation?

There is so much to say on this matter that even a volume written over the course of a month would barely cover the essentials.

The general Congress must be conventional, not deliberative. Its purpose must be to negotiate the bases of the Federal Union, not to resolve them by vote. It must be made up of deputies paid and supported by their own people, without expectation that one province will subsidise another. Buenos Aires once might have done so, but that is now entirely impossible.

Before the assembly is convened, the governments must unanimously agree upon its location and upon the formation of a common fund to cover the official expenses of Congress, such as premises, furnishings, lighting, clerks, assistants, porters, attendants, and other necessary services. These are significant costs—much greater than generally believed.

The place chosen for the meeting must offer guarantees of safety and respect for the deputies, regardless of their views. It must be hospitable and comfortable, as the deputies will require a long time to conduct business. Failing this, many of the most capable individuals may decline to attend or resign after arriving, and the Congress will be reduced to a group of incompetents—lacking talent, knowledge, judgment, or experience in state affairs.

If you were to ask me today where such a place might be, I would say: I do not know. And if someone were to propose Buenos Aires, I would reply that such a choice would be a certain sign of the most unfortunate and disastrous end—for this city and for the entire Republic.

Only time—time alone, under the shadow of peace and the people’s tranquillity—can provide and indicate such a place.

The deputies must be proven federalists, men of respect, moderation, circumspection, prudence, and administrative knowledge, who thoroughly understand the internal and external situation of our country—both domestically and in relation to neighbouring states and the European nations with which we trade. These matters involve complex and significant interests. If two or three deputies lack such qualifications, disorder will follow—as it always has—if not outright corruption by those who, finding themselves in such a position and unable to accomplish any good for the country, seek only their personal gain. That is precisely what our past Congresses have done—ending in dissolution, leaving only gossip, lies, intrigues, and plunging the country into a chaos of calamities from which it may never recover.

The first matter to be addressed in the Congress is not, as some believe, the establishment of the general government or the appointment of the supreme head of the Republic. That is the last step. The first is to decide whether the Congress will continue its sessions in the same location or relocate elsewhere.

The second matter is the General Constitution, beginning with the structure of the general government: how many officials it will comprise—both the supreme head and ministers—and what their powers will be, ensuring that the sovereignty and independence of each federated State remain intact. It must outline the election process, eligibility criteria, the seat of government, and the size of the permanent land and sea forces during peacetime—essential for maintaining order, security, and national dignity.

The question of the location of the government seat is particularly sensitive, often provoking jealousies and rivalries among provinces, and resulting in a complicated overlap between national and local authorities. These issues were so serious that the Americans chose to found Washington, D.C., a federal capital belonging to no State.

Once the structure, powers, and location of government are agreed upon, the Congress must proceed to establish a permanent national fund to cover all ordinary and extraordinary general expenses and the repayment of national debt—both foreign and domestic, regardless of the justice or injustice of its causes or the management of State finances. Creditors are not concerned with these matters; they are to be addressed separately.

Each federated State must contribute to this fund (as with military contingents for the national army) in proportion to its population, unless an alternative arrangement is agreed upon. There is no fixed rule; all depends on mutual agreements.

The Americans agreed to fund this via customs duties on overseas trade, because all their States had seaports. If not, such a system would not have been feasible. Additionally, their geographic conditions are largely maritime, as evidenced by their active commerce, large number of merchant and war ships, and the high cost of maintaining their naval power—hence the logic of funding the government with revenues from foreign trade.

Included in these discussions should be the National Bank, paper currency, all part of the national debt owed to Buenos Aires, the British debt incurred during the war with Brazil, the millions spent on military reforms, and payments made toward the recognised debt dating from the War of Independence. Also to be accounted are all expenditures made by this province in support of previous general congresses—on the understanding they were to be reimbursed.

Once these financial and organisational matters are resolved, and mechanisms established for each State to generate its own revenue without harming national interests, only then should the appointment of the head of the Republic and the creation of the general government take place.

[Final portion of the letter continues in the next message.]

Continuation – Translation of Juan Manuel de Rosas’s Letter to Juan Facundo Quiroga (Part 3 – Final Part):

And can anyone truly believe that, in the sad and lamentable condition in which our country now finds itself, it is possible to overcome such vast difficulties and bring to completion an enterprise so immense and arduous—one that, even in times of peace and prosperity, with the most capable and patriotic men at our disposal, could scarcely be realised in two years of constant labour?

Can anyone who understands the federal system honestly believe that creating a general government under such a structure will resolve the internal disputes of the provinces? This mistaken belief, sadly held by some well-meaning individuals, is exactly what fuels the ambitions of others—perfidious and treacherous men who stir unrest in the provinces with cries of "Constitution!" not in pursuit of peace, but to ensure chaos endures—for it is in disorder that they find their opportunity to thrive.

The general government in a federative republic does not unite the member states—it represents them as united. Its function is not to create unity, but to represent existing unity before other nations. It neither involves itself in the internal matters of any single state, nor resolves disputes between them. The former is handled by the local authorities, and the latter is addressed by provisions already included in the Constitution itself.

In short, unity and peace create the general government; disunity destroys it. It is a result, not a cause. If its absence is painful, its collapse is even more catastrophic, for it never falls without taking the entire Republic down with it.

Since we currently lack unity and peace—as we undeniably do—it is a lesser evil that no such general government yet exists, than to suffer the devastation of its collapse.

Are we not witnessing how every province struggles to overcome immense difficulties just to establish its own constitution? And if we cannot even resolve those isolated problems, how could we possibly hope to overcome them in addition to the greater discord between provinces—a discord that remains dormant only so long as each tends to its own affairs, but which erupts like a storm the moment a general Congress is convened?

Certain men must be disabused of the grave error in which they live. For if they succeed in their endeavour, they will drag the Republic into a catastrophe the likes of which it has never known.

And I, for my part, believe that if we wish to preserve our reputation and honour our past glories, we must under no circumstance lend our support to such madness—at least not until the proper moment arrives and we can be sure the result will be the genuine happiness of the Nation.

If we are unable to prevent them from going ahead with such a plan, then let them proceed—but we must make it clear to the public that we had no part in such folly, and that our failure to prevent it is due to our inability, not our will.

The maxim that one must place oneself at the head of the people when one cannot change their course is indeed a sound one—but only when their path is rightly directed, albeit with excessive haste. It is also valid when one seeks to gently change their course through practical reasoning, rather than force. In that sense, we have fulfilled our duty. But subsequent events have shown, in the clearest light, that among us, there is no other path than to give time—time for the elements of discord to be exhausted and die out, by encouraging, in each government, the spirit of peace and tranquillity.

When that spirit becomes visible everywhere, then the groundwork will begin—with peaceful and friendly missions, through which the governments may, quietly and without noise or agitation, negotiate among themselves—one day, one base; another day, another—until all are so well established that, when the Congress is finally formed, nearly all of its work is already laid out, and it need only proceed smoothly along the path that has been prepared.

This may be slow—indeed, it must be—but I believe it is the only approach possible for us, now that everything has been destroyed and we must rebuild from the very void.

Farewell, my comrade.
May Heaven have mercy on us, and grant you health, success, and happiness in the fulfilment of your mission; and to both of us, and our friends, the strength and unity to defend ourselves, to foresee and prevent, and to save our fellow countrymen from the many dangers that threaten us.

Juan M. de Rosas

Notes:

(1) Julián Segundo de Agüero
(2) Salvador María del Carril

Source: Collection of Adolfo Saldías, folios 179–184.
Room VII, Nº 229. Department of Written Documents. Buenos Aires. Argentina. (AGN│General Archive of the Nation)

Malvinas: Ambush of a Harrier

Ambush of a Harrier

The 20th of May did not bring any major change. The soaked Commandos gathered up their disordered and even damaged kit to load it into the helicopters, where at least the pilots and ground crew had been spared the full force of the elements. But this difference in comfort was accepted by all, since it was in the troops’ interest that the pilots should remain as clear-headed as possible. They were on the slopes of Mount Rosalía. Only at about ten in the morning did things improve a little and, despite the risk of colliding with some rise in the ground, the helicopters took off; after fifteen minutes of flying practically blind, they had to set down again. A new opportunity around midday took them to an abandoned little house to the south — Rosalie House — where they landed with all the security measures appropriate to the warning that had brought them there. At about two in the afternoon the weather cleared, and half an hour later they finally arrived at Port Howard, thirty kilometres away. The operation was carried out late in relation to the original warning about the possible presence of the enemy, based on signals detected four days earlier. Even so, Major Castagneto detached two Puma helicopters — each carrying a section — to reconnoitre to the north and north-west of Howard, to a depth of fifteen kilometres, which produced no visible results. Nor was it the first time the Commandos had been used, as they said, “to chase sheep”…

There was little daylight left, and 601 Commando Company prepared to spend the night in the settlement, which was occupied by 5th Infantry Regiment. At that point Major Yanzi, in charge of the four helicopters, decided to return to refuel. Castagneto had argued, in front of General Parada, commander of 3rd Brigade, and Lieutenant Colonel Reveand, commander of the Helicopter Company, that those aircraft had to remain with the Commandos and must not deprive them of mobility. Castagneto and Reveand became embroiled in a heated argument: the helicopter commander cited the risks, and the Commando commander replied that in war everything was risky, and that even a shoot-down was compatible with the missions they were carrying out:

“Much more than the dollars a helicopter may be worth, the life of one of my Commandos is worth, and he may need that aircraft!” exclaimed an enraged Castagneto.

But no reasoning could change Lieutenant Colonel Reveand’s stance, and Major Yanzi set off back to the capital, leaving the Company isolated at Howard, completely cut off from the likely British landing areas on Gran Malvina Islando (East Falkland). That night the forty men bivouacked in a shearing shed near the rudimentary jetty, where part of a section of Engineers was also billeted. There they endured the rigours of atrocious cold, made worse by a constant wind that intensified it, and by the damp that seeped up through the gaps in the floorboards.

At first light on Friday 21st, Captain Frecha went to identify the dominant points from which to establish the anti-aircraft ambush, which was set up near the command post of 5th Regiment, in the centre of the settlement, practically along a fence that divided two fields. At Port Howard the regiment’s only anti-aircraft defence consisted of .50 calibre (12.7 mm) machine guns, with limited effective range: eight hundred metres at most. The Blowpipe missiles, by contrast, were effective out to three thousand metres. Although that Infantry Regiment was deployed there with two sections from 3rd Engineer Company and elements of 3rd Signals Company, up to that point Howard had lived a life similar — as Castagneto put it — to that of “a quiet summer afternoon in some Argentine province”.

Further south, at the mouth of Malvinas Strait (Falkland Sound), 8th Infantry Regiment with 9th Engineer Company was encamped at Fox Bay. The Commandos’ anti-aircraft group took up position one hundred and fifty metres from the water, near where A Company was located, in the following order: Captain Ricardo Frecha towards the bay area, near a peat store; then First Lieutenant Sergio Fernández; and then Corporal Jorge Martínez as aiming unit no. 3, each one separated by twenty metres. Fernández remained unhappy in that team because, as the commander of an assault section and eager to lead it in war, he had had to give up that role in the interests of the whole. He felt frustrated in the ambition of his entire life: he was a mere aimer, performing a task that, in his view, could have been carried out by a non-commissioned officer…

But the role of the man in charge of a surface-to-air missile is not as subordinate as this officer, in his state of mind, made it out to be. First, the aimer must place himself along the likely line of flight the aircraft will take, given the characteristics of the terrain; and secondly he must stand fully exposed, without any protection, in order to fire as nearly head-on as possible, since, owing to the aircraft’s speed, the missile is hard to guide effectively if it passes across the front: beyond three thousand metres it becomes uncontrollable.

With the sun up, at about quarter past eight, the sound of helicopter rotors began to be heard. At first the Commandos thought they were friendly, because they were coming from the direction of Darwin–Goose Green; but shortly afterwards they spotted, far off over the Sound, an aircraft that was clearly overflying the area on a reconnaissance mission, which Argentine helicopters did not do, as they took the most direct route. Half an hour later it approached Shag Cove — a nearby inlet — and any doubts were dispelled: it was an armed British Lynx. It remained there for quite some time and then left relatively close by, at about four kilometres, but beyond the range of ground fire.

The Company commander went to the central communications post to establish contact with Port Stanley and find out whether the aircraft would be hunted. The sound of jet engines was then heard. It could only be an enemy aircraft, and First Lieutenant Fernández thought immediately: “We are going into action.” He looked at his watch: it was five minutes to ten. They quickly took up their firing positions, aiming to the south-east towards the far end of the bay (four kilometres away), from an excellent location with a wide field of fire. As it came into clearer view, all doubt vanished: it was the unmistakable silhouette of a Harrier, with its two wide air intakes and swept wings. It was approaching on a slightly oblique course, possibly to observe the coast better, and when it was three thousand metres away, Frecha and Fernández opened fire. The two missiles shot off in parallel, simultaneously, towards the target.

The aircraft was flying low over the water, twenty metres above the surface, when it suddenly banked to its right, towards the opposite shore closing the bay. The pilot had seen the attack and was manoeuvring evasively, and it looked as though he were about to smash into the heights on the far side of the bay. But after some three hundred metres on that heading, and without reducing speed, he changed course and flew at low altitude over Howard. The incredible manoeuvrability of the aircraft meant that the two missiles exploded along the strip of shore running beside the Sound. As it flew over the settlement, the men of 5th Regiment, taken by surprise, did not manage to fire at it, and the aircraft disappeared behind the hills inland.

The three men handling the missiles were relatively close to one another so they could communicate without radios, as both their hands were occupied. Close by stood Major Mario Castagneto, who had come to join them, also in the open. “Those were moments when you had to set an example,” he explained to me. Four or five minutes later, a second Harrier appeared from the same direction as its partner. As everyone was now on full alert, it was observed more carefully. Its approach seemed endless to the anti-aircraft team tracking it through their sights. They tried to ensure an accurate shot by letting it come closer, since the further away it was, the more chance it had to evade the missiles. They felt the twenty-one kilos’ weight of the Blowpipes, which had now been reloaded.

The aircraft was coming in more head-on than the previous one, flying low, at around seven hundred and fifty kilometres per hour, enough to allow it to manoeuvre comfortably around the hills. Despite the aimers’ composure, through the sight it looked enormous, very close. When the Harrier began to turn side-on, at a thousand metres, Frecha and Fernández fired their missiles almost diagonally. A moment later and the shot would have been inaccurate. Because of a technical fault in his missile — which veered out of control towards some houses — Captain Frecha had to bring it down, and it fell some twenty-five metres away (it later had to be blown up). Corporal Martínez had not fired. But First Lieutenant Sergio Fernández had, and an explosion briefly hid the enemy aircraft from sight.

“I have that instant image seared into my mind,” recalls Fernández, “the explosion and the nose of the aircraft emerging from it.” Once the guidance phase of the missile was over, he lowered the weapon to see the whole picture and assess the effect of his shot. Disappointed, he saw that the Harrier was still flying, “and it had not disintegrated in the air like confetti”. But it began to trail smoke, to roll, and a fraction of a second later its pilot ejected and his orange-and-white parachute opened. The fighter-bomber continued on its path and then crashed a short distance away, at the bottom of the bay.

Everyone’s excitement was intense: now the infantry had gone into action for the first time, because they were forewarned, and their conduct had been outstanding, given that they were raw conscripts. They fired at the aircraft with every weapon they had, even pistols. The noise of rifle fire was impressive, though of limited effect, with their commander, Colonel Mabragaña, setting the example by firing his FAL standing fully exposed. Shouts of triumph, the characteristic correntino sapucai cries, filled the air, sharply contrasting with the tears of the kelper children, the hysterical outbursts of their mothers and the nervous crises of their fathers, who came out of the houses in which they had taken refuge when the aircraft activity began. Shots were still being fired, because the soldiers, who had fired at the already damaged Harrier, now continued to shoot at the figure of its pilot…

Without losing a second, Major Castagneto and the medical officer, Captain Llanos, jumped on two motorbikes and headed towards the bay where the airman was floating. Officers, NCOs and soldiers ran after them, some shouting as they went for the firing to stop:

“Cease fire! Cease fire! You’re going to hit the pilot!”

Fortunately, the euphoria, the distance and the movement combined to prevent them from hitting him. But the freezing water is merciless, and when Doctor Llanos arrived first by motorbike near the bay and saw the British airman a hundred metres away, he had no option but to watch him, unable to swim out to him in those conditions.

Castagneto had branched off as they left the settlement, heading towards where the aircraft had crashed. At that moment the doctor spotted a boat, and an NCO from 5th Regiment who had reached the shore told him:

“I’ll go and get him!”

Helped by another comrade, the corporal rowed out to the downed pilot and between them managed to haul him aboard. When they reached the shore, several officers from the Commando Company — Llanos, Fernández, García Pinasco, Anadón — dragged him onto the beach along with his parachute and survival gear. The pilot had injuries to his face and a fractured left collarbone, as a result of his violent ejection from an aircraft travelling at full speed and banked over, which had caused him to slam into the side of the cockpit as he came out; he did not even have his helmet, which had shattered on impact. Although he was wearing a flying overall that gave him some protection from the water, he was almost frozen and struggled to speak; but at no point did he lose consciousness, to the extent that Sergio Fernández noticed that, as he sat up to get out of the boat, the pilot rubbed the transparent kneeboard on his right thigh — where aviators make their notes — with his hand, in order to erase the course written there. The Argentine officer managed to memorise the double group of numbers and letters and later reproduced them to report to Port Stanley.

Llanos, with his perfect command of English, identified himself as a doctor and, after asking about his injuries, he and Fernández tried to calm the prisoner:

“Are you okay, are you hurt? Don’t worry, we are friends now; take it easy.”

The pilot, without speaking, nodded with movements of his head. With the help of Staff Sergeant Poggi, they settled him on Llanos’s motorbike, and the doctor told him to hold on to him because he was going to take him to a hospital. Using the international sign used by aviators — thumb raised — the pilot indicated his agreement. First Lieutenant Fernández wrapped him in his jacket and they set off.

Meanwhile, Major Castagneto had headed towards the place where the Harrier had come down, some ten kilometres from Howard. He rode parallel to the narrowing bay, then crossed the river — “those bikes would do anything,” he told me — and, after a further stretch, reached the crash site half an hour later. “The largest piece I found was the wheel,” he said. “I even came to think it might be the remains of an aircraft from another era…”

In its final run, as it broke up against the ground, the aircraft had hit a horse, cleanly severing its neck so that the head lay a good distance from the body. Castagneto loaded all the pieces he could carry, which he thought might be important for intelligence analysis — including the communications equipment — and set off back. It was near midday, and the naval–air battle in San Carlos had already taken place.

Memories from an Intelligence Officer in Malvinas

 

 

Memories from My First Days in Malvinas

Account by First Lieutenant Echeverría – Intelligence Officer, RI-4

After the fall of Darwin — though I can't recall the exact date — a series of reports came in warning us about the British positions. They were advancing roughly twenty kilometres from our location. Between us and them, although we had some of our own troops, they were small groups, whose main task was to raise the alarm and report movements.

We had a number of experiences ourselves — like finding traces of British commando patrols very close to us. Direct contact didn’t happen simply because we never came face-to-face with them, but we did come across remains that clearly showed they’d passed through.

We already knew they were there, and like us, they were deploying people to gather intelligence. These patrols continued for a while without actual clashes, and we still hadn’t felt their artillery — except for the naval guns that fired at night, or during the day when there was heavy fog.

That’s when the anti-radar and anti-radio missiles began to appear — and hit us. At the same time, we started facing limitations in using our radar and radio systems. The interference was heavy, and the British even insulted us over the airwaves. They had tools and technologies we simply didn’t. Still, we didn’t believe they would beat us. We told ourselves: “They won’t be able to defeat us.” Among those I spoke to, the general feeling was: we had to fight with whatever we had — even stones if it came to that. Our weapons weren’t bad, but they required more careful handling than on the mainland, mainly due to the extreme humidity.

The cold changed everything, just like what happens to a car. It's not the same as having one in Buenos Aires compared to parking it in Ushuaia.

At Mount Kent, a small unit had to retreat with the British literally on their heels. They reached us with the enemy right behind. Our troops were going along one side of the hill, while the British were climbing up the other. That unit didn’t have enough manpower or weapons to hold off a serious attack.

By then, our own commandos had already engaged with the British on multiple occasions, but luckily many were recovered — wounded, yes, but alive.

Harriers came and went, mostly over Puerto Argentino, and the ships kept firing at us at night. As I said, we also found remnants of British commandos operating very close to our positions. That was the situation. We had already lost helicopters, which reduced our mobility, and also ships like the Carcarañá, the Isla de los Estados, and a Coast Guard vessel. Our commandos, operating deep behind enemy lines, told us about extensive British helicopter traffic. We could already hear them nearby on calm, dark nights.

One evening around eight o'clock, our commander returned from a command meeting in town and updated us on the situation. All options were considered, and there was no choice but to fight while retreating — or risk getting caught mid-manoeuvre. The plan was to regroup and make a stand at Mounts Dos Hermanas and Harriet.

We already had small detachments at Harriet. Think of it like using your hands to protect your body — we were the “hands” of Puerto Argentino. And when one of those hands starts to feel the heat, that’s where you focus your defences. Don’t overreact, but observe, and try to understand why the enemy is moving in that direction.

It was decided to change front and redeploy to Dos Hermanas and Harriet, where the regiment would hold its ground. The withdrawal had to be swift — lightning fast. A decision was made about what equipment to leave behind, and the rest — weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, all vital gear — had to be moved. We were assigned three helicopters for the operation. The idea was to move everything possible at night, gather heavy equipment in specific spots, and if the helicopters couldn’t carry it, to bring it down to where three lorries were waiting — and then transport the troops.

But just after 10 p.m., the ships started firing again, and on top of that, it began to snow. It was chaos. We had to suspend the descent from the hills for two valuable hours — it was dark, snowing, and under naval fire.

Fortunately, the ships shifted fire to another sector, the snow stopped, and a thick layer settled. Around three or four in the morning — keeping in mind that darkness lasts until eight — we resumed the descent. At first light, troops were loading lorries or moving on foot. Others were loading the helicopters. A small anti-air unit stayed behind to cover the operation.

The Harriers arrived just after the helicopters had departed — luckily — but they did strike our marching columns: troops moving along a road, lorries gathered in a clearly visible and exposed area. From our hilltop position, waiting for the helicopters, we opened fire on the Harriers with tracer rounds. I don’t know if we managed to bring one down, but we hit them repeatedly. Still, we never saw one fall.

The British planes flew over daily, at all hours. They photographed us — we even made faces at them. That’s the truth. They attacked with mixed results, mainly damaging storage areas and equipment. Some of our lorries were destroyed, and although we started taking casualties, at that point they were still light — mostly wounded.

Back to the Harrier attack I was mentioning — we had to suspend helicopter use, and the troops kept retreating — even if it meant crawling through the rocks. The whole withdrawal was extremely tough — like being caught at home in your pyjamas.

That same morning, while the Harriers were still attacking, a lone commando arrived from enemy territory — the only one left from his patrol. He gave us a clearer picture of where the enemy was and what movements they had made. He came back completely shattered, desperate to explain what he had seen. The rest of his patrol was still out there, ahead of our lines. In time, it was confirmed that some of those brave commandos had been killed, and others made it back, wounded, to our positions.