Malvinas: The 12.7mm Heavy Machine Gun Company B.I.C.O. in Mount Longdon

The 12.7mm Heavy Machine Gun Company B.I.C.O. is sent to the Malvinas

Part 5

Narrated by then-Lieutenant of the Navy Sergio Dachary

Paratrooper Company B, which was attempting to penetrate through the centre of Mount Longdon, encountered tenacious resistance and had to divert around the North, that is, to one side. In that way, they approached from behind the machine gun of Corporal Second Class José Roldán, commander of the 1st 12.7mm group composed of three machines and their respective teams of four conscripts. Roldán, with Machine No. 2, was with soldiers Scarano, Bogado and Almirón. It was 22:00 hours when Bogado, who was on guard with Almirón, approached Roldán and warned him: "Corporal, there are people advancing. I saw them with the scope."



At the same time, an Army corporal who was manning a machine gun about fifteen metres to the left and below Roldán, sent one of his conscripts to warn him that the English were approaching from the north and the rear. Illumination rounds had begun to fall, and despite the fog, the first British troops could be observed advancing in a line.

"We shall receive them properly!" exclaimed Roldán, and the 12.7 began to spit out its deadly ammunition. For a good while, the machine gun held the enemy at bay, who, lying on the ground about 150 metres away, had to halt their advance. At the same time, the three machines remaining to Lieutenant Dachary were already in position, firing towards that sector.

Corporal Roldán’s 12.7 began receiving intense fire, likely due to the emission of the night scope. For a moment they ceased firing, but suddenly, the light of a flare allowed them to observe about forty paratroopers advancing towards them, shouting. Roldán turned the machine gun slightly to the right and began sweeping fire, until the weapon jammed. Nonetheless, they saw some English troops fall and others retreat.

A sergeant from the Army’s 120mm mortars, who was retreating while wounded, approached Roldán and said:

— "We’re holding them back. They cannot get closer than 150 metres."
— "Yes, we no longer have the machine gun, but we’ll keep firing with rifles."
— "Be careful, there may be enemies dressed in friendly uniforms."

The British increased the activity of their two field batteries. The fire was infernal, with remarkable accuracy, as they were firing just fifty metres beyond their front line, demonstrating perfect training for that type of fire. Still, they made no progress. The effectiveness of the 12.7s was demonstrated at every moment. Additionally, the rifles and MAG machine guns of RI-7 (7th Infantry Regiment) formed a barrier difficult to break.

Major Carrizo decided to launch two counterattacks on both flanks of the hill, towards the West: one led by First Lieutenant Enrique E. Neirotti on the South side; the other, with an Engineer Section under Lieutenant Hugo A. Quiroga, from the North. Both attempts advanced, recovering some ground, but failed to dislodge the English from the hill, despite the heroism of the men, due to the impassable British supporting fire.

Dachary understood that it was necessary to remove the British from the positions they had taken to the West of Longdon, in order to recover the other slope without difficulty, which, being very steep, offered few options for scaling, especially while under fire from the crest.

As the British pressed harder and managed to advance slowly, Carrizo contacted the RI-7 commander and requested a reinforcement company and artillery fire on the North and West to soften them up. The direct support battery, located East of Longdon, began firing two guns on the North and four on the West.

Instead of a company, Lieutenant Colonel Jiménez sent only a section, which arrived with casualties as they had to cross one kilometre of open terrain under artillery salvos. These men, under Second Lieutenant Raúl Castañeda, were guided by a messenger soldier who knew the mountain paths from daily patrols.

Castañeda’s section began its counterattack, flanked by the Engineer group from the West and another section from the South. The Army infantry advanced shouting and firing continuously, supported by the 12.7s and an 81mm mortar, which fired until all ammunition was exhausted.

In this way, they managed to recover part of the lost ground, surprising the paratroopers (the first aid post established by the British was nearly overrun by this assault). Castañeda’s section had to repel several counterattacks. These men held out until dawn, and with no reinforcements, they withdrew along the same path they had advanced (a sheep trail unknown to the British). This section suffered almost 50% casualties.

Argentine Naval Aviation: Snakeyes Against the Fleet

Details regarding bombing operations

When releasing up to six 500-pound bombs using a multiple ejector rack, we employed automatic release with a 200-millisecond interval between bombs. At a speed of 450 knots, this allowed the bombs fitted with retarded tails (Snakeye) to fall approximately 40 metres apart. Dropped at a 45-degree angle off the ship’s longitudinal axis, the probability of at least one bomb hitting the target—thus neutralising it—was very high.

We had shared these experiences with pilots of the Argentine Air Force who, at the time, had been training at the Espora Naval Air Base. Although our armaments differed, we strongly emphasised the need to avoid high-altitude approaches, as radar systems such as the Type 965 could detect them from 150 nautical miles away. This would increase the risk of interception by CAPs (Combat Air Patrols using Sea Harriers armed with AIM-9L Sidewinder missiles) or of engagement by Sea Dart missiles with a 30 NM range. Furthermore, early detection of an attack would allow ship-based anti-aircraft fire to be directed by radar, thereby making it far more accurate.

We also warned those same pilots that a bomb dropped in a dive bombing run was unlikely to achieve a hit, given the bomb’s time of flight and the ship's manoeuvrability at 30 knots in open sea.

The American MK-82 bomb from our stockpile, weighing 500 pounds and fitted with a retarded tail, could be dropped from low-level flight. Its fall was delayed relative to the aircraft due to the high-drag fins that deployed after release. This ensured that, upon detonation, the explosion did not affect the launching aircraft, which would have already moved ahead.

To ensure that bombs were armed after release, we tied the cables that activated the tail and nose fuzes directly to the aircraft’s bomb rack structure, rather than connecting them to the designated solenoids. The latter is the standard procedure, allowing for the bomb to be released either armed or, if necessary—by means of a cockpit switch—unarmed, by opening the solenoid and detaching the arming wire. As these solenoids could fail, we opted not to use them. This ensured the fuzes were always armed once the bomb was released, ready to detonate. In the event of an emergency, we would jettison the bombs into the sea, where they would explode.

During this period, we also conducted air interception exercises, guided by the radar systems of the aircraft carrier and its escort ships, targeting Argentine Air Force aircraft operating south of Comodoro Rivadavia that simulated attacks on the Fleet.

We disembarked at Puerto Belgrano Naval Base on 25 April, and over the following days, VLF Omega navigation systems were installed on two aircraft to improve navigational accuracy over the sea.

This had been a longstanding request in previous years, but the Navy's leadership had always found reasons not to implement it—just as our requests to fit 30 mm cannons to the A-4s, to increase firepower and reliability, had never been heeded. We also installed, as a test, OTPI equipment in two other aircraft. These are sonobuoy receivers, typically used for anti-submarine warfare by Tracker aircraft, allowing pilots to home in on the signals of sonobuoys deployed at sea. The goal was to enable aircraft to reach a sonobuoy deployed by a Tracker and, from that point, obtain bearing and distance to a target designated by the reconnaissance aircraft, which could not remain in the area due to limited endurance or the threat posed by the enemy.

—

Testimony of Navy Captain (Ret.) and Malvinas War Veteran Rodolfo Castro Fox, A-4Q Skyhawk pilot of the Argentine Navy's Third Fighter and Attack Squadron.

Malvinas: The Spanish Cartographer Who Discovered Them

Andrés de San Martín: the Spanish Cartographer Who Discovered the Malvinas 

Source




“He was the first to see them. And he drew them so they would never be forgotten.”

This text revives a story silenced for centuries: that of the first European to sight, describe, and chart the Malvinas Islands. He did so in 1520, in the name of the Crown of Castile, long before the British had even imagined their existence. That map, lost for centuries and rediscovered during the Malvinas War, changed forever the documentary foundation of Argentina’s claim.

Sometimes history falls asleep. It nestles among old papers, gathers the dust of archives, hides in a fold of parchment as if afraid to speak the truth. Then, on any given day, someone lifts a page, and the impossible takes form. That is how Andrés de San Martín was brought back to life — the nautical scholar who mapped the Malvinas when the world was still a riddle wrapped in salt.

Andrés de San Martín. Does the name ring a bell? Likely not. There’s no street named after him in the city centre, nor a school that bears his name. He is no textbook hero, no equestrian statue model. Yet this man, likely born in Seville towards the end of the 15th century and dead — whether from malaria or betrayal — on an unnamed Philippine island, was the first to put the Malvinas on a map. And not out of fancy, but with coordinates. With calculations. With his eyes fixed on the stars and a steady hand on the sextant. He was one of the most accurate astronomers of his age, capable of calculating geographical longitude with minimal error. A forgotten genius of cosmography.

San Martín joined Magellan’s expedition in 1519, a journey ordered by the Spanish crown to find a route to the Pacific and reach the Moluccas. Among the daring crew were the obstinate Portuguese Magellan and the quiet but precise Spaniard — Andrés de San Martín. His gift wasn’t with steel, but with the skies: he calculated eclipses, conjunctions, latitudes and longitudes.

He was the fleet’s chief pilot, astronomer, and cartographer — knowledge as valuable as the sword, until the mutiny at Puerto San Julián in April 1520. He was accused of sympathising with the mutineers, perhaps due to his professional ties with pilot Esteban Gómez, one of the ringleaders.

Esteban Gómez, a seasoned Portuguese pilot in Castilian service, was among those who rose up against Magellan. His association with San Martín — though never proven — was enough to make him a suspect. Magellan ordered his arrest and had him tortured by the strappado, a torment involving being hoisted by the arms tied behind the back. San Martín survived, but his health was irreparably damaged.

Later, during the stopover in Cebu (Philippines), he fell gravely ill and died in 1521, taking with him part of the expedition’s astronomical knowledge. Science, too, bleeds. And in this case, it also dies in silence.

While the Venetian chronicler Antonio Pigafetta meticulously recorded each day of the expedition, San Martín measured the world’s distances with an astronomer’s eyes. And so, in July 1520, as winter battered the Patagonian coast, the ship San Antonio — one of the five in the voyage — was sent south. It was captained by Álvaro de Mesquita, Magellan’s cousin. They sailed along the edge of the unknown, the sea writing names that had yet to be marked on charts. And on 28 July, they came upon an archipelago of cold and silence: the Malvinas. To them, they were the “Sansón” or “Islands of Giants.”

They landed on Isla Soledad, where birds circled like sentinels. There were no signs of human life — only cold land. With the precision of a watchmaker, San Martín pointed to the sky, measured and recorded: the first known map of the Malvinas, year 1520 — when Argentina had yet to forge its name. All this occurred within the jurisdiction recognised for the Crown of Castile by the Treaty of Tordesillas of 1494, reinforcing the historical and legal claim to the territory.

As in all imperial conquests, the map was lost. The Portuguese took it to Lisbon after San Martín’s death, along with his notebooks. Oblivion did its work. Over the centuries, the Malvinas slipped into a cartographic limbo: they appeared with distorted names, or as mere dots. But in the traces left by Diego Gutiérrez, Pedro Reinel and Diego Ribero, the echoes of that excursion endured. San Martín remained anonymous in the maps, waiting to be reclaimed.

Sixteenth-century cartography wasn’t an exact science, but it was a high art. Cosmographers like San Martín, the Reinel family, or Sebastián Caboto worked from astronomical observations, navigators’ accounts, and not a few myths. Maps combined fact and fiction, but one precise measurement could open a world. And San Martín delivered one. Without marine chronometers or theodolites, only with his astrolabe and tables, he recorded a part of the planet still shrouded in mist.

That call came in 1982, as the world watched the South Atlantic explode on their televisions. France brought to light the Atlas de San Julián, a manuscript dated 1586, long forgotten in the National Library of Paris. There, among the parchments, emerged the chart: “Les isles de Sansón ou des Geantz”, located precisely where the Malvinas lie today. This document, of incalculable value, confirmed not only the Spanish discovery but also predated John Strong’s British sighting by over 150 years.

Rocher Gervais, a French curator, sent the discovery to Uruguayan scholar Rolando Laguarda Trías. On 14 June 1983, Laguarda Trías presented his study in Montevideo, entitled “Spanish Ship Discovers the Malvinas Islands in 1520”, based on analysis of the manuscript with curator Mireille Pastoureau. He wrote: “there is not the slightest shadow of doubt that the map depicts the Malvinas Islands.” In September of that year, the study was formally entered into the library of Argentina’s National Academy of Geography.

Laguarda Trías returned to Paris in August 1987 and personally photographed the map, confirming that the chart was accompanied by a text by André Thevet, who described it after interviewing a Portuguese pilot (likely Mesquita) in Lisbon in the 1560s. Thevet reproduced the coordinates in his book Le Grand Insulaire, strengthening the authenticity of the Spanish discovery.

This discovery was no mere anecdote. It provided historical ammunition for Argentina’s claim to sovereignty. Laguarda Trías and other scholars considered it “a firmer foundation for Argentina’s rights, as heir to Spain’s.” And it was no minor point: in 1982, Argentina was at war over the islands, and this evidence represented a powerful documentary legitimacy. As Laguarda Trías himself stated: “The islands, now the subject of diplomatic dispute, were first charted by a Spaniard who knew the sky better than he knew the maps.”

Since then, this work has been validated by historians and academic institutions across South America. In 2015, the National Academy of Geography commemorated the event in its Annals, with a chapter reinforcing the scientific legitimacy of the Spanish discovery of the Malvinas. According to the legal principle of uti possidetis iuris, newly independent republics inherited the territories that had belonged to colonial crowns. Thus, upon the dissolution of the Viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata, the Malvinas would have automatically become part of the United Provinces of the Río de la Plata.

The 1520 map ceased to be an old curiosity and became a key piece in modern geopolitical history. It not only proved that San Martín had charted the islands with precision five centuries before any British settlement, but also that his records were preserved and circulated across the European Atlantic from the late 1500s. Against any English claim, this document remains irrefutable evidence: the Malvinas were discovered, observed, and mapped by a Spaniard — and this act predates all subsequent claims.

The 1982 discovery and Laguarda Trías’s research sparked debates in museums, universities, and diplomatic circles. Of course, there were critics — some questioned the document chain. But the majority of historians regarded it as “the most solid and rigorous documented effort to bring a forgotten discovery into the present.”

Today, Andrés de San Martín is no longer a shadow. He is a symbol that history is written in fine strokes, with compasses, latitudes, and longitudes. His 1520 cartography, rescued from silence in 1982, not only revives 16th-century scientific memory — it also stands as a mute, irrefutable witness to Argentina’s sovereignty over the Malvinas.

In a world that disputes maps with drones and international treaties, the figure of a man with a sextant reminds us that sovereignty is also written in ink, with patience and with truth. And that some gestures, like San Martín’s, take five centuries to receive justice. Perhaps, on a clear night above the cold southern seas, the shadow of that forgotten pilot still lingers in the stars — the man who once measured the world to stop others from stealing it.

Postscript: That a map forgotten in Paris for four centuries would become a key piece of a sovereignty claim says more about history than a thousand speeches. Because sometimes truth doesn’t shout — it waits. And those who know how to read an old parchment can see in it the roots of an entire nation. Today, his map does not speak only in libraries. It can — and must — speak in the international forums where the fate of peoples is debated.

Bibliography:

• Laguarda Trías, Rolando. Nave española descubre las Islas Malvinas en 1520. Montevideo, 1983.

• Thevet, André. Le Grand Insulaire. Manuscrito del siglo XVI.

• Academia Nacional de Geografía (Argentina). Anales y Boletines, ediciones de 1983 y 2015.

• Hervé, Roger (Rocher Gervais). Découverte des Îles Malouines en 1520, Biblioteca Nacional de Francia, 1982.

• Ramos, Lucio. Cartografía y poder en el Atlántico Sur. Editorial Dunken, 2010.

Malvinas: The Return

The Return

Morning of the 23rd of June — but not this year — rather, of 1982. The setting is Bahía Blanca Sud station.
That Wednesday, train 325 was due to arrive from Plaza Constitución. This service ran via Pringles, and the scheduled time of arrival was 9:04 a.m.

The station looked the same as always. The arrival of the train that day seemed like just another service, one of the regular trains that came into the station as usual.

Everything appeared normal up to that point — except for one small detail. At the rear of train 325 that day, a second-class coach had been coupled. Its 103 seats were reserved for a kind of passenger not often seen in those days. In that coach were the Malvinas War Veterans. That carriage was allocated exclusively to the soldiers who, by that time, were officially recognised as war veterans.

They were boarded onto that last coach, without the possibility of moving through the train, as the door connecting it to the rest of the formation had been locked. A small ham and cheese roll and a half-litre bottle of mineral water was the “ration” provided for the journey.

There was no welcoming committee. The city, with its typical scepticism, was unaware that the returning soldiers were arriving. Hardly anyone came to greet them. Just a few family members who had somehow found out — at that time, few homes had landlines, and of course, social media or WhatsApp didn’t exist.

There was no band to greet them upon arrival — our country is so obsessed with success that, for example, if the national football team loses a World Cup final, no one turns up to welcome them home. The same thing happened with the veterans. Not even their own families had fully realised they were coming back.

The train arrived on time. A long line of passenger coaches left the last one nearly aligned with the “Bahía Blanca” sign just south of the station, near the black bridge. A few fathers, who had learned of their sons’ return, approached the station almost timidly. They had spent over 70 days filled with uncertainty and anxiety. Worried faces searched through the train, hoping to find their sons and hold them tightly at last.

Inside the second-class coach, emotions ran high. The joy of returning was genuine, yet mixed with the pain for those who had not made it back. And to that was added the bitter fact that the war had been lost — this was by no means a joyful train. Tired faces, emaciated bodies showed signs of malnutrition, revealing the hunger they had endured during the conflict — despite efforts to convince the public that our soldiers had suffered neither hunger nor cold.

During their days at Campo de Mayo, the army had tried to feed the soldiers as much as possible so they would arrive “reasonably presentable.”

Behind them were long, sleepless nights. Naval, air, and finally ground bombardments had left them no rest. They had slept in makeshift tents or, when alerts demanded, in damp, cold foxholes. The thinness of their bodies reflected just how scarce the food had been.

They had bathed only once throughout the war, and only again when they boarded the ships back to the mainland. Left behind were those nights spent shivering — from the cold and, why not, from fear — with wet feet and the constant question of where the British would come from.

Behind them remained the sounds of war — sounds only known by those who had to live through them. The whistles of bombs, the wailing of sirens, the thunder of cannons, low-flying jets at terrifying speed, shouted orders during battle, and the gut-wrenching cries of the wounded… All of it was endured by young bodies, most of whom had not yet turned twenty.

"I stood on the carriage steps because I saw my dad and got ready to hug him. He was on the platform, looking past me, trying to find me. He didn’t recognise me — that’s how skinny I was." — Guillermo.
“We felt ashamed because we had lost the war, and that weighed heavily on us. We came back defeated.”

There were heartfelt embraces, tears, a few smiles, and a flood of emotion. Orders soon arrived to board the trucks bound for command headquarters. The veterans were taken in lorries to the Fifth Army Corps.

For them, a new reality was beginning. Almost without realising, they were entering something immensely complex: the return, the process of reintegration into working life. For our Veterans, a new life was starting. Bahía Blanca Sud station stood witness to that moment.

Without doubt — once again — THANK YOU FOR SO MUCH, AND SORRY FOR SO LITTLE.

Argentine Navy: Submarine ARA Santa Fé

 

Submarine A.R.A. Santa Fe

The submarine ARA Santa Fe (S-21) hoisted her Argentine flag on 2 July 1971. At the end of 1978, as a result of the disagreement over sovereignty of the three islands, Lennox and Nueva in the Beagle Channel, tensions rose between Argentina and Chile.

On 22 December 1978, Argentina launched Operation Sovereignty to militarily occupy the islands. When conflict seemed inevitable, the timely intervention of Pope John Paul II prevented the start of hostilities. On 30 March 1982, she was incorporated into Task Force 40, Task Group 40.4, carrying on board part of the landing force of Operation Rosario. From her, the tactical divers departed who enabled the landing of Argentine forces that recapture the Malvinas Islands. She was assigned a new mission for which she was resupplied with fuel and provisions to transport a detachment of marines towards South Georgia Islands. She managed to evade the British blockade and entered San Pedro Island, penetrating Captain Vago Cove in National Guard Bay (Grytviken), disembarking personnel and materials. At 05:50 hours (local time), she departed to return to her assigned patrol zone, but was detected and attacked by a Wessex helicopter. The vessel returned to Grytviken. Resistance was offered by firing at the enemy helicopters from the sail, led by Corporal Héctor O. Feldman. At 07:30 she moored, listing to port and with the stern submerged. Faced with British superiority in troop numbers, the Argentine garrison surrendered along with the submariners. On 27 April, an attempt was made to change her position; during the manoeuvre, Petty Officer First Class Félix O. Artuso was fatally wounded when a British marine shot him, indicating that he had made movements that led him to believe he was about to operate a valve to scuttle the vessel. During the austral summer of 1984/1985, the United Kingdom ordered the salvage of the former ARA Santa Fe (S-21) in order to remove her from the anchorage at Vago Cove, to free the pier for use by active vessels. The S-21 began to be towed to deeper waters. Finally, the veteran vessel sank definitively in the South Atlantic, settling on the seabed at 196 metres depth.

Class: Balao Class (modified to GUPPY II) Diesel-electric attack submarine.

Launched:
19 November 1944 – Shipyard: Electric Boat Company (Groton, Connecticut, USA).

Power:
3 General Motors 278A 16-cylinder diesel engines
2 General Electric electric motors
2 main Exide batteries of 126 cells • 2 propellers.
Surface speed: 20–25 knots – 37.5 KM/Hour.
Submerged speed: 8.75 knots – 16 KM/Hour.

Armament:
10 Torpedo tubes of 533 mm (21 in) (6 forward, 4 aft, 24 torpedoes)
1 deck gun of 127 mm/25 calibre (5 in)
1 20 mm AA gun
2 12.7 mm (0.5") machine guns
1 40 mm AA gun

The elements for constructing the model parts are entirely made with recyclable materials respecting the measurements according to plans.
SCALE: 1/100 – Model built in 2008 by LEANDRO CISNEROS.

Submarine A.R.A. Santa Fe

Force Navy 

Length 95 mts.

Beam 8.31 mts.

Draught  4.65 mts.

Crew 80 – 85 personnel

Malvinas: Operation Uka Uka

Operation Uka Uka (ITB)

On 12 June 1982, members of the Argentine Navy installed an Exocet missile in Puerto Argentino, brought in by a C-130 Hercules aircraft of the Argentine Air Force, to be launched from land.
It was an Argentine invention that put a British warship out of action in the final days of the Falklands War.

This “ingenuity under pressure” (as it was described at an international military history congress in Europe) led two civilian Navy technicians and a naval engineer to develop a previously unthinkable land-based Exocet missile launcher. It was successfully used during one of the fiercest battles of the conflict with Britain, on 12 June 1982, at Mount Two Sisters.

They called it the ITB: Instalación de Tiro Berreta (makeshift firing installation).
“Because it was ugly, improvised… a makeshift job,” recalled Antonio Shugt and Luis Torelli, who devised it in just three days, alongside Navy Captain Julio Pérez.
Antonio and Luis were 22 and 24 years old when Captain Pérez, their superior in the Missile Division at Puerto Belgrano Naval Arsenal, assigned them a mission that seemed impossible: to launch an MM38 Exocet anti-ship missile from land to counter the British bombardment of Puerto Argentino’s defences.
“Yes, it can be done,” they replied.
“It’s urgent!” the captain warned them.
Luis had been a civilian employee of the Navy for six years and had worked as an electronics technician in the Missile Division for three. Alongside Pérez and Shugt, he had visited France when Argentina purchased the Exocet missiles, giving him valuable knowledge of the system.
In total secrecy, they locked themselves in the workshop at the beginning of May, sketching ideas, drawing up plans, laying cables...
“There was nothing like it in the Navy or anywhere else,” Luis explained. “The missile alone is useless; it needs a launch system, which consists of a set of equipment that gives the missile launch orders, target data, firing conditions, flight situation... We had to build something like that, but it had to be portable, mobile, and transportable.”



“The captain wanted to design an entirely new circuit, but we didn’t have time. So we thought it more practical to use what already existed: a ship’s fire control system, which is a large room full of equipment that takes a year to install. We used one from an old destroyer. It had to be dismantled and downsized,” said Antonio.
By the third day, they emerged from the workshop with a plan: keep the most vital components and manufacture the rest more simply.
It was a gamble — and it worked. They tested the system with a missile simulator on the destroyer Seguí. A tent was erected on the deck to shield them from enemy satellites, but even with the system and missile, they still needed a launch ramp.
“Someone came up with the idea of putting it on a trailer. So they took the ramps from the ship and mounted them on a cart. The electronics were powered by a portable system from old Marine Infantry arc spotlights. The launcher and a separate control and command unit were interconnected,” Luis recounted.
It was built at top speed, with the entire workshop working two shifts around the clock: 6 a.m. to 7 p.m., and 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. The General Workshops took care of the mechanical parts. And it was ready.
It was all extremely urgent. At 4 p.m. the system was tested, and by 6 p.m. it was loaded onto a Hercules aircraft at Base Espora for deployment to the Malvinas.



Captain Pérez travelled to the islands. He was to operate the ITB with Lieutenant Commanders Edgardo Rodríguez and Mario Abadal. Luis and Antonio, being civilians, were not deployed.
The ITB reached the Falklands on 31 May, after several radar-evading flights.
Each of the two trailers weighed 5,000 kg. Moving them around the islands was extremely difficult. They could only be transported via the road to the airport, as they would sink in the tundra.
A site was designated 300 metres from the sea, facing the airport at Puerto Argentino, in the southern part of the archipelago (see map). The components were dispersed, with the launcher positioned separately to avoid detection. They would begin setup around 6 p.m. when darkness fell. It took two hours to install the ITB, and they remained in position until 3 or 4 a.m. In daylight, the system was dismantled to avoid satellite detection. For 12 days they repeated this cycle, waiting for the ideal moment.
Using an Army radar operated by retired officer Carlos Ríes Centeno —who had travelled as a documentarian— ship movements were tracked. It was an anti-personnel radar, requiring data conversion to be useful to the Exocet’s systems. Combined with input from another surveillance radar, they identified the route taken by British ships each night.
One early morning, Captain Pérez and his team attempted the first launch, but a connection issue prevented the missile from firing.
“The only British component in the ITB failed: a worthless diode. Luckily, the Marine Infantry’s Anti-Air Artillery had the exact one we needed,” Captain Pérez recounted.
A second attempt the next day failed due to a human error in radar data calculations.
By the third or fourth night, British ships had stopped passing. The radars showed nothing nearby.
“It was almost dawn when one of the lieutenants suggested doing something they used to do during training — dancing around a tree like natives to summon rain. ‘Shall we try a spin?’ he asked. Imagine two lieutenants and a captain doing that. If anyone had seen us…” Pérez laughed.
But at one point, Pérez said: “Now, while no one’s watching.” And in the dark, they danced twice around the trailer, chanting like indigenous warriors. Believe it or not, half an hour later, they were informed that a British warship had appeared in the area.
They readied the system and fired. Third time lucky — the Exocet hit its target.

The Attack
12 June 1982. British artillery was bombarding the Argentine defences at Puerto Argentino, and that same early morning, Argentina fired an Exocet missile from land at a warship — a global first. Argentine ingenuity, devised by two civilian technicians from Punta Alta in Puerto Belgrano, was now playing its part in the heat of battle on the islands.



At 3:30 a.m., HMS Glamorgan, supporting the British advance on Mount Two Sisters from offshore, had already fired nearly four tonnes of explosives. The Royal Marines welcomed the support. But as the destroyer shifted to a new position, it entered the ITB radar’s range.
“Our radar only reached 30,000 metres,” Captain Pérez explained. “We had very little time to input the data and fire. But we managed it!”
A flash in the early morning, followed by a snaking trail and the sound of a turbine disappearing into the dark horizon.
That brilliant light approaching caught the attention of everyone on the Glamorgan’s bridge. It was also seen from the coast.



It was 3:36 a.m., and it took no time for Glamorgan’s radar operators to realise they were under Exocet attack. Their evasive manoeuvres came too late — the missile struck the stern.
“3:37 — Boom! The ship jolted as if hitting a dock. We lost all power. It was chaos,” said a crew member.
The MM38 Exocet, launched via the ITB, had hit its mark.

Gaceta Marinera

Malvinas: The Gurkha Myth

The Gurkha Myth

Beyond certain particular traits, the Gurkhas are nothing more than a regular unit of the British Army. There was a British psychological operations campaign during the war which, aided by local dissemination, reached extraordinary levels.

They were neither mercenaries nor throat-slitting machines—nothing of the sort. Yet many believed it; even Gabo García Márquez bought into the story and helped to spread it. The press also contributed, whether through the information it published or the manner in which it did so. 

It’s hard to accept that a myth was swallowed whole, but that’s exactly what happened. Even Carlos Robacio commented on them — they were a misrepresentation of the Gurkhas. They fought very little and stopped almost as soon as they began.

We must stop spreading claims about the war that never actually occurred. Don’t you agree?



Imagen: Infobae.

Independence War: The Last Day of Güemes

The Last Day of Güemes Among Us

On the night of June 7, 1821, at the corner of Belgrano and Balcarce streets in the city of Salta, Martín Miguel de Güemes was wounded and fled with his gauchos in search of shelter. Despite his injury, the hero did not fall from his saddle and, mounted on his horse, crossed the Campo de la Cruz. Entering the Chachapoya ravine, he headed east to a post located about 8 km from the city of Salta, in La Lagunilla, known as the house of Doña Pancha Luna.

Colonel Eusebio Mollinedo, who was with him that fateful day, wrote in his accounts:

“...Seriously wounded in the spine by a gunshot from an enemy patrol, and after enduring excruciating pain with the fortitude forged by the hardships of war, we reached the post at La Lagunilla... There he was assisted and could rest.”

From that location, a message was sent to Commander Ríos, who was waiting with the rest of the escort at Tincunaco, to inform the troops encamped at Campo de Velarde about the situation and join the group. Additionally, Father Francisco Fernández was notified of the general’s condition.

Commander Ríos and his soldiers, along with Father Fernández, improvised a stretcher to carry the wounded Güemes and continued the journey toward the “Las Higuerillas” estate. The path included only a few mild hills that were easily crossed, followed by flat terrain leading to the estate house.

They arrived without major issues and waited for a large contingent of patriot troops and the party led by Captain Cabral, who was bringing the physician Dr. Antonio Castellanos. There, General Güemes received initial medical attention.

Dr. Castellanos diagnosed the severity of the wound and began to suspect a very poor prognosis.

With better organization and supplies, those present realized the need to protect the wounded General from enemy forces, so they resumed the march through the "Cañada de la Higuera", heading toward the "Higuera" outpost.

“...At the spot known as La Higuera, four leagues southeast of the starting point, he was extremely weak due to blood loss...”

This outpost’s location was highly secure and strategic, as it was close to the estates La Cruz and La Quesera, where Güemes had burial grounds for his gauchos.

However, in his critical condition, the hero could go no further. Under the shade of a cebil tree, he awaited his inevitable fate with the dignity of one who gives his life for the Fatherland.
Thus, the martyr of our Nation began his journey toward immortality.

Source: Illustrated Güemesian Ephemerides and Others
Image: Güemes wounded.