Malvinas: Call Sign Fortin 1

Call Sign Fortín 1

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



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