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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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: The Actions of BIM 5 Obra Company

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

Change of Mission

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lieutenant Quiroga's Injury

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

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

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

2. Movement: Withdrawal of the 1st Group.

3. Movement: Withdrawal of the 2nd Group.

Final Movement: Machine guns and 60 mm mortars.

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

The Retreat

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

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

Malvinas: A Tribute to the Heroes of BIM 5

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

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


 


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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malvinas: Tumbledown Night

Tumbledown: Blood and Courage

The Battle of Mount Tumbledown: A Nocturnal Clash in the Malvinas War

The Battle of Mount Tumbledown took place on the night of June 13–14, 1982, as part of the British campaign to recapture Puerto Argentino, the capital of the Malvinas Islands. It was a brutal, close-quarters fight in freezing, rugged terrain, pitting the Argentine 5th Marine Infantry Battalion (BIM 5) against a British force comprising the 2nd Battalion Scots Guards, the 1st Battalion 7th Gurkha Rifles, elements of 42 Commando Royal Marines, and supporting units like the Welsh Guards and Blues and Royals. The battle’s savagery stemmed from its nocturnal setting, the rocky landscape, and the desperate stakes for both sides.

The Setting: A Dark, Hostile Landscape

Imagine a moonless night, the Malvinas’ winter wind slicing through the air, temperatures hovering near freezing. Mount Tumbledown, a jagged, 750-foot-high ridge of crags and boulders, looms west of Stanley. Its slopes are slick with wet peat and frost, littered with rocks perfect for defensive positions. The Argentine 5th Marines, under Commander Carlos Robacio, are dug into trenches and sangars (stone shelters), their positions fortified with machine guns, mortars, and snipers. They’re cold-weather trained, hardened, and determined to hold this key height overlooking the capital. On the British side, soldiers huddle in the darkness near Goat Ridge, their breath visible as they prepare for a silent advance, weighed down by packs, rifles, and anti-tank weapons.

The Opening Moves: Diversion and Stealth

Picture the battle starting at 8:30 p.m. local time. A diversionary attack kicks off south of Tumbledown—four light tanks from the Blues and Royals (two Scorpions, two Scimitars) rumble forward, their engines roaring, accompanied by a small Scots Guards detachment. Their muzzle flashes light up the night, drawing Argentine fire. Meanwhile, the main assault begins from the west: three companies of Scots Guards—Left Flank, Right Flank, and G Company—move silently in phases, bayonets fixed, under cover of darkness. Mortar teams from 42 Commando set up behind, ready to rain shells, while naval gunfire from HMS Active’s 4.5-inch gun booms offshore, its explosions illuminating the horizon in brief, eerie flashes.

The Clash: Savage Close-Quarters Fighting

Visualize the moment the Scots Guards hit the Argentine lines. Left Flank Company, leading the assault, creeps undetected to the western slopes—then a Guardsman spots an Argentine sniper. A single shot rings out, followed by a volley of 66mm anti-tank rockets streaking through the dark, their fiery trails briefly exposing the enemy. The Guards charge, machine-gunners and riflemen firing from the hip, a chaotic line of muzzle flashes advancing over open ground. Argentine marines of N Company, entrenched with FAL rifles and MAG machine guns, return fire—tracers arc across the night, ricocheting off rocks. Grenades explode, showering shale and dirt; bayonets clash in brutal hand-to-hand combat. The air fills with shouts, screams, and the metallic clatter of weapons.

Halfway up, Left Flank’s 15 Platoon, under Lieutenant Alasdair Mitchell, takes heavy casualties—two men fall dead, others wounded, their blood staining the rocks. Right Flank Company, under Major John Kiszely, pushes east, meeting fierce resistance from Marine Sub-Lieutenant Carlos Vázquez’s 4th Platoon. Phosphorous grenades burst, casting a ghastly white glow, revealing Argentine defenders fighting from crag to crag. The Scots Guards lose eight dead and 43 wounded in this relentless grind, their red tunics (in spirit, if not literal uniform) soaked in sweat and blood.

The Gurkhas and Mount William: A Parallel Struggle

Now shift your gaze south to Mount William, a sub-hill held by the Argentine O Company. The 1st Battalion 7th Gurkha Rifles, held in reserve initially, moves in after Tumbledown’s summit is secured. Picture Gurkhas in camouflage, kukris gleaming faintly, advancing across a shell-pocked saddle under Argentine mortar fire from Sapper Hill. Eight are wounded as shells burst in the soft peat, muffling some blasts but not the chaos. They take Mount William by 9:00 a.m., their disciplined advance a stark contrast to the earlier melee, yet no less determined. Robacio would say "We're not afraid of them, they fell like flies". They were humans after all.

 

The Welsh Guards and Sapper Hill: Delayed but Deadly

Imagine the Welsh Guards, paired with Royal Marines, stuck in a minefield en route to Sapper Hill. Their frustration mounts as Argentine mortars pound them from above, one man killed earlier on a motorbike dispatch. They’re meant to follow the Gurkhas but are bogged down, their silhouettes barely visible in the pre-dawn murk, cursing the delay as shells whistle overhead.

 

The Argentine Retreat: A Final Stand

See the Argentine 5th Marines’ resolve crack as dawn nears. A sniper—perhaps Private Luis Bordón—fires at a British Scout helicopter evacuating wounded, injuring two Guardsmen before being cut down in a hail of Scots Guards gunfire. By 9:00 a.m., the Scots Guards hold Tumbledown’s eastern high ground, and the Gurkhas secure Mount William. Commander Robacio plans a counterattack from Sapper Hill, but his men—16 dead, 64 wounded—begin a disciplined retreat toward Puerto Argentino, marching in parade order, colors high, defiant even in defeat. Thirty Argentine bodies lie scattered across the battlefield, a testament to the fight’s ferocity. As soon as Robacio arrives, ask the Militar Governor Menéndez to send all of his men to the front. He was disregarded.

The Aftermath: A Hard-Won Victory

Envision the scene at sunrise: British troops, exhausted, consolidate their positions. The Scots Guards’ Pipe Major James Riddell stands atop Tumbledown, his bagpipes wailing “The Crags of Tumbledown Mountain,” a haunting tribute to the fallen. A Volvo BV-202 lies wrecked by a mine, its crew dazed. The British tally: 10 dead (8 Scots Guards, 1 Welsh Guard, 1 Royal Engineer), over 60 wounded. Medals—DSOs, Military Crosses, Distinguished Conduct Medals—will follow, but for now, the survivors catch their breath, the road to Puerto Argentino open at last.