Goose Green: A Harrowing Account

Jones: A Harrowing Account

Particularly for the British, owing to the devastating loss of Lieutenant Colonel H. Jones and almost his entire team within mere minutes of combat.

“The first land battle in the Malvinas was initiated at Colonel Jones’s request. At first, everything seemed likely to proceed smoothly, but the fighting proved ferocious. The 2 PARA, exhausted after nearly a full day’s march, was forced to attack across open ground, in broad daylight, and with inadequate fire support. They lost their commander, his aides-de-camp, and almost the entire staff — and with them, very nearly the action itself...”

Captain David Wood, a close friend of H. Jones, was known for his humour and knack for lifting the men’s spirits at just the right moment. According to the plans and training carried out in Kenya in 1981, Wood was not meant to accompany Jones during reconnaissance, as his role was to remain at the command post. But swept up in Jones’s enthusiasm, Wood moved to the front line. During the assault on the Argentine trench, he shouted to his comrades: “Remember Arnhem!” — a reference to the largest airborne operation ever undertaken by the Parachute Regiment, and their greatest loss at the hands of the Germans, depicted in the film A Bridge Too Far.

David Wood ran forward, but an Argentine bullet killed him instantly, along with two other soldiers. Jones witnessed the scene, unaware that his fallen friend was among the dead. At his side, Captain Chris Dent was ordered by Jones to recover the radio equipment used by the fallen men. Dent prepared to move, but another soldier warned him of the danger of venturing into the open under Argentine fire. Dent went anyway and was shot dead on the spot.

Jones was shaken; he could see almost his entire team being cut down by enemy fire. He decided to take the nearest trench, hurling a grenade, when from a slightly offset position an Argentine machine-gun, about fifty metres away, opened fire. The first burst hit him. Another officer nearby, Farrar-Hockley, tried to help him, as Jones was bleeding heavily and making faint movements, but the intense Argentine fire made it impossible. Corporal Michael Melia of the Royal Engineers attempted to reach Jones’s body, only to be killed by several shots. Another burst struck Jones again, and this time he no longer moved.

Jones was mortally wounded. A young soldier named Tuffen tried to rescue him but was shot in the head. Another paratrooper, Worrell, was badly wounded in the same action. Corporal Stephen Prior attempted to reach the bodies but was killed by Argentine fire; his comrade Albols lay prone and motionless, unable to act. Tuffen was thought dead, but several hours later medics found him in the field, covered with a sheet of metal, still alive.

Corporal Hardman, who had been watching the events unfold, tried to reach them at a run but was killed by multiple Argentine shots, one of which completely destroyed his head. His comrades, lying prone, used Hardman’s body as cover.

Only Corporal Todd remained. Seeing that his entire team and commanding officers were gone, he requested permission to withdraw to the starting point.

The posthumous decoration awarded to H. Jones was heavily questioned within the British Armed Forces, notably by 2 PARA officer and military theorist Spencer Fitz-Gibbon, who wrote in 1995 that, despite his undoubted bravery, Herbert Jones did more to hinder his unit’s victory than to secure it. According to his analysis, Jones lost sight of the broader picture of the battle and prevented his sub-unit commanders from exercising mission command, in favour of attempting his “own feat of heroism.”

 

Malvinas: The Odyssey of the 4th Section (3/5)

The Heroes of Nacar's 4th Section

(Part 3 of 5)



“Sir! They’re coming again!” shouted one of the sentries from a nearby foxhole. Vázquez, half his body exposed, immediately began directing fire, pointing out targets, asking for ammunition status, and giving firing orders.

Combat resumed once more, intense and all-encompassing — everyone firing at anyone who got close. The inferno of infantry battle returned: the staccato of machine guns, explosions of grenades, rockets, projectiles of all calibres, rifle shots, and the screams of the wounded all merged in a single, deafening chaos.

By 2:30 a.m., the group led by Sergeant Julio Castillo, positioned at the far right of the Section, was trying to hold off the enemy onslaught. With Castillo were Second Corporal Amílcar Tejada — who had travelled to the Falklands with Lieutenant Vázquez — and Dragoon José Luis Galarza, a young man who had stood out and whom Castillo affectionately referred to as “my lad.”

The firefight raged on. Sergeant Castillo kept firing and shouting “Long live the homeland!” But as the minutes ticked by, the situation grew increasingly dire. The British were almost upon them. Castillo shouted, “Fire, you bastards! Don’t act stupid — fight back!” referring to those in the centre sector (where Vázquez and the reconnaissance group were positioned). The Scots were throwing everything at them. Tejada fired the MAG, taking turns with a conscript. Castillo, a quintessential “trooper’s sergeant” in Marine Infantry terms, commanded the right flank.

Suddenly, Castillo saw a Scot assault and kill Dragoon Galarza. Enraged, he shot at the attacker with his FAL — but was immediately struck by three rounds. Castillo collapsed, a gaping 20-centimetre wound torn through his back. A nearby soldier rushed to him, hoping he was only wounded, but Castillo had died instantly.

Castillo, Tejada, Galarza and the mobile group conscripts had withstood the enemy’s advance with stoic bravery. Their position, at the far right of the 4th Section, bore the brunt of the British assault. The Scots, advancing from the west towards the centre and left of Nacar’s line, had to pass through the right flank first — where they were filtered and held off by this group.

With Castillo’s death, Tejada became the only leader left to Vázquez on the right flank — the only one left to give orders and keep morale alive.

Meanwhile, Second Lieutenant Silva was trying to defend himself as best he could. The battle was fierce — the enemy appeared from behind rocks as close as three to twenty metres away. Two conscripts near him were wounded by machine-gun fire. Without hesitation, Silva left his cover and dragged one of the injured towards the shelter of a nearby rock, some 30 metres away. He knew the man would likely die within minutes, with no time or means to treat him.

“Stay here,” he told him, trying to offer comfort. “You’ll be fine. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. Please don’t move.”
The conscript clutched his bleeding abdomen with both hands and looked silently at his officer — perhaps a final farewell.
“Hang in there, I’ll be back,” Silva repeated.

Crawling back under heavy fire, he reached a foxhole where a FAP machine gun had been abandoned — its operator dead. Silva began firing until it jammed.
“Pass me something I can fire with!” he shouted to a nearby conscript, who handed him a rifle.
“Thanks — it’s something at least,” Silva said, trying to smile through his soot-covered face.

Gradually, the British — advancing in perfect formation — grew stronger. Casualties among Nacar’s men mounted. More and more British soldiers were infiltrating the section’s foxholes.

Why had the Argentines suffered so few casualties in the initial assault, despite the intensity of the combat?
The answer lay in mutual support: the 4th Section had been intact. Each foxhole was covered by the adjacent ones — no one was left unprotected. Thus, the British had to fight not one position, but two or three at once.

But in the second assault, the British changed tactics — with devastating effect. Groups of three or four men, crouching 10 to 20 metres away, would rise and charge the nearest foxhole. They might be shot at — maybe one or two would fall — but the others reached their target and killed whoever was inside.
Over time, the disparity in numbers became obvious.

Vázquez grew increasingly anxious. He couldn’t shake off the enemy or stop them occupying positions. He asked Fochesatto to connect him with Lieutenant Villarraza.

—“Green, this is Green 4.”
—“Green here.”
—“What’s happening with reinforcements?”
—“Hold out — they’re about to set off.”
—“Understood.”

Around 3:00 a.m., a soldier from the Army — Private Do Santos from RI-4 — crawled to Vázquez’s position and shouted:
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Sub-lieutenant Silva’s been hit!”
“What happened?”
“He was shot in the chest and arm. Blood’s coming from his mouth.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right — drag him carefully into a foxhole and try to give him some aid.”

“What can I do? What can I say?” thought Vázquez.
At that moment, wounded Marine Infantry soldier Félix Aguirre came to Silva’s aid, despite his own injury. Bravely, he dragged Silva to what he thought was a safe spot.
Returning to his position, Félix Aguirre was killed by enemy fire.

Five minutes after reporting to Vázquez, the same Army soldier returned.
“Lieutenant, Sub-lieutenant Silva is dead.”

Vázquez had lost a vital officer — one who constantly motivated the men, issued orders, and covered areas where Vázquez’s voice could not reach.

What had driven the soldier to return under fire to announce Silva’s death?
Why take such a risk?
Because for a soldier, there is no worse fate than losing his commander. It destroys his hope.
The commander is the one who knows the most, the one who protects them.
If the commander dies, what hope remains for the less trained conscript?
Who will take care of him? Who will tell him, “Move — you’ll be killed there,” or “Take cover,” or “Aim that way”? Who will lead the retreat?

No one.

The death of a commander quickly leads to the death of his subordinates — disorientation, fear, and hesitation take over, especially in close combat, where only the quickest survive.

The conscript had risked himself twice: first to try and save Silva, and then to avoid the feeling of abandonment if his leader died.
A deeply human action. One of the many faces of war.

Vázquez had no time to grieve.

A machine gun opened fire on him from a stone wall nearby. The British had his position marked — whenever he raised his head to give orders, he was met with a barrage.
But he couldn’t stop commanding.
“I’ll blow you to bits,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

He grabbed an anti-tank grenade launcher and fired at the machine gun nest — then another. One hit the base of the stone, the other missed.
It was futile. He couldn’t silence it.

—“Gascó! Gascó! Fire at that machine gun!” he shouted to a conscript on his left, whom he’d promoted to Dragoon that very day — in the middle of battle. “War things,” he thought.
He’d trusted the lad, and now he desperately needed him.

—“Gascó! Gascó! Don’t be a bastard — don’t leave me alone now!”

He knew Gascó was alive.
Why wasn’t he responding?

Gascó was trying to unjam the machine gun.
“Thank God,” he muttered when it finally worked.
Without wasting time, he opened fire on Vázquez’s attackers, taking them out.

The situation was desperate.

Vázquez decided to descend into the foxhole and use the radio — normally Fochesatto’s task, but this message was too urgent.
He pressed the button — and at once the background hum of reception ceased.
Underground, all outside noise was crystal clear: explosions, screams, gunfire. The blasts shook the earth.

These men, though, no longer feared how they’d die. They knew full well they might not make it out alive — but they also knew the British wouldn’t have it easy.

Suddenly, someone spoke in English — right at the mouth of the foxhole.
Vázquez and Fochesatto froze.

“Shit! They’re going to chuck a grenade down here!” cried Fochesatto.

Vázquez had a habit of leaving two rifles outside: one with an anti-tank grenade aimed in one direction, the other pointed the opposite way.

In his desperation, he knocked over the radio but leapt out of the foxhole and grabbed the nearest rifle.
A few metres away, a British soldier lay prone, speaking into a radio. In the confusion, he hadn't noticed the foxhole.
Vázquez didn’t hesitate — he aimed and fired.

The anti-tank projectile exploded less than half a metre from the British soldier, tearing him apart.

At the same time, further right, another British soldier reached a foxhole occupied by an Army conscript. A nearby soldier, some 30 metres away, saw him — but hesitated, unsure if he was British or not, a natural reaction amidst the chaos.

“Yes, he’s British!” he shouted — and fired.
Too late.

A second before being hit in the back, the Brit had thrown an incendiary grenade into the foxhole.

The blast was instant. Flames shot from the hole.

A soldier emerged — ablaze.
Without hesitating, he tore off his poncho-style blanket, rolled on the ground and extinguished the flames. Vázquez couldn’t believe he wasn’t burned.

The man stood up like a spring, scanned the area for a weapon, found a rifle, and crawled into another foxhole to continue fighting.

Vázquez called Lieutenant Villarraza again:
“What’s happening with the reinforcements?”
“They’re on their way — already marching.”

Sub-lieutenant Lamadrid’s section from RI-6 and Marines under Lieutenant Miño had begun a counterattack, but they hadn’t yet reached Vázquez’s position.

Still, help wasn’t arriving fast enough. The situation worsened.
Casualties increased. Ammunition was running low.

At that moment, Vázquez made a drastic decision:
He would shell his own position with their 60mm mortar — all 54 rounds.

A desperate move. A last resort.
There was no other option but surrender — or die.

Since mortars fire on a high arc, the only way to hit nearby positions was to remove the bipod.

That’s what they did — they placed it upright on two ammo crates.

“Rotela,” Vázquez said to the Dragoon acting as gun chief, supported by conscript Güida and another nicknamed “Pankuka.”
“Is Güida wearing the glove?”
“Yes, sir. He’s ready.”

Güida, his gloved right hand protecting him from the hot tube, held a round in the other. Eyes fixed on the mortar, he awaited the order.

“Fire!” Vázquez commanded.

They started at the right flank, moved through the centre, and reached the left.
Each shot caused tremors, smoke, and dirt clods — but accuracy was poor.
Despite heavy casualties, the British did not retreat.

They were many — and well dug in.

“This is going to hell,” Vázquez muttered. “We can’t last much longer. Let me try to reach command.”

He grabbed the radio and began calling Captain Robacio.

---

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Conquest of the Desert: Arbolito, the Ranquel Who Killed Rauch

The Story of the Ranquel “Arbolito”, the Native Who Beheaded Colonel Rauch

Saturday, 28 March 1829 dawned cloudy and cold on the Buenos Aires plains. The weak rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds were not enough to warm the men making camp at Las Vizcacheras, a spot a few kilometres south of the Salado River, near what is today the town of Gorchs, Buenos Aires Province.

They had marched all night from Laguna de las Perdices. Hungry and exhausted, they knew the enemy was close and could not afford to lower their guard. Commander Juan Aguilera ordered that, once the tents were up, everyone was to remain at their posts and on alert. There were about six hundred men, well armed with firearms, lassos and bolas, mostly Buenos Aires federal militiamen, organised into four squadrons and reinforced by a group of Ranquel warriors under Colonel Ventura Miñana.

By mid-morning, as the autumn sun began to take the chill out of the air, a courier arrived with news: the Unitarian forces under Colonel Federico Rauch, also around six hundred strong, were less than a league away and ready to attack.

The political climate was tense. Just two months earlier, the federal governor Manuel Dorrego had been overthrown and executed by the Unitarian Juan Lavalle, triggering a bitter civil conflict. Rauch, a European-born officer in Unitarian service, had been sent to hunt down and imprison federal fighters loyal to rancher Juan Manuel de Rosas.

The battle began before noon. Rauch advanced in three columns: the central column broke through the federal lines, inflicting heavy casualties, but on the flanks Aguilera’s men managed to prevail. Rauch did not realise the flanks had collapsed until he found himself surrounded. He tried to escape at full gallop, but Corporal Manuel Andrada brought down his horse with a boleadora. Once on the ground, a Ranquel named Nicasio Maciel — nicknamed Arbolito (“Little Tree”) for his height — finished him off by cutting off his head.

Rauch’s death caused an immediate stir. For Lavalle’s Unitarians, it was a heavy blow: they had lost an experienced officer who had played an important role in various campaigns. For the Federals, it was cause for celebration: they had removed a formidable adversary. But among the indigenous peoples who had suffered his harsh military campaigns, the news was felt as both relief and justice.

For the Ranquel, Catrielero and other frontier communities, Arbolito became a hero — the man who avenged years of abuses and violence, and whose act ended the life of one of the most feared military figures among the native peoples.

Fragment of the book “Mitos, leyendas y verdades de la Argentina indígenas”, by Andrés Bonatti

La Voz del Chubut

Malvinas: The Odyssey of the 4th Section (2/5)

Combat at Pony's Pass 

(Part 2 of 5)

 The fight of Second Corporal, Marine Infantryman Agüero

  


What had happened to Corporal Agüero? As soon as communication with his commander was lost, he decided to fall back with the three men still with him.
—“There’s a group up ahead,” said conscript Barrera. “Let’s hit them and get out.”
They threw four hand grenades, and as the last one exploded, they leapt from the trench.

Agüero could feel the wound on his forehead burning, and the rubbing of his helmet made the pain worse.
“To hell with the helmet!” he exclaimed, throwing it to the ground.
He was exhausted and could barely hold his rifle. The blood loss had sapped his strength, making movement difficult. He was also worried about the fate of the other conscripts in his group — he knew nothing of what had happened to them.

Avoiding enemy fire, the four of them moved toward the quarry — the designated fallback point according to the Company’s retreat plan. Protected by the night’s darkness, only broken by the occasional illuminating flare, they took extreme caution in case British troops had infiltrated behind the Company’s former positions at Pony’s Pass.

Then, suddenly, they heard a voice shout “Halt!” in Spanish.
As if triggered by a spring, they all hit the snowy ground. At that moment, Agüero realised he had forgotten the password. Hearing his own language was no guarantee — it could easily be an enemy trick. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“I have no choice,” he thought.
“We’re from the Obra! From Obra Company!” he shouted as loudly as he could.

On the other side, Staff Sergeant Eugenio Orozco, manning a MAG with several men — including a medic — verified their identity. Once convinced, he allowed them to approach. The medic administered morphine to Corporal Agüero and accompanied the group during their retreat, while Orozco stayed behind to scout the area and leave a few booby traps.

They pressed on, and a few metres ahead they were joined by Principal Corporal Valdez and some conscripts from his 60mm mortar team. The ten men moved cautiously along a trail under British tracer fire. Agüero felt like he was drugged — he kept stumbling and leaning on the nearest soldier for support.

When they reached the quarry, three illumination flares began to fall. Everyone hit the ground, staying completely still until darkness returned. There, Agüero found two of his conscripts:
Iñíguez, bleeding heavily from a neck wound, was begging for water, and
Leguizamón, who had carried him despite being in a state of severe nervous exhaustion.

Agüero, utterly drained, collapsed.
Both he and Iñíguez were placed on stretchers in an attempt to move them, but the slippery terrain made it too risky — they had no choice but to continue on foot.

They finally reached Mount William, barely able to walk. There, they made contact with Second Corporal Humberto Chasampi’s group from Nácar’s 1st Section, who placed them in a sheltered spot. They couldn’t be moved to the Battalion’s First Aid Post (PUSO), as the Casa Amarilla area was under intense bombardment.

“Agüero, can you go on? We need to keep moving,” asked the medic.
“No, I can’t. And I don’t think Iñíguez can either.”
“I’ll stay and look after them,” said conscript Yovino, who had a shrapnel-induced injury to his right knee and could have used the opportunity to retreat from the front line.
“No, go on, Yovino.”
“No, I’m staying.”
“Alright,” said the medic. “In a couple of hours, someone will come for you.”

They settled in to rest. They covered Iñíguez with a blanket — he wouldn’t stop bleeding and kept asking for water, groaning constantly. Agüero and Yovino, both utterly exhausted, fell asleep.

When they woke up, around 11 a.m., the first thing they did was look over at Iñíguez. He lay motionless, eyes and mouth open. Agüero sat up, pressed his ear to the conscript’s chest, hoping for a heartbeat.
There was none.
He was dead.

Agüero closed his eyes and covered him.
“Poor lad,” he murmured, his voice breaking.
“Yes,” said Yovino. “Let’s find something to eat and some warmth.” He was trying to move past the death of his comrade. “I’m freezing.”
They found some milk and a few rations.
“Can you manage, Corporal?”
“I’ll try.”

“Look!” Yovino suddenly exclaimed, pointing at heavy helicopter and troop movement on Mount Harriet.
“They’re in the positions we used to hold,” said Agüero bitterly.
“Shall we go, Corporal? It’s clear no one’s coming for us.”

They descended from their position and followed a path. After only about 200 metres, they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter’s rotor blades.
They quickly climbed back up the slope, desperately searching for cover among the rocks and grass. Crouching down, they watched as two Sea King helicopters passed overhead and landed near Sapper Hill, disembarking troops who began firing with machine guns and automatic weapons.

They waited, hoping the helicopters would return the same way.
“Let’s go,” said Agüero. “Let’s try to reach the Battalion command post once and for all.”

They came down the hill again, marching with the hope of avoiding enemy contact — a hope that lasted only minutes. Suddenly, they heard a voice in English:
—“Stop! Don’t move. Hands up.”

Agüero and Yovino obeyed without hesitation.
Three Royal Marines in green berets emerged slowly from behind rocks, aiming their FAL rifles at them.

It was 2 p.m. on the 14th of June.

Malvinas: The Odyssey of the 4th Section (1/5)

The Odyssey of the 4th Section

(Part 1/5) 

This account tells the story of the creation and struggle of the mythical 4th Section of Company Nácar of BIM 5.
Extracted from the Book “BIM 5” by Emilio Villarino.

On 13 April, Lieutenant Junior Grade Carlos Vázquez arrived on the islands alongside Lieutenants Binotti and Colombo, three corporals, and six conscripts. Their mission was to form a forward air control team to guide the Argentine air force attacks. After spending two nights at Agruimvinas and eating “lifetime supplies” of chocolate, they were informed they would not be used as air controllers and were ordered to move to Casa Amarilla, the logistics base of BIM 5.

One by one, the three officers entered Captain Robacio's office. After waiting some time, it was Vázquez’s turn. Inside the small room, there was only a field table and a map pinned to the wall. Robacio informed him that he would join Company Nácar, based at Tumbledown. Vázquez, with Second Corporal Tejada and two conscripts, headed there.

Upon arrival, he was welcomed by Navy Lieutenant Villarraza and Colombo, who had been appointed second-in-command of the company. Villarraza said:
"Look, Lieutenant, I don’t have a specific role for you yet, but don’t worry—I’ll sort something out."

For several days, Vázquez had no defined role, until Captain Robacio decided to form the 4th Rifle Section of Company Nácar (every company normally has three rifle sections and one heavy weapons support section).
The 4th Section was composed of the reconnaissance group led by Warrant Officer Fochesatto and personnel from the mobile group (soldiers previously assigned to clean-up duties), under Warrant Officer Julio Saturnino Castillo.

Arrival of Army Troops

Early in the morning of 12 June 1982, Vázquez was alerted that army personnel were retreating towards their positions. They were soldiers from the 4th and 12th Regiments—some wounded, others unarmed. Captain Robacio's orders were clear: any man fit for combat was to be retained and deployed. Vázquez evacuated the wounded to the rear and placed the armed—two corporals and five soldiers—in vacant foxholes.

Among them was a man sitting motionless on a rock, clearly in shock. He was a second lieutenant. Vázquez helped him into the shelter and offered him a hot broth:
"We have no food, but this will do you good. What’s your name?"
"Monsteirín," the sub-lieutenant replied without lifting his eyes from the cup.
"I’m from Regiment 12."
"Well then, stay here and get some rest," Vázquez said.

Later that morning, a sentry raised the alarm: a column of 15 army men was approaching under heavy British artillery fire. Vázquez left his foxhole and sought cover behind a rock, from where he watched the troops advancing, trying to dodge exploding shells. Once they reached the 4th Section’s lines, he had them move forward in pairs and assigned them to empty positions.

The last of the group was a second lieutenant. As he approached, he said:
"Hello, how are you?"
"Hi, how’s it going?" replied Vázquez, puzzled: “Who the hell is this guy?” He had no idea where they might have met.
"Look where we’ve ended up seeing each other," the other officer said.
Still unsure of his identity, Vázquez replied out of courtesy:
"Well, that’s war for you."
"Is your wife’s brother here?"
"As far as I know, he’s on the mainland," answered Vázquez, realising he did indeed know him. It was Second Lieutenant Oscar Silva from the 4th Infantry Regiment, a classmate of Vázquez’s brother-in-law.
"And how are you doing?"
"Still eager to fight," Silva replied.

"I have orders to hold anyone fit for combat," Vázquez said.
These men had just retreated from positions captured by the British and had been awake all night. Despite being exhausted, soaked, and freezing, Silva didn’t hesitate:

"All I ask is the chance to get back at the Brits for what they did to us at Mount Two Sisters."
"You and your men are a blessing," said Vázquez.
"My right flank is wide open and there’s a big gap between Lieutenant Miño’s section (which is covering our rear) and mine. You’ll be a huge help."

The men spent the rest of the day occupying foxholes. Those who couldn’t find shelter improvised. Sub-Lieutenant Silva, a corporal, and four soldiers took position on the path they would use to retreat and regroup with Miño’s section if needed. From there, they could support Warrant Officer Second Class Castillo’s group to the right. Using rocks, they built makeshift shelters.

The Eve of Battle

13 June dawned with brilliant sunshine—undoubtedly one of the finest days since BIM 5 had occupied that part of the Falklands. Around midday, Warrant Officer Fochesatto informed Vázquez that Lieutenant Villarraza, Company Nácar's commander, wanted him at company HQ for a meeting.

Vázquez walked the 1,500 metres accompanied by a conscript with a fixed bayonet, in case of British infiltrators. He was more worried about what might be hiding behind rocks than the constant shelling. Upon arriving at the command post, he found Major Jaimet from RI-6 and other section leaders from Companies Nácar and Miño. One of the companies had retreated to Tumbledown and was now in reserve.

Villarraza addressed them:

"The enemy will almost certainly attack tonight,"

He then gave final combat instructions.
At the end of the meeting, he added:

"I expect you to fulfil your duty and fight bravely, honouring the Argentine Marine Infantry. The time has come to show the British what we are made of."

These were plain, direct words that stirred every officer present. Vázquez shook Villarraza’s hand and said:

"I hope we meet again when this is all over."

At around 18:00 hrs, Vázquez held a final meeting with his leaders: Sub-Lieutenants Silva and Monsteirín; Warrant Officers Fochesatto and Castillo; and Second Corporal Tejada. They gathered in his foxhole—the largest—where they discussed matters for two hours and issued the final instructions for that night. They believed they would flank the British as it was thought they would attack Mount Williams—but fate had other plans.

They reviewed coordination measures, prearranged signals (to initiate final protective fire, ceasefire, and planned withdrawal to a ridgeline). These were standard elements of a combat operations order for a small unit.

At 20:00, after the meeting, they ate their last remaining food: a tin of peaches—the only solid food they’d had in three days.

"This feels like the Last Supper," Vázquez joked.
"If we see each other tomorrow in daylight, it means we won and are alive. If not, it means we lost—and heaven has electric fairy lights."

Each man shook the commander’s hand and wished one another luck. Castillo and Tejada headed to the right flank with Sub-Lieutenant Silva. Everyone seemed calm. No one showed signs of fear or insecurity—although surely they felt it inside. But they were confident they would fight to the end.
An end that, by then, was in God’s hands.
“Everything’s been played,” was how they truly felt. At that point, it no longer depended solely on their actions—but on destiny.

Malvinas: Enemy's Cluster Bomb

Explosion of Fear

Malvinas: Historias de coraje




At Goose Meadow, the Amphibious Engineer Company was busy assembling so-called cluster bombs or belugas, those that, when opened, release several small bombs.
"Be more careful!" the second-in-command challenged Chief Warrant Officer Marcos Edmundo Quiroga.
"Sir, I'm 41 years old. I've lived long enough, and I don't even have a family to worry about."
A few days later, the group was detonating a bomb at the airport when a red alert sounded: a British air attack was coming. And Chief Warrant Officer Quiroga ran at full speed to the shelters.
"But how?!" "The superior officer teased him. "Haven't you lived long enough?"
"This is different," the non-commissioned officer said with a smile on his face.
There were only three men, and they had to neutralize 900 devices in two days.

Malvinas: White Alert in the 4th Infantry Regiment

WHITE ALERT!

Excerpt from the book “We Shall Return” by Captain Farinella of the 4th Infantry Regiment

Second Lieutenant Mario Héctor Juárez of the 4th Regiment recalls:

Our 120mm mortar position was, quite logically, set farther back than the front-line units. This meant we were somewhat isolated — even with our TA-321 PT field phones. In a strange way, that semi-isolation gave our days a certain rhythm; a kind of quiet routine that felt almost like being among family. Or more precisely, camaraderie.

As the leader of that small “family,” I made sure everything that mattered to us ran smoothly. One method we devised to keep the unit sharp and responsive was using colour-coded alerts to signal different enemy actions.

“Red Alert” meant air attack.
“Black Alert” meant enemy landing.
We’d even add directions — “Red Alert from the North!” — so everyone knew where to expect the enemy and prepare their weapons accordingly.

Our mortar position, shielded by a ring of rocks, was a rare luxury in that harsh environment. It gave us shelter from the biting winds, freezing rain, and constant cold — conditions that made even basic cooking an ordeal.

In my role as head of this makeshift family, whenever a food-related emergency arose, I’d initiate a special protocol I’d created myself: “White Alert.” This wasn’t a colour used for actual combat purposes — it was strictly internal code.

One morning, someone suddenly shouted, “White Alert from the South!”
Instantly, the men sprang into action, grabbing helmets, rushing to positions, bracing for an attack. The shout had been loud enough to set off a chain reaction — even those who hadn’t heard it directly copied the urgent behaviour around them. In a matter of seconds, nearly the entire position was on high alert.

After five or ten minutes of tense waiting, confusion began to spread. People started asking what exactly was going on — what was this White Alert? No one seemed to know.

I had to step in and explain: it was just three or four sheep that had wandered nearby. The “alert” had been intended solely for the rescue party, so they could rush out and catch them.

Dinner was served that night.

Malvinas: The Braves of the 25th IR (1/2)

"Gato" Section, the Braves of the 25th Infantry Regiment

Part 1 || Part 2

Account by Corporal Diego Enrique Pesaresi, Member of RI 25, Company "C", Section "Gato"

We arrived on the islands on April 2nd. Initially, we were stationed in Puerto Argentino, and later we were transferred to Darwin. On a day whose date I do not recall, our section departed towards San Carlos to carry out a mission. Upon arrival, we encountered the section commanded by Second Lieutenant Vázquez, which remained to reinforce the strait. Sergeant Reyes ordered me to ascend to Height 234 with three other soldiers, carrying a tent and a radio set. Our mission was to monitor the strait and report any enemy presence via radio. We had no radar—only a pair of binoculars, FAL rifles, a MAG machine gun, a FAP, and a mortar.

Once in position, we began surveillance. One night, around 1:00 a.m., under heavy fog, we started to hear unidentified noises. Suddenly, naval shelling began in support of the British landing. We quickly took our rifles and moved to rendezvous with Sergeant Reyes. Fierce fighting ensued, and we inflicted significant casualties on the enemy. We endured heavy enemy fire for hours. At dawn, our ordeal truly began.

Lieutenant Esteban’s section was located in San Carlos, and we were supposed to regroup with them. However, this proved impossible, and we were forced to begin a retreat. We marched at night and rested during the day. At one point, British troops passed extremely close—just a few meters away. Fortunately, they did not see us. The combat was intense; tracer bullets fell like rain. Yet, Second Lieutenant Reyes skillfully protected us and led us out of that hellish barrage. By then, Sergeant Martín Colque was no longer with us—he had remained by his mortar, enduring hunger and cold.

The eleven of us who remained began walking toward Puerto Argentino. At one point, we sensed we were being pursued. To evade capture, Reyes ordered us to cross a river branch and hide behind a mountain. From there, we could observe the enemy searching for us, barely a hundred meters away. For reasons unknown, British troops in a helicopter mistakenly opened fire on their own men, likely believing we were the target.

The freezing river water caused several cases of frostbite: Corporal Hugo Godoy and Soldiers Moyano and Cepeda suffered in their feet, while Soldier Alarcón was affected in his hands. We carried the wounded on our backs, as they were unable to walk.

Exhausted and weakened, Second Lieutenant Reyes ordered a halt. We took shelter in a kind of cave, which we named la cobacha. The injured were delirious, speaking incoherently, clearly beyond their physical limits. After days without food, the first thing we ate was a wild goose, which Reyes shot with his pistol. In the distance, we spotted a house. Reyes instructed us to investigate it. Upon arrival, we found it abandoned; the only food we discovered was sugar.

We visited the house several times. On one occasion, as we were leaving, a British helicopter attempted to land in front of it. We were spotted, but managed to hide in a small shed filled with scrap metal. Without Reyes present, we did not know what to do. In hindsight, we realize we could have opened fire and neutralized the invaders. They saw us clearly. In desperation, we ran back to the cobacha and reported the incident to Reyes, who immediately ordered the evacuation of the area.

We were forced to leave the wounded behind in the cobacha, leaving them with what little food we had—a raw lamb. By then, we had learned to hunt and eat raw meat, as lighting a fire was not an option.