A-4Q Skyhawk Last Outfit

The last “outfit” of the A-4Q Skyhawk

Sean Eternos los Laureles




This camouflage scheme is a consequence of the massacre of A-4Q “Skyhawks” at the hands of Sea Harriers on 21 May 1982 over San Carlos Strait. They detected them after being tracked by the CIC of HMS “Hermes” and vectored towards them; but when the British pilots reached the estimated area, they did not find the target because the A-4Qs were flying at sea level and the FRS.1’s Blue Fox radar did not have Doppler scan (on the FA.2 it was replaced by the more capable Blue Vixen with pulse-Doppler), so they could not pick up our Skyhawks. However, at the last moment they almost by chance spotted three white dots moving over a dark grey stretch of water in the strait, and that was enough: the Sea Harriers pounced on the Argentine Skyhawks, which at first had not even noticed their presence. Quickly, Márquez’s 3-A-314 was hit by 30 mm ADEN cannon fire from Leeming’s FRS.1 XZ500; and Philippi’s 3-A-307 was struck by an AIM-9L missile from Morrell’s FRS.1 XZ457. 



Both were shot down: Márquez was killed in that action, while Philippi managed to eject. Meanwhile, César Arca in 3-A-312 spotted what was happening and began desperate evasive manoeuvres, limited by the low-level flight profile he was maintaining (seeking to “merge” with enemy radars and missiles using ground/sea clutter), until a number of 30 mm ADEN rounds from Morrell’s FRS.1 XZ457 hit him as well. Even so, thanks to his impressive skill on the stick and pedals (he had no other defence), Arca managed to escape with his damaged Skyhawk, and the Sea Harriers, already short of fuel, could not pursue him at sea level, where their Mk.104 Pegasus engines would guzzle kerosene at rates that would prevent them returning to the carrier. Thus, with serious damage and leaking fuel, unable to get back to Río Grande, Tierra del Fuego, Arca managed to fly as far as Puerto Argentino in the hope of making an emergency landing on the runway. But controllers on the ground warned him that one leg of the landing gear had not deployed. At that point Arca decided to abandon the aircraft, since landing on the runway was impossible. He ejected while the aircraft continued flying and began to turn, threatening to collide with the pilot already hanging under his parachute—so from the ground the decision was taken to shoot the aircraft down with Argentine anti-aircraft artillery, and it crashed some 400 metres from the runway.

The A-4Qs had already completed their attack on the Type 21 frigate HMS “Ardent”, which was also attacked by other Navy A-4Qs, and by Air Force Daggers and A-4Bs, and ended up sinking (as can be clearly seen in the photos. Attack and sinking of HMS “Ardent”. But during their escape, Philippi’s 1st Section was betrayed by its light grey paint (which from a distance looked white to the Sea Harrier pilots!!!) against the dark South Atlantic, and that proved fatal for Skyhawks in retreat: with no warning systems or active or passive countermeasures, with no weapons to defend themselves (even the 20 mm ammunition for the Colt cannons had already been fired at “Ardent”), and without enough fuel to manoeuvre in air combat and then reach the KC-130H tankers and return to the mainland.

The A-4Qs were cleared to carry AIM-9B Sidewinder missiles; in fact, on 1 and 2 May 1982, two A-4Qs were aboard the aircraft carrier ARA “25 de Mayo” in an air-defence role (the other six A-4Qs were held with bombs to attack enemy ships), when—together with the two Argentine Type 42 destroyers (ARA “Hércules” and ARA “Santísima Trinidad”)—it tried to close within range of the Task Force. Despite having two aircraft carriers equipped with between 24 and 28 Sea Harrier fighters, and having between 6 and 10 escorting destroyers and frigates, the British avoided combat thanks to their higher speed. They could have ended the war that same day if they had managed to destroy the small Argentine naval group, since at all times they knew the Argentine formation’s position—whether through satellite tracking provided by the USA, and also by the nuclear submarine HMS “Spartan”, which from 28 or 29 April was pursuing the Argentine carrier; and even via a Sea Harrier that, while trying to shoot down an Argentine S-2E Tracker, came within range of the Argentine escorts’ Sea Dart missiles and had to break off. The Royal Navy, at the maximum speed its engines could provide, preferred to run away from the Argentine Navy!

It is evident that, face to face—and with sufficient anti-aircraft armament and fuel in the capable Skyhawks, and with our Navy’s experienced pilots—the outcome might have been very different…; because on 1 and 2 May a British naval force two to three times larger than the Argentine naval formation, and with three or more times Argentina’s air capability, the Royal Navy chose to flee for two whole days at full speed rather than confront Argentine sailors with their old aircraft—already suspecting the lethality of our pilots with their ageing mounts and weapons.

But on 21 May the die was cast. Much of the Royal Navy was anchored in San Carlos Bay landing troops, with the rest sailing nearby to block the entry routes of Argentine air attack formations. Thanks to experienced British commanders who planned the defensive scheme well, almost every approach run towards the enemy troop and cargo transports was covered by British escorts, so that Argentine aircraft inevitably ran into frigates or destroyers (which in turn covered one another and were also covered from land by Rapier missile launchers) before our aircraft could reach the transports. Again and again they were forced to bomb escorts without being able to strike the transports. In that picture, the case of HMS “Ardent” was different: in the middle of San Carlos Strait she was shelling Argentine positions at Darwin, seeking to pin them down to prevent them moving towards the San Carlos beachhead—something impossible for our troops, who could only arrive on foot with whatever weapons and ammunition they could carry, exposed to enemy air and naval attacks, to face thousands of well-equipped and well-supported British troops. But the British did not want to risk the entire landing operation because of that. And once again they risked an escort ship to achieve their aims (that is what such ships are for), and HMS “Ardent” was that ship. By harassing Argentine troops ashore, she quickly drew the attention of Argentine aviation and concentrated no fewer than five attack missions involving more than 15 aircraft, which tore her to pieces—while also drawing attacks away from the beachhead. Argentina lost three A-4Q fighter-bombers, curiously—and this is the key detail—because they were painted white, which is how British pilots perceived them from a distance, intercepted them and shot them down. In other circumstances at that distance, aircraft camouflaged like the Air Force Daggers and A-4Bs would have gone unnoticed (not at closer range, where they would still have been spotted by eye). The camouflage scheme of Argentina’s naval Skyhawks, obviously combined with the circumstances and the long-range attack profile—fuel-limited, without passive-defence systems, without self-defence missiles, and flying at sea level as the only form of evasion—proved fatal for the Argentine aircraft.

The Argentine Navy took note of this as operations developed, realising that the US Navy scheme on Argentina’s naval fighter-bombers was not suitable for the South Atlantic. And so, after this incident, they set about “hiding” the conspicuous Skyhawks from the enemy’s eye.

On that basis, several schemes were tested during and after the war, as seen in the images, all of them far more effective than the US Navy’s pearl-grey/white. In the end it was concluded that naval grey was the most suitable, both because these aircraft operated primarily over a naval environment, and because it also proved effective over land—at least in island theatres and along the Patagonian coasts of the South Atlantic. In addition, insignia and numbers were reduced or eliminated to the minimum, although a striking light blue and white rudder was retained, which—while suitable for peacetime—would very likely have been covered or blurred in wartime, in the manner of British Sea Harriers and Harriers during the conflict. On the way to the Malvinas they removed all markings that might stand out to the human eye (or optical sensors) in a theatre like the South Atlantic, even eliminating the white ring of the roundel on wings and fuselage—including on the Vulcans, Victors, Nimrods and Hercules used from Ascension Island, and the Phantoms that provided air defence at Ascension.

On the underside of the Skyhawks, a medium-tone grey was adopted, more compatible with the sky when viewed by enemy anti-aircraft gunners with the aircraft silhouetted against a sky background.

This was the scheme with which the Douglas A-4Q Skyhawk “retired” from the Argentine Navy without receiving an adequate replacement, around 1988, although some aircraft still flew in the old US Navy scheme, since it was known their service life would soon end—as it did—and they did not invest even in paint to camouflage them. Even so, it is obvious that if a mobilisation like those of 1982—or even 1978—had occurred (in 1978 very effective protective schemes had also been tested), it is hard to understand why, as soon as the Argentine mobilisation to respond to the British attack began in 1982 (from 7 April), the Skyhawks were not camouflaged. The Task Force sailed on 5 April towards the Malvinas, but Argentina waited 48 more hours before decreeing a massive mobilisation of troops and equipment to the islands, waiting to see what measures the UN would adopt, since Resolution 502 of 3 April 1982—requiring a cessation of hostilities and withdrawal of troops from the area—was in force for both Argentina and Great Britain. Yet while Argentina, on the very same 2 April 1982 when we recovered the islands, had begun withdrawing troops back to the mainland, five Royal Navy ships (including a nuclear submarine) were already heading towards the Malvinas; and on 5 April the attack began when the Task Force sailed from Portsmouth. By 7 April, in the face of the UN’s absolute passivity (Argentina always sought to act lawfully and to negotiate—always!), and after the TIAR—which in theory should have led all of the Americas, including the United States, to mobilise to defend Argentina—the UN never even acknowledged it; and the TIAR (Inter-American Treaty of Reciprocal Assistance), by wrongly considering Argentina the aggressor—impossible, since British aggression dates from 2 January 1833 when it occupied the islands and expelled the Argentine authorities—did not respond. Argentina thus began mobilisation to defend the Malvinas Islands and South Georgia (the first reinforcement troops began arriving in the Malvinas on 11 April, and in South Georgia on 25 April), finally violating Resolution 502—after the British had done so two days earlier. It is obvious there was enough time to reconsider the A-4Q camouflage scheme, yet on 1 May they entered action with an unsuitable scheme, and incredibly on 21 May they still retained it; and worse still, it was expected that by the end of June Great Britain would have to surrender or withdraw from operations because its endurance would run out. At that point Argentina’s Sea Fleet would begin the counterattack to harass them, including the Argentine aircraft carrier with its Skyhawks, of which only 5 or 6 units were then available (with one recovered from Espora), and more incredibly still, they still retained the suicidal US Navy scheme.

P.S.: The scale model was made some years ago by the author of this text. It is actually a 1/72 Douglas A-4A Skyhawk that I had to modify into an A-4B (Q) with putty and parts from a blister-pack of spares to make the in-flight refuelling probe, the VHF aerial and the dorsal Doppler fairing, as well as the arrestor hook, since the kit I bought lacked them. The serial number and insignia are purely hand-painted (using the tip of a wooden toothpick as a “pen”). The Snakeye bombs—like those used by Philippi’s 1st Section in the HMS “Ardent” attack mentioned above, carrying four 227 kg Mk-82s per aircraft—and their bomb rack were leftovers from an F-117 or an A-10 kit, I cannot remember which now, and I added them to complete the model. The aircraft stand with the national colours was actually from a 1/72 Grumman F-4F Wildcat kit, which I had not used because when I built it (in a US Navy 1943 North Atlantic scheme, when the F-6F Hellcat was already taking its place) I built it with the landing gear down; so I later reused it—this time—to display this A-4A configured as an A-4Q (B) of the CANA (later COAN) of the Argentine Navy in an in-flight attack configuration.

Can Argentina Become a Gas & Petroleum Power?

Can Argentina Become a Petroleum Power?

President Javier Milei’s reforms aim to reverse Argentina’s long economic decline through fiscal discipline and shrinking the state. A key advantage is the rapid development of Vaca Muerta, a vast shale formation in Neuquén Province (roughly Belgium-sized) holding massive tight oil and gas reserves extractable via fracking.Vaca Muerta has drawn major international and local companies like Chevron, Shell, YPF, Vista Energy, and Pan American Energy, despite historical investment risks in Argentina. Production has surged: Argentine crude output rose from 479,000 barrels per day (bpd) in 2017 to around 757,000 bpd in 2024, with recent data showing records like 861,000 bpd in late 2025, driven largely by Vaca Muerta shale (often 65-70% of total). Projections suggest it could reach 1 million bpd by 2030.Milei has accelerated progress with the RIGI incentive regime, offering tax breaks, forex access, and 30-year guarantees for large investments—especially attractive for hydrocarbons. Infrastructure is expanding, including new pipelines to the Atlantic (set to handle up to 700,000 bpd eventually) and reactivated routes to Chile, plus gas lines to reduce imports and enable exports.This boom reshapes Latin American energy dynamics. Argentina has overtaken Colombia and could challenge traditional leaders. Venezuela’s output has collapsed under mismanagement and sanctions; Mexico’s has declined due to nationalist policies and Pemex issues; Brazil leads via offshore fields, while Guyana rises fast. Argentina’s growth, plus potential in other shale areas and offshore, positions it as an emerging regional heavyweight.Oil revenues provide a crucial cushion for Milei’s plans, contributing to a $5.67 billion energy trade surplus in 2024 (likely higher now) and supporting IMF loans and exchange control reforms. The sector now makes up about 3.4% of GDP and is growing.Risks remain: global hydrocarbon demand may wane due to climate concerns (which Milei dismisses), while Argentina’s history of resource nationalism, populist spending, and nationalizations looms. Shale wells deplete quickly, requiring ongoing investment that depends on sustained favorable policies beyond Milei’s term (ending 2027).

The rise of Vaca Muerta as an oil province—coming on top of the increased production from Brazil and Guyana—means that Latin America will continue to be an important contributor to global energy needs. This is taking place even though Venezuela (which has the world’s largest proven oil reserves) remains trapped by its disastrous governance and the resulting sanctions, while any reform of Mexico’s oil regime is incipient at best. From the US’s perspective, the presence of a friendly government in Argentina, and of an important American company, Chevron, in a leading role, bodes well for future relations, if this welcoming environment can be sustained.

For now, strong international interest signals confidence. If managed wisely, Vaca Muerta’s revenues could give Argentina the breathing room needed for lasting economic recovery and stability—potentially transforming it into a significant petroleum power.

BIM 5: The War of Second Corporal Agüero (1/2)

The Fight of Second Corporal Agüero – Part 1

Account taken from Revista Desembarco

Second Corporal Juan Carlos Agüero took part in the Malvinas War as a member of OBRA Company of the 5th Marine Infantry Battalion (BIM 5).

Second Corporal Agüero says: in 1982 I was posted to the 5th Marine Infantry Battalion. I was the leader of the 3rd Riflemen Group of OBRA Company. Our commander was Commander Carlos Robacio.

OBRA Company was, in reality, a reinforced rifle section: we were about 88 men—small for a company and large for a section. Our Company Commander was Sub-Lieutenant Ricardo Luis Quiroga, and the company senior NCO was Second Petty Officer Roberto Tejerina. The company’s organisation was three rifle groups, a 60 mm mortar and machine-gun group (two guns), a rocket-launcher detachment, the PELCA (command platoon formed by the commander and some 3 or 4 conscripts) and, when we arrived in the Malvinas, Second Corporal (medic) Angelossi joined us.

Once we arrived in the Malvinas and positions were assigned to BIM 5, we occupied a position between Mount Longdon and Wireless Ridge. Because of its size, our company had always been used in training as a reserve unit or as a forward observation unit, and in the Malvinas that was our mission: we were the battalion reserve. But with the arrival of Army regiments, we were ordered to move to another sector, near the positions of a company from RI-3. At that time we were still the reserve of BIM 5, but on 5 June, after repeatedly asking higher command to protect the avenue of approach—the only road linking Fitz Roy with the settlement—Captain Robacio decided to move his OBRA Company to Pony Pass, a forward sector. There the company would establish a blocking position.

Second Corporal Agüero recalls:

“My rifle group’s position was laid out on ground sloping down from W to E, but cut by a dried-up pond and a small natural rocky embankment, which allowed us to conceal ourselves if we had to fall back to the East. The northern end was marked by a distinctive rock beside the road leading to Fitz Roy. We had a frontage of 70 metres and were 150 m from the Company Command Post. The positions were about 150–200 m from a livestock fence and the anti-personnel minefield. That distance was chosen to achieve the effectiveness of our own fires on the interdiction line.

About 50 m to the rear and in the centre of the Group there was a rest and storage area (rations, sleeping bags, etc.) called the ‘Bunker’. This place did not protect against fire—only shelter for resting under cover. The terrain offered fields of fire and observation sectors for all weapons, being more open and flatter towards the Group’s left flank. The Group was reinforced, almost at the end, with a machine gun and a 3.5-inch rocket-launcher detachment.

At night the positions were manned two men at a time, and the rocket-launcher detachment was tasked to cover a post beside the road. All positions were double and had roofs made of corrugated sheet, timber, or tarpaulins with stops. They protected us from wind and rain; protection against fire was limited.

The road to Fitz Roy forked about 2,000 m to our front; we could clearly observe the branch that ran along the slope of Mount Harriet, while the other was partly masked by the undulations of the ground.

We had a light intensifier for the FM, and a Litton helmet-mounted night sight with the MAG. Only I had PAF and PD EF grenades. Each soldier carried 7.62 mm ammunition according to the weapon he carried:

FAL: 500 rounds; FAP: 1,000 rounds; MAG: 4 to 6 boxes plus a reserve of 2,000 rounds; 3.5-inch rocket-launcher.

‘C’ rations for about three days, plus supplementary mess improvements.

During the period up to 11 June the Company received sporadic naval gunfire, without causing casualties or affecting us. It was evident that this fire was not directed at the position; it was attributed to dispersion or the ships’ corrections. Harrier aircraft also flew over the area on photographic or strike missions, though the latter were always carried out against the Main Battle Area.

During the night of 11 June and the early hours of 12 June we saw the fighting for Mount Harriet, but there was little we could do. The British were more than 2,000 m from us; only a fraction that attempted an attack from the mountain’s rear came within our range, at a distance of about 800 to 1,000 m. From my position, using the night sight, we could see them clearly; some wore fluorescent markings on the back of their helmets. As they climbed, we fired at them from behind with the machine gun brought by Master Corporal Álvarez, together with conscripts Rava and Patrone. At that range our fire was not very effective; we fired one belt and suddenly began receiving fire from 6 or 7 machine guns, so we had to take cover. The master corporal received the order to return, but the machine gun remained with us on the front line.

Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga ordered the 60 mm mortars forward to hit the British; the mortar rounds fell on the enemy, but we had no way of verifying their effectiveness. At the same time, Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga adjusted the field artillery fire onto Harriet.

Apparently, by around 00:00 the enemy controlled part of the mountain, but RI-4 was still fighting; we could see and hear the explosions. Around 01:30 the British pushed upwards again. While this was happening, the company commander, Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga, reported to the BIM 5 command post. Captain Robacio informed the sub-lieutenant—and the sub-lieutenant informed us—that we were to prepare, because we might be used in a counter-attack if higher command authorised it; the authorisation never came.

At about 03:00 we managed to recover two conscripts from RI-4’s service section (soldiers Ibañes and Vallejos). They were given dry clothing, combat rations and ammunition and were incorporated into the company. They remained with us until the end of the fighting. At dawn on 12 June, Mount Harriet was in British hands.”

Repulse of the Enemy — 13 June

During the night of 12/13 June the enemy continued moving troops and helicopters in the Mount Harriet area, but our company had no significant developments. Twilight began at 08:16. At 22:34 the moon rose, on its first day of the last quarter. Artillery fire intensified over Tumbledown–William, Sapper Hill… Morning broke, and 13 June passed without major developments. At 15:30, at about 900 m, we saw elements advancing in an extended line abreast in front of the Company, with an estimated strength of 2 or 3 sections, wearing black berets (Welsh). The company’s support weapons were in a position to open fire, but the Company Commander ordered us not to, in order not to give away the position. He decided to engage them with our own artillery and made the corresponding requests. He reported to the BIM 5 command, which in turn reported to the Army grouping command (AGRUP. EA), which ordered the area to be shelled with all available artillery (B/BIAC taking part, Battery B of the Marine Infantry field artillery battalion). The fire was highly effective and the enemy withdrew in disorder; bodies could be seen being blown into the air. They then pulled back westwards towards helicopters that were waiting for them. Once the mission by our artillery ended, two enemy helicopters collected the wounded, observed from “OBRA” and from the BIM 5 observation post at Tumbledown; we allowed this medical evacuation to be completed without fire. In Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga’s words: “Not the wounded.” These actions were seen by the entire Company.

On this, Second Corporal Agüero, leader of the 3rd Group, says:

“On 13 June, at about 12:00, we saw enemy troops moving on foot over Mount Harriet, coming from the north-west. We judged them to be about the size of a company. They emplaced 81 mm mortars on the mountain; their hand-carriage could be made out, and we observed about four weapons. Then some of the personnel came down from the mountain towards the crossroads. They set up about five 7.62 mm machine guns on the road fork (prominent rocks in the terrain). Enemy helicopters unloaded crates—probably ammunition. Later, between Mount Harriet and the crossroads, a helicopter lift of personnel began, with an estimated strength of less than a company. The helicopters were Sea King and Wasp types, all dark-coloured. The movement lasted about an hour. I discussed these events with the group and we prepared for combat. There was noticeable nervousness and tension among the men. We had it in our heads that we had come for something—and that something was going to happen.

At about 15:00 the enemy advanced in an extended line; our artillery fired, but the first rounds fell long, on the far side of Harriet, and we could not see the subsequent impacts—only the smoke rising into the sky. Then I saw clearly, halfway up the visible face of Harriet, an artillery impact. They were falling in the enemy’s general area, but far from him. Three more impacts were corrected and only then did we get onto the target. Then effective fire was delivered: I saw an explosion that threw three or four bodies into the air. Wounded could be seen; they scattered seeking cover, shouting, and we could hear them clearly. There were more explosions and more wounded; bodies flew and were scattered. After about 15 or 20 minutes, Sea King-type helicopters were seen evacuating the wounded; their number could not be determined because the aircraft were positioned facing our lines and masked them.

After that nothing else happened until, before dark, I observed along the road from the West a force of English troops in tight column, assessed as a company. Before reaching the crossroads they deployed into an extended line to the south of the road and halted in the ground they had reached. The English marched calmly, apparently because our positions were well camouflaged and they did not know we were there. I reported the situation by radio to Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga, left my position and checked the Group’s readiness for combat, reiterating that we would be attacked that night.

At that time Sub-Lieutenant Quiroga had a fractured ankle, the result of some artillery rounds falling short and, while running to cover to make the correction, he broke his ankle. He was later evacuated and replaced by Lieutenant Commander Carlos Alberto Calmels, who had been our Company Commander the previous year. Lieutenant Commander Calmels arrived about 20 minutes before the attack on our positions began.”

The Last A-4Q Skyhawk

Argentina’s unilateral disarmament

On 25 February 1988, the last flight of an A-4Q Skyhawk of the 3rd Naval Air Fighter and Attack Squadron of the COAN took place. Argentina’s unilateral disarmament is set in motion to create a state of absolute national defencelessness for the Argentine nation! The end begins…

The last flight of a Douglas A-4Q Skyhawk of the 3rd Naval Air Fighter and Attack Squadron of the COAN (Naval Aviation Command) of the Argentine Navy was carried out by aircraft 0655/3-A-302, flown by Lieutenant Arturo Médici. On 25 February 1988 he flew from Comandante Espora Naval Air Base to Jorge Newbery Airfield (Aeroparque) in the City of Buenos Aires, and from there it was taken to the illustrious Navy Mechanics School to be used as teaching material for officer cadets in the aeronautical branch.

This act—the withdrawal from service without replacement of the A-4Q Skyhawk system and the 3rd Squadron of the Argentine Navy—was the practical beginning of Argentina’s unilateral disarmament, since at the same time the aircraft carrier ARA “25 de Mayo” had also stopped sailing in order to undergo modernisation at AFNE (State Naval Shipyards and Factories; today ARS), with assistance from the Italian shipyard Fincantieri Cantieri Reuniti S.p.A. Neither Alfonsín’s left-leaning Radicalism nor, later, Peronism (which years later would give rise to the anti-nationalist, leftist Kirchnerism—the era of greatest degeneration, political corruption and legal unconstitutionality in Argentina) ever carried this out. It became the first major and unnecessary loss of Argentine defensive power after the 50% defence budget cut introduced from 1984 onwards, and the criminal application of the unconstitutional Decrees 157/83 and 158/83 by the PEN (National Executive Branch), which initiated a criminal political persecution of Argentine military personnel, civilians and police who, in war, saved the country by fighting and defeating the Castro–Guevarist subversion that was the nation’s enemy, through the legal unconstitutionality that gave rise to the illegal, circus-like “crimes against humanity” cases and trials.

Argentina’s unilateral disarmament, symbolised by the image of the last flight of an A-4Q fighter-bomber in Argentina, began to become reality at that moment, as the first naval aviation squadron and Argentina’s most powerful and important combat system (the aircraft carrier) were unnecessarily withdrawn from service by the political authority of the day. That authority did not cut a superfluous and even greater expense—what was and still is political spending—vastly greater than military, police and judicial spending combined. From that point, political posts began to grow and multiply until today the political apparatus is 1,000% oversized.

The immense majority of Argentines—whether through naivety and ignorance, or through the resentful hatred of those who waged war against Argentina and could not destroy us by force of arms (subversion and Great Britain), and who justified this “apparent” setback of lost capability—never perceived not only that it was the beginning of the end of Argentina as a sovereign state, but also that it did not even serve to save a single peso, build a single school or hospital, or pave the streets of a city. Instead, it meant the loss of military and industrial jobs, the closure of units and factories, the creation of unemployment, and the beginning of the end of reinvestment in the country through National Defence and the National Military Industry and all the branches derived from it—from industrial and service subcontracting to the social support networks of all those Argentines who began to be left out on the street with the loss of Argentine defensive capability—at the same time as the Argentine political apparatus began to grow, not only devouring those resources but also swallowing many more as it grew and continues to grow at the expense of the honest effort of only those Argentines who work, at the cost of destroying the nation’s defence, security and justice.

It looks like the last flight of a single warplane—something that some callow youths dreamed that, at some incredible moment, the same shameless, unpatriotic, fraudulent, thieving and traitorous politicians who withdrew it from service would somehow replace. But in truth it was the first blind flight into the abyss into which the Argentine nation is still falling today, in the same proportion as the criminal party-political apparatus of “the same people as always” continues to rise. For, as politicians sarcastically laugh in our faces with their famous slogan, we are “Argentina, a country with good people”…

Sean Eternos los Laureles

Argentine Aircrafts: The Demential Design of the IA-36 Cóndor

History of the Argentine IA 36 Cóndor passenger jet

The FMA IA 36 Cóndor was a 40-passenger aircraft project studied in Argentina by Kurt Tank in the early 1950s. It had the peculiarity of having five Rolls-Royce Nene II engines arranged in a ring around the rear part of the fuselage and fed by an air intake that completely encircled it.
The ambitious project, which was scheduled to fly in 1956, was delayed and would be buried in 1958 following a change of government.


With beautiful aerodynamic lines and five engines hidden within its fuselage, the Argentine IA 36 Cóndor passenger jet could have been the first commercial jet designed in Latin America at a time when jet aviation was in its infancy. Globally, only three jet airliners were pursuing that same direction of using jet propulsion: the De Havilland Comet, the Avro Canada C102, and the Tupolev Tu-104. Only the first managed to establish itself—though only briefly—since two of them crashed due to design errors, killing all passengers and crew. A fourth competitor seized the lead in commercial aviation: the Boeing 707, which capitalised on previous experience, with a suggestively very similar outline to the Argentine jet, which was ultimately cancelled by decision of the de facto government of the dictator Pedro Eugenio Aramburu during the regime known as the Revolución Libertadora in 1958.

Río Grande.—Designed by Kurt Tank, father of the Pulqui II, in 1951, the IA 36 Cóndor was a medium-span passenger aircraft fitted with jet engines, and would have been the first commercial jet designed in Latin America at a time when jet aviation was in its infancy, when only the De Havilland Comet, the Avro Canada C102, and the Tupolev Tu-104 constituted the only existing offer. With the Avro shelved for lack of resources, and sales of the Tupolev restricted to countries behind the Iron Curtain, the only option was the British Comet, whose fatal design flaws turned it into a death trap, crashing one after another in 1954. With good design and good engineering, the Argentine IA 36 could have become the leader of modern commercial aviation worldwide; however, with a similar design, it was the Boeing 707 that took the lead in commercial aviation.

The I.A. 36 Cóndor was a passenger transport aircraft project designed in Argentina by the Fábrica Militar de Aviones in the early 1950s. Project studies began in late 1951 with a design by Kurt Tank, from which a 1:34 scale mock-up was built for the wind tunnel, and a 1:1 scale wooden fuselage model.

The project featured five turbines (the turbojets would be the Rolls Royce “Nene II” model) in an enveloping annular configuration, although it was envisaged that they would be replaced by lighter and more powerful ones.

It could accommodate 32 to 40 passengers and reach a speed of 950 km/h (in that decade the British de Havilland Comet 3 developed 780 km/h).

The Cóndor had a wingspan of 34 m and, like the Pulqui II, had pronounced swept wings, benefiting its performance and economy in flight at high speeds, with an estimated range of 5,000 km.

The project was cancelled by decision of the de facto government of the dictator Pedro Eugenio Aramburu during the regime known as the Revolución Libertadora in 1958.

History

Alejandro Franco produced a historical summary of this emblematic aircraft and recalls that it is the 1940s; the course of the Second World War has changed and the Nazis have lost the initiative, thanks to the counter-offensive mounted by the Russians in the massive Battle of Kursk in July 1943. Not only has the German advance been halted, but the Russians have the initiative and will not stop until they reach the gates of Berlin in April 1945. It is only a matter of time before Adolf Hitler’s Germany falls, so, little by little, the Allied countries begin to make plans for the post-war period, even as German bombs continue to devastate Europe.

Among the reconstruction projects is the modernisation of commercial aviation. The aircraft the army uses to transport troops and war matériel—such as the enormous four-engined Lockheed L-049 Constellation—can easily be converted for civilian use, but they remain limited and noisy, even though it has an endurance range of 6,500 kilometres. Many begin to cast a sideways glance at jet technology, which is still cutting its teeth. Jet turbines are faster and quieter, but they are ravenous fuel guzzlers… and their maximum range is lower than the L-049 and similar aircraft of the period.

By the end of the 1940s, three models appeared: the de Havilland Comet (considered the first commercial aviation jet in history), which debuted in July 1949. The following month the Avro Canada C102 appeared, which never got beyond the prototype stage and would never be mass-produced. Six years later the third model debuted, the Tupolev Tu-104 (June 1955), which put the Soviet Union in the skies.

But a fourth passenger jet aircraft could have existed… and it would have been the Argentine IA 36 Cóndor.

This is the chronicle of a home-grown design with an unusual appearance and iconoclastic engineering, which could have put Argentina on the map of the world’s leading commercial aircraft producers. It is a pity the project never went beyond a sketch and only a couple of scale models were ever built.

A revolutionary and deranged design

The person responsible for the IA 36 Cóndor project was Kurt Tank, the father of the Pulqui II. We have already told the story of the Pulqui I and Pulqui II in the relevant article, but it is worth a brief recap here. Tank was a German engineer who worked designing fighters for the Nazis during the Second World War. When the conflict ended he was left unemployed and, unlike many of his peers—who were recruited by Americans and Soviets—Tank was left wandering around Europe without any valid job offer until Perón offered him employment. Perón wanted Argentina to have its own fighter and had tasked Emile Dewoitine—a Frenchman who had been a Nazi collaborator with the Vichy government during the war—with its development. But Dewoitine could not fully master jet technology—his speciality had always been propeller aircraft—and the project, called Pulqui I, had produced an unstable aircraft, difficult to fly and with poor performance. By contrast, Tank was more battle-hardened in jet technology and brought with him the plans for a pocket fighter—the Focke-Wulf Ta 183—which he expanded and refined to turn into the Pulqui II. And although it was superior in many respects to the Pulqui I, it still needed much work to be a practical and stable fighter.

Using the expertise learned in the development of the Pulqui II, Tank began to develop the prototype of a medium-span passenger aircraft fitted with jet engines. The idea was for it to be mass-produced to form the fleet of the newly established Aerolíneas Argentinas (1950). Development began in 1951 and it soon became evident that it was not a conventional design. While the Comet, Avro and Tupolev had their turbines set into the wings—a design decision that improved aerodynamics but made engine maintenance excessively complicated—Tank came up with the idea of putting the engines literally inside the aircraft, in a tail section larger and wider than the rest of the fuselage and mounted over the main section where the passengers were. The five Rolls Royce Nene II engines would use a single nozzle that would project thrust out through the tail of the aircraft.

Although it was innovative, the flaws in such a design were obvious at first glance. The 40 passengers of the IA 36 would be travelling “stuck” to the engines—as if they were strapped to a rocket—and the noise and heat would be unbearable. On the other hand, it was necessary to detach half the aircraft to slide the tail back, expose the engines and be able to maintain them. And the last (and potentially most dangerous) flaw was that if one of the engines failed (or, worse, if it exploded) it would immediately affect the other four, causing not only an immediate loss of power but raising to intolerable levels the risk that a fire would spread to the passenger section in a matter of seconds.

Aside from those details, the IA 36 Cóndor’s specifications sounded promising. It would have a wingspan of 34 metres; the five Rolls Royce engines would give it a maximum speed of 950 kilometres per hour, surpassing by almost 20% the performance of the de Havilland Comet 3, which was the standard of the day and which reached 780 kilometres per hour. Its range was 5,000 kilometres, which was ideal for flights both within our country and to reach most countries in South America without the need to refuel.

But even if the design had been successful, its passenger capacity worked against its viability. When commercial jets became the standard, it soon became evident that operating costs had to be offset by a greater number of passengers per flight. The Comet only became profitable when version 3 appeared in 1954 with capacity for 76 passengers instead of the 36 of the initial version. All these jet aircraft would be eclipsed by the appearance in 1957 of the Boeing 707 which, with capacity for 179 passengers (and turbines installed externally under the wings), would end up becoming the new and definitive standard of commercial aviation, which remains to this day. The rest of the jets mentioned above would fade away in its shadow and only the DC-8 from Douglas Aircraft (later, McDonnell Douglas) would be able to compete for the market by having similar capacity and performance.

Of the IA 36 Cóndor, some plans remained and two wooden models were made: one full-scale 1:1 and one 1:34 scale to be tested in the wind tunnel. With Perón’s fall in 1955 the project would be frozen and would ultimately be cancelled in 1958.

Argentine Aces: Bernardo De Larminat, From Neuquén to Face the Afrika Korps

The gaucho who fought the Nazis. He grew up in Neuquén, became a fighter pilot and was an “ace of the air” in the Second World War

By: Claudio Meunier
La Nación 




The lineage of a fighter pilot in the desert, symbolised in this well-known shot of De Larminat for Allied propaganda. (Claudio Meunier Archive).

In the endless wait, Bernardo De Larminat looks for his cigarettes. His fingers feel an envelope; he remembers that he must open it and read it. He takes it out with his trembling hand; he has not yet fully recovered from his first bout of Malaria which, days earlier, plunged his body into a dense drowsiness of fever.

He opens the envelope and, with his mouth, holds a small lit torch. The message, dated 25 August in London, comes from the Argentine Consulate General. They invite him to continue his paperwork for an extension regarding compulsory military service in Argentina. He laughs out loud; his comrades look at him; they do not understand what is happening to him. He knows that in days or hours he could be dead. The life of a combat pilot in the desert is short, too short. But, we bring forward the end of the story, Bernardo will not die (nor will he do his military service in Argentina).

Note from the Argentine Consulate in London issued on 25 August 1942 that arrived in Egypt shortly before the start of the second battle of El Alamein against the German forces in October 1942. (Claudio Meunier Archive).

Born on 25 December 1920 in Buenos Aires, Federal Capital, he was baptised Bernardo Noel Marie De Larminat. He is the son of Santiago De Larminat, a Frenchman, a pioneer of Patagonian development at the beginning of the 20th century.
Bernardo spends his childhood at the distant Estancia Cerro Los Pinos, the family home, a paradisiacal tract of land in the geography of the province of Neuquén. His life, marked by rural activity, keeps him far from any contact with civilisation. And, even less, with aviation.
The Second World War motivates him. Principles of other times: chivalry, representing France through his volunteering and the defence of democracy, for our country, Argentina.
Determined to become a volunteer, he tries to join the Argentines who converge on a training camp in Canada where the “Free French” of General De Gaulle gather.

However, the passenger ship that transports him houses another group of idealistic Argentines with whom he strikes up a friendship and they, too, are going to war in Canada, but with another direction, to a flying school.

The group’s unanimous objective is to obtain the brevet and become Canadian combat aviators. Bernardo joins the initiative and for the first time in his life thinks about something he has never paid attention to: flying.

A Toronto newspaper reports on the Argentine volunteers who join the Canadian army to fight in the Second World War.

Accepted into the Royal Canadian Air Force, he must begin his flying instruction. Then he discovers an obstacle he had not foreseen, which blocks his way: he does not speak English. But his lack of knowledge of the language will save his life.

While his Argentine comrades of British stock advance easily, Bernardo is sent to acquire basic knowledge of English. To his disappointment, while he begins as an aviation cadet, his comrades receive their aviator wings and are sent to the European theatre of war.

Bernardo only receives his aviator wings on 6 December 1941, a few months later than his comrades. His instructor suggests to him:
—De Larminat, very good effort. Don’t go to the bombers; your Argentine comrades have almost all died on operations. Don’t get yourself killed; you know what to do to avoid it.

The best averages of each intake enjoy a unique benefit: they can choose the speciality they want to develop. Flying fighters or bombers. The curious thing is that the great majority of requests are denied or receive a contrary answer. Bernardo, who was a standout cadet, tests his luck: he requests to fly bombers. The answer does not surprise him: his wish is rejected and they send him to train as a fighter pilot. The trick works.

Bernardo de Larminat was born in the Federal Capital, but was raised in Neuquén. He took part in more than 300 combats, first with Canadian aviation and afterwards with De Gaulle’s “Free French”.

Take-off of Captain De Larminat in a Spitfire Mk. VIII during 1944 when he was acting Flight Commander of Squadron 417. (Claudio Meunier Archive).

On 7 December 1941, one day after obtaining his wings, Bernardo is shaken by news that comes over the radio: Japanese aviation carries out a massive attack on the American fleet moored at Pearl Harbour. He listens to President Roosevelt’s speech in which he declares war on the totalitarians of Europe.

Bernardo becomes a fighter pilot at 21 and flies one of the most advanced aircraft of his era, the last word in technology, the mythical Spitfire. Two years later, after calling at different flying schools perfecting himself in air combat, he is deployed first to Europe and later to North Africa. On 19 April 1943, being a veteran of the air, some miracle works on him and he avoids his first encounter with death (eternal and silent companion, it will stalk him until the end of the conflict). During a patrol flight, his flight commander bellows over the radio in a single shout:
—Half-turn to the left, German fighters!

Bernardo responds with an instinct —a thousand times rehearsed— and makes a violent turn. He evades the rain of shots falling from above. His comrade, flying in front of him, does not have the same luck and is shot down. Trapped in his Spitfire. Bernardo looks around; he has been left alone, surrounded by at least twenty-five enemy fighters. He desperately searches for his comrades, but they have vanished in the sky. The German fighters occupy his world: they are below, above, everywhere. He fires at one of them and misses. He attacks another with no result. There are so many that he can choose. He opens fire on several that rush quickly in front of his sights and hits one of them.

Practically at the same time, a strong explosion shakes his Spitfire. He feels a lash in his left leg that tears his foot off the control pedals. Yes, he has been hit.

Bernardo De Larminat aboard his Spitfire carrying out a patrol over the Tunisian desert. (Claudio Meunier Archive).

He is surrounded, over enemy territory. He flies hemmed in by Messerschmitt 109 fighters, an aeroplane that in the hands of a good pilot means certain death. Locked in an invisible cage, Bernardo believes he is living his last seconds of life. He takes advantage of the opportunity; he knows that if they fire on his aeroplane it is likely they will hit each other. Captain Gerhard Michalski, leader of the German group, realises the disorder and how the Spitfire is taking advantage of them at that moment. He orders a few to fly behind the lone Bernardo to shoot him down.

But the Argentine pilot attempts his last manoeuvre before dying: he pretends to lose control of his Spitfire and throws himself into a crazed descending spiral. Michalski and his pilots watch the aeroplane’s fall as it dives into some clouds and then disappears. Bernardo emerges below the clouds only to add more misfortunes to the events and regains control of his aeroplane just in time, before dying embedded against a hill he passes scraping. He escapes at low altitude, reaches the coast, continues across the plains of Tunisia, sights an aeroplane: it is a German Stuka bomber on a training flight. He opens fire and continues without being able to see what happens to his adversary. He flies at low altitude; the anti-aircraft batteries of the nearby enemy aerodrome fire at him; they also want to end his life.

Bernardo manages to reach the base, Goubrine, south-west of Tunisia, where his mechanics receive him. When he stops the engine, he hears several cries; the shouts multiply and his alarm grows. The petrol tank, which is located in front of the cockpit, has an enormous hole. Had it exploded, it would have turned him into a mass of flames. He has another hit on the engine, a direct shot that would have made him blow up into the air. But De Larminat, bearer of the lucky star of destiny, evades death.

Bernardo Noel Marie De Larminat aboard his Spitfire Mk.Vc while he was a pilot of Canadian Squadron 417 which operated against the forces of the Afrika Korps. (Claudio Meunier Archive).

At 23, he is promoted to Flight Commander. He leads into combat the select group of Canadian pilots who support with their flights the advance of the British Eighth Army. Death follows him and almost reaches him in 1944.

Everything ends abruptly when his Spitfire’s engine stops over the Adriatic Sea. He must jump by parachute, which will bring consequences for his body. When the parachute opens, his arm gets tangled and causes him serious injuries. He falls into the water. For a moment he cannot unfasten his parachute, which begins to drag him towards the depths. Finally he manages to free himself and swims with one arm. A rescue aircraft goes searching for him and everything ends in a hospital, with a cast. During his recovery, he receives bad news: the Canadians have decided to remove him from operations.
—That’s enough, De Larminat: you have completed 300 combat missions. You can return to your home in Argentina or serve as a flying instructor in Canada.

Quick-witted, he requests discharge from the Royal Canadian Air Force and, appealing to his French origin, enlists in General De Gaulle’s Free French air force.
—Very well, De Larminat, tell me… What can I do for you?, General Vallin, director of the Free French Air Force, asks him.
—I want to fly combat missions again, Bernardo answers.

Vallin looks at the impeccable record of the Argentine warrior. His experience in dive-bombing missions, his three confirmed shoot-downs and others damaged make Vallin not hesitate.
—Very well, De Larminat. You will be Flight Commander and you must operate in the advance on the Netherlands against the Germans, Vallin replies.

Bernardo, enthused by the answer, requests a few days’ leave before joining his new squadron, because he has paperwork to do. The request is granted.

He presents himself at the Argentine Consulate in London dressed in the aviator’s walking-out uniform to continue the extension for Compulsory Military Service in Argentina. The official, embarrassed on seeing his captain’s stripes, invites him for a coffee and suggests:
—Please, forget the matter; there are several cases, like yours; this will have some solution.

Bernardo flies as Flight Commander in the select French Squadron 341 composed of pilots of the same veteran status. Some of his comrades fly like him, without interruption, since 1942. In that same unit served the famous Franco-Brazilian volunteer and ace of the skies Pierre Clostermann. Bernardo will be the one to guide them into combat. Death pursues him and on 1 April 1945 sets a new trap for him. But De Larminat knows how to deal with it and, once again, evades it.

After attacking a German train behind enemy lines, with cannon fire and bombs, Nazi anti-aircraft projectiles hit the engine of his Spitfire which, damaged, stops. Bernardo knows he will not be able to return to his base and that he will fall behind enemy lines. He makes an emergency landing with the wheels up. The fighter slides over some furrows, crashes through a fence, some posts fly, and finally his aircraft stops. He opens the cockpit canopy, unfastens the harnesses and escapes from the aircraft. He discards his yellow life jacket that makes him visible and refrains from setting fire to the aircraft, as protocol indicates, because he does not want to draw attention.



1954. Bernardo De Larminat in his natural environment, the countryside and Patagonia with his dog and tack behind him. (Claudio Meunier Archive).

Some shots pass over his head. They are the Germans firing and converging on him from a nearby wood. Bernardo runs towards a ditch full of water, crosses a barbed fence and, covered in mud, reaches a house asking for help. A young woman answers him; she replies in perfect English:
—I’m very sorry, I can’t help you. I’m alone.

He continues his escape pursued by the echo of the battle. He heads towards a pine forest, where he hides. He sees petrol barrels hidden among the trees and is alarmed. What is that doing there? He looks carefully; he discovers German troops occupying the rings of the forest. He decides to hide very close to them. They will never think that an evader they are looking for is metres from their improvised detachment.

Bernardo, who at that moment has 320 war missions, thinks:
—How stupid it is to have come this far to die on the ground and isolated, without my parents knowing what has happened to me.

He remains hidden in a cave, covered with vegetation. He waits for night to escape under cover of darkness. When he emerges from his hiding place, he discovers that his legs are completely numb and barely allow him to stay standing. If he is discovered, he is a dead man.

Members of the Dutch resistance find him and evacuate him. Dressed in a mechanic’s overalls and an old cap, he walks through the rural streets until he reaches a refuge where he will be sheltered, together with other shot-down Allied aviators and a German sailor who has deserted the war. Days later, on a bicycle, pretending to be a local inhabitant, Bernardo crosses German troops withdrawing from the battle. The tired soldiers signal for him to stop; they ask him for cigarettes. Bernardo, naturally, speaks to them in French and offers them cigarettes. He greets them and continues his way towards the Allied lines.

Guided by the resistance to a Canadian regiment, he is received with joy. Despite his insistent protests, they cut his hair, subject him to frantic fumigations, inoculate him with vaccines against lice and force him to take a good shower to dispel the adrenaline in his body, after six intense days as an evader in enemy territory. At his squadron’s airfield there are celebrations at his return. Captain Andrieux orders him to take a holiday leave in Paris. Bernardo refuses. He requests to join operations immediately. One day later, he leads new attacks with his flight over the German front.

Not far from that front, his brother Andrés —an Argentine volunteer in the service of Free France— fights as a crewman of a Sherman tank under General Leclerc’s orders. Like Bernardo, the lucky star of destiny makes him a surviving veteran of the Second World War.

When Germany capitulates, Captain Bernardo De Larminat receives all kinds of decorations. Great Britain awards him the Distinguished Flying Cross. He is also consecrated a “Knight of the Legion of Honour” and receives the French Croix de Guerre with four palms and seven citations from the French government for his professionalism and devotion to duty in combat.

Happy to have evaded death day by day for four years, he requests his discharge and returns to his beloved Patagonia, to his life in the countryside. He feels privileged to have flown one of the best fighters of the Second World War. Bernardo decides that he will only fly again as a passenger, on airliners. But on two occasions destiny puts him again in front of an aircraft’s controls. The first time was during a cattle auction, in La Pampa. The commission firm transports him as a passenger. The pilot, on discovering Bernardo’s interest in his aeroplane, since he did not stop asking him questions, invites him to fly on his right, in the co-pilot’s seat. During the flight, the aeroplane enters a storm zone; the pilot becomes disoriented and loses control. De Larminat takes the controls, stabilises the aeroplane, gives control back to the pilot and teaches him something learned in the war:
—Man! You have to trust your instruments blindly!



Bernardo De Larminat, together with his ten children. Raised in a rural environment, they continued their father’s legacy. (Mercedes De Larminat Archive).


A cross in Neuquén, by a fence

Bernardo married María Inés Teresa Francisca Cornet D’Hunval (Manina) and they had ten children. A marriage that lived with minimal comfort, in primitive rural areas far from any town. Without communications and with bad roads, in that way they made their way in life. At the end of the 1960s, Bernardo became vice-president of the Rural Society of Choele Choel. He kept working the rest of his days in the countryside. He spent his last summers in Tierra del Fuego. After shearing, he asked his son Eduardo for the Veranada post in the mountains. With his eighty years on his back, he went to look after the cattle that were driven there, accompanied by some of his daughters and grandchildren. He did not leave a corner untravelled. Hills, peat bogs, ravines. He slept on the saddle blanket. They were his holidays, if that word was ever in his vocabulary.



Manina and Bernardo, a marriage that, together with their children, upheld by their example livestock and agricultural work, without any rest, until their last days. (Photograph Inés De Larminat).

He died on 6 January 2010, aged 89, in Zapala. He was buried at Estancia El Bosque, El Huecú, Neuquén, next to his wife Manina, by a fence. That was his wish. There he lies now, turned into legend.

Regarding his Compulsory Military Service, the government of the time decreed that Argentine volunteer pilots who fought alongside the Allied forces were to be exempted from that obligation. And not only that: the same law made Bernardo an Officer of the Reserve in the Argentine Air Force. A similar case to that of Claudio Alan Withington, a man from Córdoba from Villa Huidobro who flew in the Second World War with the British air force (RAF) and who later, in 1982, during the Falklands War, flew with the Argentine Air Force.

……………..But that is another story…