Mount Longdon: The Real British Casualties Commented by the Bad Guys

Malvinas: The Murrell Bridge Counter-Ambuscade and the Communications

 

Communications and a Pivotal Engagement on the Darkest Day of the Fleet

(From my interview with Captain (Ret.) VGM Eduardo Cerruti, Section Leader in Communications Company 3):

In the Malvinas, the most secure means of communication were wired systems. However, the signals personnel had to work tirelessly to repair lines that were frequently cut—either by shrapnel from bombardments, by sheep chewing through the cables, or, at times, by soldiers who used the wire to secure items while constructing their positions.

 

Inevitably, due to the use of HF communications on the islands, basic encryption and decryption systems had to be employed—elementary, to use the word loosely—since the type of cipher used had been originally developed by the British and American armies and was widely known across the world’s militaries. It was based on a five-digit code, and the British, though able to intercept Argentine communications, were not immune from making serious errors themselves.

To illustrate this, Captain (Ret.) Eduardo Cerruti refers to a specific engagement between a detachment of the British 3rd Parachute Battalion and a group of Argentine special forces from the 601 Commando Company. This occurred at the Murrell River bridge, during the night of 6 June and the early hours of 7 June 1982. In their retreat, the British abandoned not only their tents and various field supplies, but also their radio equipment. Most crucially, their radio operator left behind a communications pack containing documents listing frequencies, call signs, and network identifiers (e.g., alarm network, fire support network, logistics network, etc.).

For the Argentine communications personnel—who were trained under the doctrine that a message must be swallowed, destroyed, or burned before falling into enemy hands—this captured material was known as the Instructions for the Use and Operation of Communications (IEFC).

With the British documents now in Argentine hands, each time they tuned into a frequency, they heard voices speaking in English. They tried various channels repeatedly, and each time an English voice came through. Still, there was hesitation: given the professionalism of the British forces, they suspected that their enemies were already aware that the IEFC had been lost and that this could be a case of what is known in electronic warfare as simulative deception.

They continued monitoring the British using a Thompson field radio, which was not designed for electronic warfare. To aid in translation, they requested assistance from Communications Company 10 and were sent two soldiers who spoke English.

Meanwhile, Major Rábago reported the situation to General Menéndez, who authorised the purchase of a radio cassette recorder and several TDK tapes (60- and 90-minute lengths) from Port Stanley. Sergeant Edgardo Dalurzo, a field radio technician, successfully adapted the Thompson radio to the cassette recorder, enabling the team to record British transmissions.

On the morning of 7 June, one of the English-speaking soldiers informed Second Lieutenant Cerruti and other communications officers that the enemy was planning a landing at Bluff Cove (Bahía Agradable) the following day. This information was later confirmed by the second translator, who had received the tape and, after listening to it, corroborated the landing plan—and even added the names Bluff Cove/Fitz Roy.

It is worth emphasising that, using only a standard-issue Thompson field radio, which lacked any specialised electronic warfare capability, and thanks to the intel seized during the Murrell River bridge engagement, Communications Company 3 managed to conduct improvised electronic warfare. The report compiled by its personnel directly supported the Argentine Air Force in planning the successful strike carried out on 8 June 1982, during the British landing at Bluff Cove.

An extraordinary achievement.

Malvinas: The Actions of BIM 5 Obra Company

Account of a Naval Infantry Petty Officer – OBRA Company – BIM 5 Ec (Part 2)

Change of Mission

On 5 June, the company received orders from the Commander of BIM 5 Ec to occupy a Forward Combat Post in the Pony's Pass area. Commander Robacio had long requested that the High Command cover the approach to Port Stanley via the only road connecting Fitz Roy to the town. Without a response from his superiors, he ultimately decided to assign OBRA Company to this mission. This decision impacted the battalion during the Tumbledown engagement, as it lacked a reserve force for a swift counterattack.

We were to position ourselves in the Pony's Pass area. Initially, a reconnaissance was conducted, and the findings were reported to Commander Robacio. He realised that Pony's Pass was not ideal for a Forward Combat Post due to its small hillock surrounded by lagoons and semi-permanent watercourses, all easily fordable by foot troops. Consequently, Lieutenant Miño (of the Amphibious Engineers) was ordered to install a minefield ahead of the future positions, and Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga was instructed to move after reconnaissance and to bring the troops as late as possible, as we were certain the enemy was observing us, and the position needed to remain concealed.

During the night of 11 to 12 June, from OBRA Company's positions, we observed the battles for Mount Harriet. The marines watching the combat could do little, as the British attacks occurred beyond the range of their weapons, 2000 to 3000 metres away, except for an enemy unit attempting a rear assault on Harriet, which came within 800 to 1000 metres of OBRA's weapons.

Petty Officer Tejerina recounts: "On the night of 11 June, after intense naval and land artillery fire, between approximately 2200 and 2300 hours, the enemy launched an assault on the positions at Harriet with machine guns, rocket launchers, and artillery. British artillery fell immediately in front of the first assault line. We saw this clearly from our position, as the tracer rounds from the machine guns indicated the attackers' positions, and occasional flares lit up the area. It was a cold, clear night with a full moon that rose before the attack (21:25). The Company Commander continuously reported the situation to BIM 5 Ec Command. We were ordered to prepare for a potential counterattack. At 0100, combat intensified at the top of Harriet. By 0145, the fighting subsided, with only sporadic machine-gun fire heard. At that time, we recovered two conscripts from the RI 4 Service Section (Conscripts Ibañez and Vallejos), provided them with dry clothing, weapons, ammunition, and Charlie rations; they joined the Company and remained with us until the end of the fighting. Our artillery targeted the attackers; the fire was directed by TCIM Quiroga and GUIM Bianchi of the 1st Section of BIM 5 Ec stationed at William, even firing upon RI 4's own positions east of the mountain. Our commander continuously reported enemy troop movements in the Port Harriet area and their manoeuvre northward towards Mount Harriet. He was particularly concerned about an enemy unit moving northwest."

Petty Officer Tejerina continues: "At dawn on 12 June, enemy troops were seen assembling prisoners on the southern slope of Harriet, then marching them westward. Helicopters were also observed evacuating the wounded. For the rest of the day, we had to remain in our positions to avoid detection. At 1400, enemy artillery shelled our positions with timed ammunition for 30 minutes. (Note: Timed ammunition explodes before hitting the ground, causing a shower of shrapnel.) In this bombardment, a fragment slightly wounded Dragoneante Orlando Garcia, the Rifle Platoon Leader, in the back; he was treated by Second Corporal Medic Angelossi. Dragoneante Garcia refused to leave his position and be evacuated. At 1830, enemy artillery again shelled our area for 30 minutes. I was caught inspecting positions and had to make several dashes to reach the rocket launcher position. Accompanying me was Dragoneante Ariel Bustamante (rocket launcher loader); during one of the bursts, I was hit by the blast wave of a grenade and fell stunned into a water-filled hole, from which Dragoneante Bustamante rescued me instead of seeking cover; he had a habit of accompanying me on my rounds, even under fire."

On 13 June, we detected movements ahead of us, approximately a company of Welsh troops approaching. Artillery fire was requested but fell short; Lieutenant Quiroga made corrections, and then it hit the Welsh troops. We heard screams as they tried to retreat, but the artillery continued to inflict casualties. After a while, they were subjected to heavy fire until Lieutenant Quiroga suspended the fire due to the lack of standing enemy soldiers. I was impressed by the efficiency of the British medical personnel. They wore a type of short white poncho with a red cross on the back, tied at the waist. Some wounded had inflatable splints applied to their limbs, possibly to stop bleeding or fractures. The medics marked the location of the wounded, and then helicopters evacuated them.

Lieutenant Quiroga's Injury

Between 1815 and 1900 hours, while moving between positions, the Company Commander stepped into a hole approximately 20 centimetres in diameter and 50 centimetres deep while taking cover from a nearby grenade explosion, dislocating his ankle. The intense pain immobilised Lieutenant Quiroga, who was quickly attended to by SSIM Orosco and CSEN Angelossi. The latter bandaged Lieutenant Quiroga but suspected a fracture due to rapid swelling and advised him to seek further medical attention at the BIM 5 Ec Aid Post for proper treatment.

After evacuating Lieutenant Quiroga, command was assumed by Lieutenant Calmels. Fog began to form gradually. During twilight, via radio, Petty Officer Tejerina repeatedly instructed his men on the retreat procedure, which theoretically consisted of:

1. Movement: Withdrawal of Corporal Agüero's group (the most forward) through the bunker, then past the Company CP to a rear assembly point. There, the two groups would occupy positions to cover the retreat of the rest.

2. Movement: Withdrawal of the 1st Group.

3. Movement: Withdrawal of the 2nd Group.

Final Movement: Machine guns and 60 mm mortars.

Lieutenant Calmels assumed command around 2200 hours, about fifteen minutes before the attack began. The attack caught him by surprise; he was unaware of the exact situation of his Company. The night, the fog that had begun to lift, enemy fire, and conflicting reports from Group Leaders painted a grave picture; he knew the British were numerous, everywhere, and advancing almost openly, shouting. In reality, the enemy unexpectedly encountered OBRA positions, not anticipating resistance there due to the marines' effective concealment. However, for the Argentinians, the British appeared suddenly, as the fog and artillery noise prevented detection. Combat began when the enemy engaged Corporal Agüero's group, which, as mentioned, was slightly forward, practically on the road, 150 metres from the CP. It's evident that the enemy vanguard was moving along the road, as the group was attacked from the front and right flank (north), threatening its rear. From that moment, combat became generalised. The machine gun left by Corporal Alvarez to Corporal Agüero, previously moved to the northern flank, opened fire. Even from the Company CP, Lieutenant Calmels, Petty Officer Tejerina, Corporal Carrasco, and the Company Platoon Conscripts fired their rifles at the enemy to the north of the position. Grenade explosions were heard. The other two Rifle Groups (1 and 2) prepared for combat, but the British attack did not press on them, receiving only sporadic fire. At that time, it was snowing. The British advanced, supported by a high rate of machine-gun fire—about six or seven—clearly located by their tracer rounds. The enemy gained ground, nearly two companies against a reinforced section.

The Retreat

The retreat could not be executed as planned. In reality, Groups 1 and 2, along with Petty Officer Tejerina, moved towards the Quarry. When the retreat was ordered, the Group Leaders began the movement, but Agüero, who was to initiate it, reported he couldn't move. At that point, the Company Commander ordered his 60 mm mortars to fire on the White Points ahead of the 3rd Group. Some conscripts from this group were seen retreating, but Agüero no longer responded on the radio. By 2300 hours, with the movement underway, Groups 1 and 2 fought their way past the immediate depression behind them and then marched towards the Quarry. Subsequently, the Company Commander withdrew with the Company Platoon and mortar personnel. Petty Officer Orosco remained at the rear, covering the retreat with a machine gun. Briefly illuminated by three flares (two and one), they were forced to "hit the deck." In reality, the illumination was over William. The rest of the Company's retreat occurred in darkness. At 0100 hours, they reached the Quarry, where the Company regrouped. The Company Commander had a mission to fulfil as the Battalion Reserve and immediately marched north towards the Subunit's previous position near the BIM 5 Ec CP. Due to poor terrain information, Lieutenant Calmels expected to find Company RI 3 immediately east of the Quarry, but Captain EA Varela's Company was actually further northeast of William, leaving a gap between Sapper Hill and William.

We returned to our old positions south of the BIM 5 Ec CP. Around 0900 hours, Lieutenant Calmels received orders to retreat to Sapper Hill, where the Battalion was to concentrate for continued combat from that area. Once the Battalion regrouped at Sapper Hill, at 1115 hours, it received orders to retreat to the town. From that moment, the Company joined the rest of the Unit, packed their equipment, and entered Port Stanley. By 1430 hours, the Battalion was already assembled near the Naval Station, and at 1900 hours, OBRA Company, with the bulk of the Battalion, settled in the Naval Station's Carpentry, remaining there until the morning of 16 June when they received orders to move to the Concentration Camp being set up on the airport peninsula. Before entering the area, they had to pass through British control posts, where their weapons were finally confiscated.

Mistery in the South Atlantic

Source: GUARDACOSTA Magazine – No. 08 – Year 1966
Author: Jorge M. Montañez Santiago

• Uncharted Depths in the South Atlantic: A vast region between 42°S–48°S latitude and 30°W–50°W longitude remains largely unsurveyed, with surrounding depths reaching 4,500–5,400 metres, and containing anomalous shallow areas unusual for such a deep seabed.
• The Enigmatic Discovery by La Roche (1675): French navigator La Roche claimed to have discovered a "large and pleasant island" with a good harbour on its eastern side—an assertion that sparked a long-lasting maritime mystery.
• Centuries of Unsuccessful Searches: Between the late 17th and early 19th centuries, France and Britain sent numerous expeditions—including by Halley, La Pérouse, Colnett, and Vancouver—in an effort to locate the so-called "Great Island," all without success.
• Official Removal from Nautical Charts (1825): After a final, fruitless search by British Captain Dott in 1824–1825, the island was officially declared non-existent and was removed from international nautical maps.
• Enduring Mystery and Speculation: Despite its removal, questions remain: Was La Roche lying, mistaken, or truthful? His detailed description of a harbour on the island’s eastern side suggests he may have indeed seen something real—adding fuel to the mystery’s persistence over time.

Anyone examining a nautical chart of the South Atlantic will notice a vast area, located between parallels 42°S and 48°S and meridians 30°W and 50°W, that lacks soundings. One will also observe that the nearby depths range from 2,500 to 3,000 fathoms (approximately 4,500 to 5,400 metres).

In the western section of this oceanic region—closer to our coasts than to those of any other nation—certain events have taken place over the past three centuries which, collectively, form the subject of this article. As intriguing as the enigma itself is the connection that the mystery seems to bear with our own past. The chart reveals that the referenced region is extremely deep; yet, within it lie some peculiar shallow areas, anomalies in such an abyssal seabed. Located far from current shipping lanes, these waters have remained devoid of maritime traffic, which was redirected following the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914.

Time has once again cast a veil of solitude over the area. The mystery will remain such until a new act unfolds—perhaps the final one. Let us now follow, in chronological order, the acts and actors that take part in the slow unfolding of events on a seabed 5,000 metres deep.

The story begins three centuries ago, in 1675, when the French navigator La Roche reported having discovered a large island in the South Atlantic, describing it as "a large and pleasant island, possessing a good harbour near its eastern side."

Following La Roche’s claim, the second act unfolded over a century and a half of vigorous searching for the fabled Great Island. France and Great Britain competed eagerly, both driven by the pursuit of colonial and strategic holdings. Numerous navigators from both nations—including Halley, La Pérouse, Colnett and Vancouver—explored the region where La Roche had indicated the island’s existence: 45°S latitude, and an uncertain longitude between 37°W and 50°W.

Failure after failure turned the fame and legend of the island into a source of disrepute for its presumed discoverer. At best, the more generous assessments suggested that La Roche may have mistaken an advanced promontory of the South American coast—possibly our own Cabo Dos Bahías, situated at 45°S latitude—for an island.

Nonetheless, maritime powers continued to mark this famous Great Island on their charts. The third act unfolded with the determined search conducted by British Captain Dott in the years 1824 and 1825, which yielded negative results. It was then that the island was officially declared non-existent, and it disappeared from nautical charts around the world. Apparently, the matter ended there.

From what has occurred, three possible conclusions can be drawn:

1. La Roche lied.

2. La Roche was mistaken.

3. La Roche did not lie.

The first hypothesis, while it could be considered a strategic bluff, should only be entertained as a last resort. The second is unlikely. A distant sighting from the west might, perhaps, explain it—yet this possibility must be dismissed when considering La Roche’s description: "possessing a good harbour near its eastern side."
It is reasonable to assume that such a description could only be given by a sailor who had observed—or even explored—the harbour at close quarters.

Source

Malvinas: A Tribute to the Heroes of BIM 5

Commander Carlos Robacio leads the 5th Marine Batallion 5 in Tumbledown

The 5th Marine Infantry Battalion from Río Grande stood alone against the onslaught of the Scots Guards at Mount Tumbledown, writing a glorious page in history.


 


During the 74 days of the Malvinas War, British forces were taken aback by the professionalism and fighting spirit of the Argentine troops. There is extensive British literature on the conflict, and all of it acknowledges the courage and resilience of our forces. One particular unit earned, from the British themselves, the nickname “Battalion from Hell” due to its valour and combat effectiveness. These men were the Marines of the 5th Marine Infantry Battalion (BIM 5).

On 7 April 1982, the personnel of BIM 5, based in Río Grande, arrived in the Malvinas under the command of Commander Carlos Robacio. The troops were deployed in the defensive system around Puerto Argentino, together with the Infantry Regiments RI 25 and RI 8. To reinforce the naval forces, Company C of RI 3 and Company B of RI 6 were also added. This integration of Army and Navy units was unprecedented and proved highly effective thanks to the professionalism and commitment of their officers.

From 1 May, the enemy began an aerial and naval bombardment campaign that severely affected the daily life of the Argentine soldiers. During the day, Harrier jets attacked the nearby airstrip and trench lines; at night, the Royal Navy carried out shelling. Despite this, the Marines maintained strong morale and continued to improve their defensive positions, preparing for the ground battle they knew was drawing near.

They endured 44 days of relentless siege. When fighting around Puerto Argentino began on 12 June, the marines of BIM 5 were ready to enter history. The British attack started at dusk and continued through the night. The first unpleasant surprise for the attackers was the presence of heavy machine gun nests equipped with infrared sights, which stalled their advance. Artillery exchanges followed, with the British enjoying an advantage thanks to their longer-range guns and greater mobility. Nevertheless, Argentine artillerymen fought with bravery and professionalism, firing until their last rounds, with barrels glowing red-hot.



On 13 June, the British launched their final offensive. They concentrated all their forces—paratroopers and Royal Marines—achieving a 3-to-1 numerical superiority over our Marines at the main breach. The artillery fire was intense, and naval artillery joined the barrage. Our own artillery, undeterred, responded at a rate of 1,000 rounds per hour, choosing to die on their feet rather than abandon their comrades.

In the late afternoon, the British attempted a flanking manoeuvre via Mount Harriet to distract the Argentine command. Robacio did not take the bait and instead set a deadly trap: he ambushed the enemy, pinning them between a minefield and artillery fire, while positioning Marines at their rear to block retreat. The outcome was heroic. The British were crushed by our artillery and infantry fire. Two hours later, the British company commander requested a ceasefire, citing the harrowing cries of the wounded as demoralising his troops. This ceasefire allowed the arrival of helicopters to evacuate the injured. No shots were fired at the helicopters, which were unarmed and clearly only conducting medical evacuation.

In the early hours of 14 June, the Scots Guards moved to the centre of the assault on Puerto Argentino. The firefight was intense. So many tracer rounds filled the sky that it seemed like daylight. In the final moments of the assault, the fighting became hand-to-hand. Argentine forces repelled the attack with fixed bayonets and requested artillery and mortar fire directly on their own positions, as the enemy had reached them. Second Lieutenant Silva and NCO Castillo called for a counterattack after being overrun. They left their positions and launched a bayonet charge until they were killed.

Commander Robacio personally led the counterattack, retaking lost positions and pushing the Scots Guards back to their original lines. By 3 a.m., amid a heavy snowfall, the Marines prepared another counteroffensive against the British paratroopers and requested authorisation as their forward units engaged the enemy. The order from Puerto Argentino was to withdraw, as it had become impossible to resupply 105 mm howitzers and mortars. Despite this setback, morale remained high, and it was difficult to convince the Marines to abandon their positions. With iron discipline, they withdrew from Mount Tumbledown and fell back.

A well-executed withdrawal under enemy pressure is one of the most difficult manoeuvres in military doctrine. History offers many examples of such withdrawals turning into deadly routs. But with pride, the Marines of BIM 5 took up new positions on the outskirts of Puerto Argentino, still determined to fight. Gurkha troops were dispatched to pursue the Argentines to make up for the Scots' poor performance, but they were halted and counterattacked—even though our men had run out of ammunition.

At dawn on Monday, 14 June 1982, BIM 5 had no ammunition left. In 36 hours, they had fired 17,000 artillery shells and all their mortar rounds. At 10 a.m., the ceasefire order came from Puerto Argentino. The battalion was still in combat formation. Commander Robacio requested confirmation of the order. His unit entered the capital of the islands in full marching formation, carrying all their personal weapons. Tragically, a section of the Navy Company that had been separated did not receive the order and at 12:30 engaged a landing of six British helicopters, shooting down two and suffering the loss of the last three Argentine soldiers in combat.

In military history, few units have endured 44 hours of bombardment without relief and then faced the enemy with such courage and determination. The Argentine forces at Tumbledown included 700 Marines and 200 soldiers, who confronted 3,000 of the best-trained troops of the British Armed Forces. Seventy-five per cent of our heroes were conscripts. BIM 5 suffered 30 killed and 105 wounded, inflicting an estimated 360 casualties on the enemy (a figure never officially recognised, though many British officers have acknowledged it privately).

How did they endure such hardship and fight with such determination? BIM 5 and RI 25 were the only units acclimatised to the Malvinas. They were well equipped, and their officers were professional and competent. They also shared a remarkable esprit de corps. As an example: on 14 June at 10:30, during the retreat to Sapper Hill, Commander Daniel Ponce collapsed from exhaustion. Amid gunfire, two conscripts rushed to carry him. Ponce ordered them to leave him and flee. Their reply: “Captain, if we die, we die together.” They lifted him and withdrew. That was the spirit of the marines of BIM 5, who gave everything for their country.

Pulqui II: A Prototype Betrayed by Politics

The Day When The Pulqui Became Pulquiría

On 31 May 1951, the fate of the IA-33 Pulqui II was definitively sealed. Rather than investing decisively in its development and mass production, the Peronist government chose to relegate it to the role of a technological demonstrator, effectively dismantling Argentina’s opportunity to position itself at the forefront of global military aviation. This decision, ultimately the responsibility of President Juan Domingo Perón, was critical to the project's failure.

That day, during a test flight of the second prototype, Captain Vedania Adriel Mannuwal was killed while attempting to eject from the aircraft. The crash exposed severe structural deficiencies: one wing detached mid-flight due to faulty welding of its anchor bolts, and the ejection system failed owing to its overly complex operation. Yet the most alarming aspect was that this was an unapproved prototype, being recklessly used for pilot training manoeuvres, exposing personnel to unacceptable risks.



El Pulqui II fue fruto de una coyuntura histórica excepcional. Argentina, al finalizar la Segunda Guerra Mundial, se encontraba entre las pocas naciones con acceso a tecnología de propulsión a chorro. Esta situación fue facilitada, paradójicamente, por su relación con el Reino Unido, que le proveyó motores y repuestos militares sin restricciones. El Instituto Aerotécnico —posteriormente Fábrica Militar de Aviones— ya tenía experiencia en diseño y producción, pero nunca alcanzó una escala industrial significativa. Los modelos IAe-22 y Calquín, diseñados antes del peronismo, son prueba de ello.



The Pulqui II emerged during an exceptional historical juncture. In the aftermath of the Second World War, Argentina found itself among the few nations with access to jet propulsion technology. This was largely thanks to its relationship with the United Kingdom, which supplied engines and military parts without restrictions. The Aerotechnical Institute—later the Military Aircraft Factory—had a background in design and production, but had never reached industrial-scale output. Earlier aircraft such as the IAe-22 and the Calquín, both conceived prior to the Peronist period, demonstrate this limitation.

With the arrival of German engineer Kurt Tank, a specialist in advanced aircraft design, Argentina hoped to capitalise on his expertise. In collaboration with local engineers, Tank led the development of the Pulqui II—a swept-wing fighter jet powered by a Rolls Royce Nene II engine, capable of speeds around 1,080 km/h. At its inception, it was not far behind its contemporaries, such as the American F-86 Sabre and Soviet MiG-15. However, while these foreign aircraft were already being mass-produced and deployed, the Pulqui II remained a prototype in an early development phase, hampered by delays, redesigns and a series of serious accidents.



The programme faced recurring technical issues: structural failures, landing gear malfunctions, instability during certain manoeuvres, and an underpowered engine. These challenges were not insurmountable, but overcoming them required sustained funding, highly skilled personnel, and, above all, political will. None of these factors were sufficiently present.



Between 1950 and 1953—a period crucial for industrial transition—the Peronist government failed to provide the necessary support. The tragic death of Captain Mannuwal, followed by the fatal crash of German test pilot Otto Bherens in 1952, were not isolated incidents but direct consequences of a political approach that prioritised symbolism over technical maturity. Most egregiously, the prototype was used for combat training purposes before it had even completed its flight testing phase—a grossly irresponsible act.



In 1953, a fourth prototype was flown, featuring several improvements including a pressurised cockpit and mounted cannons. But by then, global aviation had already moved on. While Argentina was still trying to perfect a subsonic prototype, major powers were entering the era of supersonic flight with aircraft like the F-100 Super Sabre and MiG-19.



By the time of the 1955 military coup, the Pulqui II was still unapproved for service. Only one prototype remained operational, and its development was far from complete. Although a small group of engineers attempted to keep the project alive, including undertaking ambitious long-distance flights with full weapon loads, the technological gap had become unbridgeable. One such flight nearly ended in disaster when pilot Rogelio Balado suffered from hypoxia due to faulty oxygen equipment, highlighting once more the unresolved safety issues.



In 1956, Brigadier Ahrens met with engineer Guillot, head of planning at the Military Aircraft Factory, and was informed that only enough materials remained to build roughly a dozen aircraft. Despite a proposal to manufacture 100 units, the infrastructure inherited from the Peronist era could not support such output. While the Air Force held a licence to produce the Nene II engine, it would have taken five years to build those twelve aircraft—an unviable timeline for a design already technologically outdated.



Faced with an urgent need to replace ageing IA-24 Calquín aircraft, Ahrens pointed to an alternative: an offer of 100 F-86 Sabres, available immediately. Ultimately, only 28 second-hand F-86F-NA-30s were acquired—without the Orenda engine variant initially considered—but these were delivered in 1960. Despite the delay, the aircraft proved cost-effective, logistically supportable, and operationally viable—something that the Pulqui II, even in the best-case scenario, could never have achieved with just a dozen units and no production infrastructure.



The sole Pulqui II prototype continued limited test flights under the post-coup government, eventually receiving formal approval but never progressing to series production. Its final flight occurred around 1961, with the last prototype flown in 1959. By then, the aircraft was obsolete. The critical investment period had passed, and by 1955 the project remained unapproved, unfinished, and incapable of fulfilling any real strategic role. Its fate was sealed back in 1951, when combat pilots were ordered to fly an untested prototype still deep in its experimental phase—a criminally negligent decision. Blaming the 1955 coup ignores the real issue: the failure to act when it truly mattered. Pilots ended up nicknaming it 'Pulquiría' — a play on words resembling porquería (meaning 'rubbish' in Spanish) — due to its poor performance.



Today, both the Pulqui I and Pulqui II are preserved in the National Aeronautics Museum in Morón, following years of neglect in open air. They serve as relics of a missed opportunity—symbols of a time when Argentina could have broken into the elite of aerospace nations, but failed to do so through indecision, political vanity, and a lack of genuine strategic commitment.



Captain Vedania Adriel Mannuwal, of the 4th Interceptor Fighter Regiment of the Argentine Air Force, acted with a profound sense of duty and national service. His sacrifice, made in pursuit of institutional advancement and national greatness, remains unquestionable—a noble Argentine who gave his life for an ideal that, sadly, others failed to uphold. 

Argentine Navy: Lighthouse Beauvoir

Lighthouse Beauvoir

Opening: 23 October 1980

The most notable feature of this beacon is that it is installed atop the tower of the Church of Our Lady of the Watch (Nuestra Señora de la Guardia), in the city of Puerto Deseado, Province of Santa Cruz.

Geographical location: Lat. 47°45' S, Long. 65°53' W

It is a rotating lighthouse connected to the church’s municipal electricity supply, with a range of 19 nautical miles. The tower stands 27 metres tall.

Origin of the name:
The name of this lighthouse honours Reverend Father José María Beauvoir, a tireless Salesian missionary who travelled extensively throughout Patagonia between 1881 and 1924.

Nautical Chart Sector No. 60
“From Cape Tres Puntas to Cape San Francisco de Paula”
Published by the Naval Hydrographic Service.

Source: www.hidro.gov.ar