Malvinas: Height 234 and the 21-Day March

Height 234 and the 21-Day March

What took the Güemes Combat Team three days of marching and a helicopter flight cost Section “Gato” 21 days, physical deformities, lower-limb amputations, and, ultimately, surrender. After arriving in the San Carlos area, First Lieutenant Daniel Esteban deployed an advance element to warn of and ambush a potential British landing. On Tuesday 18 May, Second Lieutenant Roberto Oscar Reyes was due to relieve Second Lieutenant José Alberto Vásquez at the so-called Height 234, or Fanning Head according to British cartography. Section “Gato” consisted of four NCOs and 15 soldiers: the group of 21 infantrymen marched 14 kilometres towards the mouth of the strait with the mission of “providing early warning to the Force and, once reinforced with heavy weapons, ambushing any British troops that might enter through the channel”.

“The previous night was much like the ones before it, that is to say freezing and with very poor visibility — you couldn’t see two metres ahead,” recalled Reyes, who at the time was 25 years old and had four years of military training. Half an hour before Thursday turned into Friday, a soldier posted on security duty informed him that he could hear noises in the channel: conversations in English and acoustic signals coming from the mouth of the strait. The second lieutenant confirmed the suspicion: vessels were moving silently and with their lights off towards San Carlos.

The group of soldiers had two 81 mm mortars and two 105 mm recoilless guns to carry out the ambush. Reyes issued orders to prepare for combat and warned of the imminent opening of fire. But the first thing he tried to do was establish communication with First Lieutenant Daniel Esteban at the San Carlos command post. The batteries in the radio, after three days exposed to the cold, had very little charge left: the call went through, they could hear them, but they could not be heard in return. “This is Gato, this is Gato,” they said, unsuccessfully. The attempt at communication, and the subsequent explosion of the shells, may already have been warning enough.

A few minutes after two in the morning on Friday 21 May 1982 came their baptism of fire. The ships were within mortar range, but visibility was almost non-existent. “A few improper lights could be seen on deck and some conversations could be clearly heard carrying across the water; the fleet continued its stealthy advance and apparently had not detected us,” Reyes described. He ordered fire to be opened with the mortars using illumination rounds in order to determine the exact location and improve the effectiveness of the guns. But the strategy failed and the element of surprise was lost: the rounds did not light up the trajectory, and their own position was revealed by the flash of the shot. “From the moment the firing began until around three in the morning, I ordered several changes of position until the mortar ammunition was exhausted. From then on, the enemy reaction became more intense,” the second lieutenant later wrote in a personal account. Enemy fire was beginning to find the Argentine soldiers’ position. It was time to withdraw: “I ordered preparations for the retreat to begin. I was convinced that we had fulfilled the mission of alerting our forces and ambushing the British.” In perfect Spanish, a spokesman from a British ground patrol called on them to surrender. “They told us they were part of a battalion that had landed and that they would not harm us if we gave ourselves up, that we were surrounded and would not be able to get out, that we should hand over our weapons. This psychological action by the British had exactly the opposite effect on all of us: it made us want to break contact, withdraw, and rejoin our forces in San Carlos,” Reyes recalled. It had been more than three hours of intermittent, varied, but sustained attack.

Of the 21 combatants, only 11 remained together. The wounded and those who had gone missing amid the confusion of the withdrawal and counter-action had been captured as prisoners of war: none had been killed. The British were still searching for them and were so close that it seemed incredible they had not spotted them. They had just 40 rounds per man left. Their hiding place became a privileged front-row seat from which to watch Argentine aircraft attacking the British fleet of 17 ships.

On the first night they set out south-eastwards towards Puerto Argentino, following the coastline. They walked at night, covering roughly 3 kilometres a day. “We had no protection from the cold other than the clothes we were wearing. The damp, thick mist was always present; at times it was indistinguishable from a fine, freezing drizzle,” the second lieutenant recounted. Fear and the instinct for survival masked the hunger and the anguish. To escape a detachment of 15 British soldiers, they had to cross an inlet of the sea with soldiers who could not swim. They lost rifles, and Corporal Hugo Godoy nearly drowned, but the worst came afterwards: soaked clothing and the certainty of permanent cold.

Trench foot and gangrene were advancing rapidly in three soldiers. Godoy, Moyano and Cepeda needed urgent medical attention. They were left in the care of Clot, the soldier in the best physical condition, with enough food for two days, a first-aid kit, and orders to delay enemy pursuit by a day so as to give the other seven combatants time to continue their feat.

After marching for five nights, they reached a small settlement identified as New House, apparently deserted. “We were a truly pitiful group. Our clothes were in tatters, we were ill, our faces disfigured by suffering. None of us was older than 25, yet we looked like a group of wandering old men,” Reyes recounted. On the 21st day of the epic attempt to reach their own lines, they were woken by a full section that had encircled the settlement: a kelper hidden on the property had betrayed them. “From a position in the shed, I had a British soldier in my sights, and I told my men to do the same with others, but not to fire until I gave the order,” he described. Reyes calls himself a “professional soldier”: “I was prepared for the worst, and if I had ordered fire to be opened, those soldiers, though at the very end of their strength, would have done so. But I turned around and looked at them: we had lost the capacity to fight, we were in no condition to withstand even the slightest attack and get out of the place. I decided this was the end of our war; the time had come to surrender. I walked outside and laid down my weapon.”

Section “Gato” never managed to return to Puerto Argentino or reunite with the Güemes Combat Team. It was 11 June 1982: three days later, the Malvinas War would come to an end. The landing at San Carlos remains a source of pride for First Lieutenant Carlos Daniel Esteban and Second Lieutenant Roberto Oscar Reyes. It matters little that the operation was successful for the British troops. Such were the symptoms of an unbelievable war.

Puedo hacerte también una versión más literaria, más periodística, o más fiel al tono militar original.

San Carlos Landing: Accounts of the Troops of the 12th Regiment

Accounts of the Landing at San Carlos

By former Second Lieutenant “VGM” José Alberto Vázquez

Malvinas: Historias de Coraje




I was in command of a section of the 12th Regiment. On 15 May, in the Goose Green area, I embarked with my section aboard an Argentine Air Force Chinook helicopter, together with one 105 mm recoilless gun and two 81 mm mortars. Destination: somewhere in the north of the island. Two hours earlier, First Lieutenant Esteban and Second Lieutenant Reyes had done the same with their rifle section. At approximately 15:30 we arrived north of Height 234. The disembarkation was very rapid, as there were CAPs (combat air patrols) in the area. “Tell me where my commanding officer is,” I asked the vice commodore in charge of the helicopter. He replied that he had been unable to pick up First Lieutenant Esteban because of the notorious CAPs, and that he was on the other side of the height. The Chinook lifted off heavily and disappeared behind the rise.

We were left in absolute silence, feeling only the cold wind striking our faces. I was alone with my soldiers at the north-western tip of East Malvina; the sky was covered by a great mass of grey clouds, but on the far side of the strait one could clearly make out West Malvina. Behind me was the famous Height 234 (where Reyes, with 20 soldiers, would fight a short and violent battle against British commandos), and before me the immense Atlantic Ocean; and beyond that, Buenos Aires, where my wife and son were. I quickly abandoned my thoughts and organised the defence of the position. I had no idea whatsoever where the rest of the combat team was, and I needed to make contact as soon as possible, as I had less than two hours of daylight left. This task took me 45 minutes.

I left the section with its senior NCO and set off with Private Alberto Espinosa and Corporal Mansilla to look for the rest of the detachment. Strictly speaking, I should have sent out a patrol, but in real combat situations, and at the lowest command level (section), every activity was either led by the commander of the detachment or it was not done at all. That would become a defining characteristic from then on. There are circumstances in which the smallest tactical-level unit must divide. That is why, in war, the figure of the sergeant (section senior NCO) becomes fundamentally important in leading the section if necessary.

Armed with our personal weapons and ration bags, we began marching south, skirting the height on its eastern side. After 15 minutes of marching, we came upon a great stretch of water jutting eastwards into the island like a wedge. There was no trace of the detachment, only a small light visible on the far side of the strait (3 km away) to the south, and to the east, along the coast, a tiny glimmer that occasionally disappeared. There was no alternative but to head towards it.

The ground near the coast was full of irregularities, but I could not abandon the only point of reference I had, because I had neither compass nor map of the area, night was already closing in, and I had not the slightest idea where I was. After four hours of marching in pitch darkness, we came upon a small settlement, the first house 100 metres from our position. I knew that enemy special forces (SAS and SBS) were operating on the island, and I had to take the necessary precautions. For that reason I left my two men covering me from that position while I carried out a reconnaissance. Through one of the windows I saw a man and a woman having dinner. After giving the agreed signal, we entered the house, to the fright of its occupants. With my poor English I managed to learn that the place was San Carlos settlement and that Argentine soldiers had been occupying it since midday.

I left the NCO in the house and had the man accompany me to the bivouac of the supposed Argentines, with my pistol held 10 cm from the back of his neck. When I heard, “Halt, who goes there?”, I calmed down, and the kelper breathed again. I offered the appropriate apologies and joined my commanding officer. We spent the night there. First Lieutenant Esteban brought me up to date on the mission: in the event of a landing, we were to provide early warning and defend the position. He had established San Carlos settlement as the base and the observation post on Height 234. The combat team would be divided into three groups of 20 men, and together with Second Lieutenant Reyes (we called him Chelco) we would rotate; reliefs would take place every two days. The first shift would be under my command.

As my combat role weapon was a PA3 machine-pistol, Esteban had given me, before we left Goose Green, an Enfield .303 rifle with a case full of ammunition; thus, together with Private Espinosa, who did not carry an FAL because he was a radio operator, we formed an inseparable pair for the rest of the war, as he would be responsible for keeping me supplied with ammunition and I would be his shield of fire with that splendid Second World War rifle.

Before dawn, we drank some hot mate and set off for the post on Height 234 with First Lieutenant Esteban and 20 men. We arrived after two and a half hours of marching, and once the defence had been organised, Esteban and a group of men returned to base.

It was 16 May and my first wedding anniversary. Right then, two men set off and returned with a lamb, which we spitted and roasted using posts broken off from a wire fence. I had brought several packs of tinned soft drinks hidden in empty projectile boxes; I had borrowed them the night before departure from the store kept in the stone house (the command post of Task Force “Mercedes”) at Goose Green. Eight kilometres away lay the base of Combat Team “Güemes”, at Port San Carlos. The route was extremely difficult: stones, peat, and streams that could scarcely be seen, which made movement very hard indeed.

On the 17th I awoke very early, at first light, put water in my helmet, washed my face and teeth, and combed my hair. I heated a little water in my mug and prepared some mates. We had improvised the mate cup out of a soft-drink tin cut in half, and the bombilla was an empty BIC pen with the white cap and a few holes made with a heated nail.

At around 10:30, Second Lieutenant Reyes arrived with the relief. He had sprained his ankle. They were quite tired, and I offered them cold lamb and Coca-Cola. Chelco laughed and said to me: “You’re the only one who could welcome me with such a feast at the end of the earth, Rat.” And he embraced me. Rat was the nickname they had given me at the Military College, because I always found ways of getting hold of provisions, finding somewhere to curl up, and sleeping whenever possible.

Before leaving, we agreed to carry out the relief every five days because of the great wear and tear caused by marching across such terrain. I handed my helmet over to Reyes because he did not have one; the men of RI 25 wore berets. I then returned with my men to the base, with one less problem on my mind. At Goose Green I had had a fairly heated argument with a more senior officer who wanted me to wear my helmet in order to set an example to the troops, and he became quite angry when I told him that the example ought to be set by him, sleeping and eating rations with his men rather than under a roof in a house, as he had been doing.

At San Carlos we lived relatively well compared with the point on the strait. The inhabitants carried on with their normal lives, and we had to buy sugar, flour, and other things from them at market prices — their market prices, depending on how they happened to feel that day. Through our communications equipment (a Yaesu FT-101, a radio amateur set requisitioned from the kelpers in Darwin), I was able to speak with my wife.

On the morning of the 19th, sweeping frequencies, I picked up Belgrano II Antarctic Army Base communicating with the Antarctic Command. Since January, my wife’s cousin, engineer Gustavo Fossati, had been stationed there. In a matter of minutes, they established a radiotelephone connection with my in-laws’ house, and I was able to hear news of my family.

On several occasions during the night, enemy helicopters flew over us on reconnaissance missions, and with increasing frequency. That, together with other factors such as the geographical characteristics of the place, indicated that the enemy would carry out some action against our positions, and would do so soon.

On the night of the 20th, while I was organising my patrol for the next day’s relief on the 21st, the enemy began an intense preparatory, or softening-up, bombardment on various points of the island. Over the radio we heard several posts confirming those attacks. Lieutenant Esteban called me and informed me that he had changed the plans. A landing was now obvious. I had to send an NCO and a soldier to Height 234, with the համապատասխան communications set (Thompson), to give early warning in the event of a British landing. Reyes had to withdraw to our base with the men and the mortars, in order to form a defence with the whole combat team on the heights behind us. Unfortunately, we had no engineering tools, but the position was highly advantageous.

At approximately 01:30 we heard a great explosion in the distance and, 20 minutes later, an attempted transmission from Reyes. Then absolute silence. Before dawn, I woke the men who were to relieve Reyes. At first light they would begin the march. With the first daylight I was checking the radio and the weapons they would carry when a soldier posted 150 metres away on the upward slope of a rise began shouting for us. The sight was astonishing. Where only hours earlier a few seagulls had circled above the calm waters at the mouth of the San Carlos River, there were now five frigates surrounding a ship ten times larger (the Queen Elizabeth), and landing craft heading towards Ajax Bay and towards Port San Carlos, which was our position.

At approximately 600 metres, one could see an advance element of the British 2nd Parachute Regiment beginning its approach in combat formation towards our positions. As we ran down at full speed, Esteban said to me: “Gather everyone and form two groups, the one on the left under your command and the one on the right under mine.”

We had less than five minutes left to take up position on the north-eastern heights. While Esteban communicated with the commander of III Brigade to report events, I organised the two columns. I remember the soldiers looking at me with wide eyes, tense faces, and quickened breathing, waiting for orders. For an instant I remembered the telegram from my father received a few days earlier: “Your wife, an example of fortitude. Your son healthy and strong. Be an example to your soldiers.” I felt my heart pounding madly, as though it were about to burst. It had never happened to me before. It was fear, a great deal of fear, and suddenly I found myself giving orders, I do not know how.

We began moving with only our weapons, with the enemy entering the small settlement. Had we not done so, it would have been a massacre, for they would have pinned us with their advance and overrun us with the helicopter we shot down minutes later; tactically, we would have been lost. What might have happened afterwards, only God knows. The fact is that Esteban’s decision was the right one. For when we reached the summit, we saw a Sea King attempting to land behind our base. First Lieutenant Esteban ordered: “Open fire!” The aircraft was hit and turned orange from the tracers striking it, then collapsed from low height (5 or 6 metres).

At that moment I saw Esteban begin a change of position. I followed him. I believe what worried Esteban was being pinned down: 42 men with two machine guns and ammunition for one hour of combat against a landing force which, from what we could see, numbered 400 men in our sector — 2 Para Battalion — supported by naval artillery and helicopters.

The ground before us consisted of small ridgelines 70 to 100 metres high, with a general slope down towards the river. Our direction of movement was parallel to the river and perpendicular to the ridgelines, generally west to east. We went up and down. We were descending a gentle slope; the mist had already lifted and we had good visibility, when the second helicopter appeared, this time a Gazelle with rocket pods on its sides. It came along the river, which is quite wide there. At that moment the two columns were parallel to the river, separated by 60 to 70 metres from one another. Mine was the furthest away, about 100 metres from the shore.

The attack began with the first shot fired by First Lieutenant Esteban, as agreed: concentrated FAL fire. That is the combat tactic against aerial targets when one has no missiles. It seemed that what my first-year instructor at the Military College, First Lieutenant Abete, had taught me actually worked. The aircraft crashed into the water. The soldiers shouted every kind of epithet as the helicopter sank.

At a signal from Esteban, I carried out another change of position. At that moment, enemy mortar fire began falling on our initial position. We crossed another ridgeline and a third helicopter appeared, another Gazelle. There was no longer any need to issue orders: the conscripts were already behaving like veterans, they knew what to do. But the aircraft spotted our position and manoeuvred to bring fire to bear. When it dipped its nose to take aim, we once again emptied the whole magazine at the same time and at the same target. As the ammunition was tracer — that is, one could see the trajectory of the projectile as a trail of fire — it looked as though it were being attacked with a flamethrower. By then several of the soldiers were firing from one knee or even standing up.

The Gazelle passed over the first column and flew completely out of control towards my column. Everything happened so quickly that there was no time to move. It crashed 15 metres in front of me. The soldiers’ shouting was uncontrollable: “LONG LIVE THE NATION, DAMN IT!”, mixed with some sapucai cries and various other words, was heard until a crewman emerged from the machine and many of us opened fire on him. He was defenceless, he posed no danger to my soldiers. Why did we kill him? I still feel deep anguish over that death. Although I know that in the emotional state we were all in, the only thing one thinks of is firing and firing and firing until nothing moves. Besides, moments earlier he had wanted to kill us, so at the time it seemed just.

The mortar fire continued, but it was obvious that they did not have our location, since it was falling on the previous position and the shape of the ground was shielding us. We crossed a great rise, like a headland, projecting into the wide San Carlos River, and found ourselves at a cliff 10 or 15 metres high. We climbed down with difficulty and took up position among the rocks beside the shore. We could already hear the engine of another helicopter. It appeared round the side of the headland, as though searching for us along the coast, but our cover was excellent and we let it come closer. When it entered range we opened fire again. It began to fall and we stopped shooting. Before hitting the water, the pilot managed to lift it and cross the headland, crashing on the far side.

We were too far away to expect reinforcements. It was clear that what we had to do was withdraw until we made contact with our own troops, 80 km away. We had no ammunition, provisions, or equipment for sleeping out in the open. We were all on the alert, waiting to see what the enemy’s next move would be, when we heard an aircraft approaching, and within seconds it passed at great speed and very low towards the enemy positions. It was an Aermacchi; later we learned it was being flown by Lieutenant Crippa. He had taken off as soon as our warning was received. It was the first aircraft to arrive and drop its bombs and fire its machine guns at a frigate.

At that moment I felt great relief and thought: “Now we’ll throw the whole air force at them and, in five hours, our commandos and B Company of RI 12, which is in reserve at Port Stanley, will counter-attack.” That was merely the thought of a second lieutenant. We had suffered no casualties. The British had lost four helicopters and nearly a dozen men.

We decided to wait to see whether we had any news of Reyes; besides, it was a safe place in which to catch our breath and clear our heads. Second Lieutenant Reyes and his group had fought a short and violent battle in the early hours of 21 May. He first endured naval bombardment on his positions and then an attack by the Special Boat Squadron (SBS), naval commandos, and several amphibious armoured vehicles. In that action he suffered six casualties.

Given the scale of the landing, and having lost almost half his men, he decided, taking advantage of the poor visibility of the night, to try to break out of the encirclement closing around him in order to avoid annihilation. He succeeded 24 hours later and began a withdrawal that lasted almost 20 days, with no food, exposed to the elements, and suffering severe health problems, to the point that, with a penknife, he had to amputate a corporal’s foot. Port Stanley had already fallen, and Reyes, with the five starving soldiers he had left, malnourished and some already without teeth because of decalcification, was finally surrounded by British forces who demanded his surrender.

He asked his soldiers whether they were willing to fight. But they did not answer; they simply awaited their commander’s order, as always. Reyes, knowing he had not the slightest chance of success, surrendered. In Buenos Aires, when two years later we met again and told each other what we had lived through, he said that it was the expression on those five faces that led him to surrender on that occasion.

Later, we began a slow withdrawal eastwards and by dusk reached an outpost of San Carlos settlement. But that is another story.

Assault on La Tablada: The Story of a Widow of the Nation

4: Liliana’s grief on the cover of GENTE. Ten days had passed since the attack on La Tablada, and it was still difficult to grasp what had happened.

The Widow of a Patriot Who Gave His Life for the Nation

 

1: Liliana’s memories: “We’d been married ten years. I don’t speak of Horacio as if he were perfect just because he passed away—I say it because that’s how I genuinely feel. We never had a problem. We had a solid marriage. That’s why, since he’s been gone, I’ve tried to continue with what we’d planned.”

La Tablada: The Widow of Lieutenant Colonel Horacio Fernández Cutiellos Speaks
Liliana Raffo, widow of the second-in-command of the regiment, remembers her husband, Horacio Fernández Cutiellos. He was the first soldier to fall under guerrilla fire on Monday, 23 January 1989.

On 21 January 1989, Liliana Raffo was celebrating her 34th birthday in Córdoba with her parents, siblings, and four children: Horacio Raúl (then aged 9), Inés María (7), María Victoria (4), and María del Rosario (2). From Buenos Aires, her husband, Horacio Fernández Cutiellos (37), rang to wish her well. Due to work commitments—he was then serving as deputy commander of Infantry Regiment No. 3 in La Tablada and would later be promoted to lieutenant colonel—he could not be part of the celebration. Sadly, he would also not be present at any future ones.

Fernández Cutiellos was the second-in-command of the 3rd Mechanised Infantry Regiment. According to the judicial investigation, he was struck by gunfire at 9:20 a.m. on Monday the 23rd while engaging the attackers from a column near the parade ground. He was the first of five soldiers to fall following the assault.

Today, Liliana Raffo welcomes GENTE magazine into her home in the city of Córdoba. Her 64th birthday is two days away, and as has happened for over three decades, her emotions are mixed. On one hand, she recalls the last time she spoke to Horacio—the last time she heard his voice. On the other, the memory of the attack on the barracks, on 23 and 24 January 1989, which took her husband’s life, comes flooding back.

"It never crossed my mind that something like this could happen. We were living under a democratic government—Alfonsín’s," she reflects. She pauses, sighs, and adds: "But well… life goes on. It’s become routine now to have unpleasant Christmases, unpleasant birthdays, or simply none at all—because every year on the anniversary I travel to Buenos Aires. This year I’m going to Pigüé, the new base of the regiment, where on Wednesday the 23rd there’ll be an official ceremony. The first in thirty years."

Liliana still refers to her four children as “the kids”, though the eldest is nearing 40. “I got through it thanks to them. When I felt like crying, I’d go to my mum’s or a friend’s. At home, I tried to stay strong for them. I spoiled them too, I admit… Instead of raising them with strict rules or asking for help around the house, I’d say: ‘Go play.’ Just to keep their minds off things,” she recalls of the years following her husband’s death.

3: “I try not to show it, but I feel a lot of anger. Sometimes I think my husband died in vain. My children lost so much. They had to learn to live without their father from a very young age.”

"Horacio is here, there, and there." From the armchair, Liliana points to various framed photos of her husband placed around the living room. What she regrets most, she says, is not having a recording of his voice. "It’s the first thing you lose. I don’t remember it anymore. I always say, ‘Why didn’t I record him?!’ I don’t even have a video—can you believe that? It was a different time," she consoles herself.

Liliana’s memories: “We’d been married ten years. I don’t speak of Horacio as if he were perfect just because he passed away—I say it because that’s how I genuinely feel. We never had a problem. We had a solid marriage. That’s why, since he’s been gone, I’ve tried to continue with what we’d planned.”


2: In her home in the city of Córdoba, Liliana Raffo keeps the memory of her husband, Lieutenant Colonel Horacio Fernández Cutiellos, alive.

A few days after the barracks were recovered, a handwritten letter by Horacio was found. “It was in his office, on his desk. It looks like he was writing it to the kids. I’ll let you read it, but please don’t publish it—my children would kill me,” she asks the journalist.

In black ink and cursive handwriting on a plain sheet of now yellowed paper, Horacio wrote to his “dear children” a sort of life manifesto speaking of love for others, respect for the environment, nature, and animals. Coincidence or not, one of his daughters—Inés María, now 37—is a qualified vet. “That was Horacio,” says Liliana as she wraps the letter in plastic. “I try not to show it, but I feel a lot of anger. Sometimes I think my husband died in vain. My children lost so much. They had to learn to live without their father from a very young age.”

“I try not to show it, but I feel a lot of anger. Sometimes I think my husband died in vain. My children lost so much.
They had to learn to live without their father from a very young age.”

– Did you tell them the truth straight away or wait until they were older?
– I told them straight away. I never lied. I remember that a few days after the assault, my eldest, Horacio Raúl, would sneak off to the newsagent to look for reports about his father. Later, on a flight to Buenos Aires, I had María Victoria—the four-year-old—on my lap. There was a terrible storm outside, and suddenly I saw her waving. I asked her: “What are you doing, my love?” She replied: “I’m saying goodbye to Daddy.” I nearly died.

– Do your children have memories of him?
– At one point, the youngest would say to me: “Why didn’t he stay with us? Why did he have to go and die?” And she’s right. With the four-year-old, every time I gave her a bath, I’d say: “Do you remember how Daddy used to dry you?” and I’d pat her with the towel like he did. She remembers that, but most of what they know is from what I’ve told them. Since he died, I’ve tried to carry on with what we had planned. Our top priority was always the children and their education. Today they’re all professionals. I believe—just like me—he would be proud of them.

23 January 1989
"I’m going to die defending the barracks—recover it, all of you."
— Major Horacio Fernández Cutiellos, Deputy Commander of the 3rd Mechanised Infantry Regiment of the Argentine Army, during the defence of the La Tablada Army Garrison.

Conscript Falcón, A Leader at Mount Longdon

Miguel Ángel Falcón – A Leader at Mount Longdon

He was born on 6 October 1962 in Barranqueras, Chaco Province. His family recalls that Miguel was always a rebellious child. He didn’t follow rules—neither at home nor at school. In fact, he was known for skipping school at least one day every week. He served in the 7th Infantry Regiment “Colonel Conde”. He was killed in action during the battle of Mount Longdon, and among his belongings a deck of Spanish playing cards was found.

That youthful rebelliousness would lead him to star in a memorable story on the night of his final battle. The event was recounted in a letter by a fellow veteran:

"On the night of 12 June, when the British attacked us—in a true hell, with hundreds of shells and tracer rounds lighting up the sky—I saw the first section of our company getting ready to support Company 'B'. Among them were Lieutenant Castañeda, a corporal, and 44 conscripts like myself. I saw them preparing in the dark, all in single file, silent, trembling. Suddenly, from the line, a very skinny soldier jumped out—a humble lad who barely spoke because he was shy. It was Private Falcón.

He started rallying the men, clapping his hands, doing squats, with his FAL rifle slung over his back, shouting: ‘Come on, dammit! Bloody Brits, we’re going to smash you! We are the 7th, the 7th Regiment, let’s go, dammit!’

Out of nowhere, a leader emerged—someone who, in the most extreme circumstances, lifted the spirits of the rest."

This section’s actions were later recorded in British books as among the most heroic feats of the land battles in the Falklands. Out of the 46 men who went forward, 25 returned. Falcón was among those who stayed behind.




The Passage to Eternity – Conscript Soldier Miguel Ángel Falcón

As recounted by then-Lieutenant Castañeda:

We were ordered to launch a counterattack, flanked by an infantry section and an engineering unit that had already attempted to advance and had only made it halfway up the ridge due to the intense British fire. It was the night of 11 to 12 June.

We were guided by a message-runner, a conscript serving Major Carrizo. This soldier knew a sheep trail across Mount Longdon, as he crossed it daily carrying messages and knew all its nooks and crannies.

Once in position, we faced an enemy that seemed to grow in number as the hours passed. Without hesitation, I sent the runner back and we launched the assault, regaining a large portion of the lost ground.

Castañeda’s men tried to match the British rate of fire to prevent them from gaining confidence. At the same time, they shouted and hurled insults. The British responded in kind. Some conscripts used ammunition and weapons taken from dead or retreating enemy soldiers, driven back by the momentum of the Argentine attack.

Returning to Lieutenant Castañeda’s account:

A few metres from me, Private Miguel Ángel Falcón’s rifle was spitting fire nonstop, showing the same drive he had when we first moved out. Suddenly, something extraordinary happened. Falcón became enraged. He left his position, stood defiantly in front of the British, and kept firing from the hip while screaming insults at them.

The noise was deafening—gunfire, grenades, rockets, artillery. The air was unbreathable. The explosions shook our bodies. I shouted at him, 'Don’t be a fool, get down!' But perhaps he didn’t hear me—or didn’t want to.

He fired everything he had, threw grenades. Eventually, a machine-gun burst hit him. Falcón dropped to his knees, and as he fell forward, the barrel of his rifle drove into the ground, his chest resting on the buttstock. He looked as if he were kneeling in prayer.

Braving enemy fire, Private Gustavo Luzardo ran to him, laid him gently on the ground, looked at me, and with a gesture made it clear that Falcón was gone."

Why did he act that way? “Only he knows,” said Lieutenant Castañeda. “I believe he no longer cared—he was doing what he truly felt. God had called him, and he went happily, knowing he had fulfilled his duty.”

The Battle of Mount Longdon lasted over twelve hours, despite the vast imbalance in forces. That night, Argentine soldiers endured more than 6,000 rounds of gunfire, mortar shells, grenades, and artillery barrages. It was a brutal fight that displayed the extraordinary courage of our combatants.

Private Falcón was posthumously awarded the Medal of the Argentine Nation for the Fallen in Combat, and was officially declared a National Hero of the 7th Infantry Regiment.

 

Malvinas: Ambush of a Harrier

Ambush of a Harrier

The 20th of May did not bring any major change. The soaked Commandos gathered up their disordered and even damaged kit to load it into the helicopters, where at least the pilots and ground crew had been spared the full force of the elements. But this difference in comfort was accepted by all, since it was in the troops’ interest that the pilots should remain as clear-headed as possible. They were on the slopes of Mount Rosalía. Only at about ten in the morning did things improve a little and, despite the risk of colliding with some rise in the ground, the helicopters took off; after fifteen minutes of flying practically blind, they had to set down again. A new opportunity around midday took them to an abandoned little house to the south — Rosalie House — where they landed with all the security measures appropriate to the warning that had brought them there. At about two in the afternoon the weather cleared, and half an hour later they finally arrived at Port Howard, thirty kilometres away. The operation was carried out late in relation to the original warning about the possible presence of the enemy, based on signals detected four days earlier. Even so, Major Castagneto detached two Puma helicopters — each carrying a section — to reconnoitre to the north and north-west of Howard, to a depth of fifteen kilometres, which produced no visible results. Nor was it the first time the Commandos had been used, as they said, “to chase sheep”…

There was little daylight left, and 601 Commando Company prepared to spend the night in the settlement, which was occupied by 5th Infantry Regiment. At that point Major Yanzi, in charge of the four helicopters, decided to return to refuel. Castagneto had argued, in front of General Parada, commander of 3rd Brigade, and Lieutenant Colonel Reveand, commander of the Helicopter Company, that those aircraft had to remain with the Commandos and must not deprive them of mobility. Castagneto and Reveand became embroiled in a heated argument: the helicopter commander cited the risks, and the Commando commander replied that in war everything was risky, and that even a shoot-down was compatible with the missions they were carrying out:

“Much more than the dollars a helicopter may be worth, the life of one of my Commandos is worth, and he may need that aircraft!” exclaimed an enraged Castagneto.

But no reasoning could change Lieutenant Colonel Reveand’s stance, and Major Yanzi set off back to the capital, leaving the Company isolated at Howard, completely cut off from the likely British landing areas on Gran Malvina Islando (East Falkland). That night the forty men bivouacked in a shearing shed near the rudimentary jetty, where part of a section of Engineers was also billeted. There they endured the rigours of atrocious cold, made worse by a constant wind that intensified it, and by the damp that seeped up through the gaps in the floorboards.

At first light on Friday 21st, Captain Frecha went to identify the dominant points from which to establish the anti-aircraft ambush, which was set up near the command post of 5th Regiment, in the centre of the settlement, practically along a fence that divided two fields. At Port Howard the regiment’s only anti-aircraft defence consisted of .50 calibre (12.7 mm) machine guns, with limited effective range: eight hundred metres at most. The Blowpipe missiles, by contrast, were effective out to three thousand metres. Although that Infantry Regiment was deployed there with two sections from 3rd Engineer Company and elements of 3rd Signals Company, up to that point Howard had lived a life similar — as Castagneto put it — to that of “a quiet summer afternoon in some Argentine province”.

Further south, at the mouth of Malvinas Strait (Falkland Sound), 8th Infantry Regiment with 9th Engineer Company was encamped at Fox Bay. The Commandos’ anti-aircraft group took up position one hundred and fifty metres from the water, near where A Company was located, in the following order: Captain Ricardo Frecha towards the bay area, near a peat store; then First Lieutenant Sergio Fernández; and then Corporal Jorge Martínez as aiming unit no. 3, each one separated by twenty metres. Fernández remained unhappy in that team because, as the commander of an assault section and eager to lead it in war, he had had to give up that role in the interests of the whole. He felt frustrated in the ambition of his entire life: he was a mere aimer, performing a task that, in his view, could have been carried out by a non-commissioned officer…

But the role of the man in charge of a surface-to-air missile is not as subordinate as this officer, in his state of mind, made it out to be. First, the aimer must place himself along the likely line of flight the aircraft will take, given the characteristics of the terrain; and secondly he must stand fully exposed, without any protection, in order to fire as nearly head-on as possible, since, owing to the aircraft’s speed, the missile is hard to guide effectively if it passes across the front: beyond three thousand metres it becomes uncontrollable.

With the sun up, at about quarter past eight, the sound of helicopter rotors began to be heard. At first the Commandos thought they were friendly, because they were coming from the direction of Darwin–Goose Green; but shortly afterwards they spotted, far off over the Sound, an aircraft that was clearly overflying the area on a reconnaissance mission, which Argentine helicopters did not do, as they took the most direct route. Half an hour later it approached Shag Cove — a nearby inlet — and any doubts were dispelled: it was an armed British Lynx. It remained there for quite some time and then left relatively close by, at about four kilometres, but beyond the range of ground fire.

The Company commander went to the central communications post to establish contact with Port Stanley and find out whether the aircraft would be hunted. The sound of jet engines was then heard. It could only be an enemy aircraft, and First Lieutenant Fernández thought immediately: “We are going into action.” He looked at his watch: it was five minutes to ten. They quickly took up their firing positions, aiming to the south-east towards the far end of the bay (four kilometres away), from an excellent location with a wide field of fire. As it came into clearer view, all doubt vanished: it was the unmistakable silhouette of a Harrier, with its two wide air intakes and swept wings. It was approaching on a slightly oblique course, possibly to observe the coast better, and when it was three thousand metres away, Frecha and Fernández opened fire. The two missiles shot off in parallel, simultaneously, towards the target.

The aircraft was flying low over the water, twenty metres above the surface, when it suddenly banked to its right, towards the opposite shore closing the bay. The pilot had seen the attack and was manoeuvring evasively, and it looked as though he were about to smash into the heights on the far side of the bay. But after some three hundred metres on that heading, and without reducing speed, he changed course and flew at low altitude over Howard. The incredible manoeuvrability of the aircraft meant that the two missiles exploded along the strip of shore running beside the Sound. As it flew over the settlement, the men of 5th Regiment, taken by surprise, did not manage to fire at it, and the aircraft disappeared behind the hills inland.

The three men handling the missiles were relatively close to one another so they could communicate without radios, as both their hands were occupied. Close by stood Major Mario Castagneto, who had come to join them, also in the open. “Those were moments when you had to set an example,” he explained to me. Four or five minutes later, a second Harrier appeared from the same direction as its partner. As everyone was now on full alert, it was observed more carefully. Its approach seemed endless to the anti-aircraft team tracking it through their sights. They tried to ensure an accurate shot by letting it come closer, since the further away it was, the more chance it had to evade the missiles. They felt the twenty-one kilos’ weight of the Blowpipes, which had now been reloaded.

The aircraft was coming in more head-on than the previous one, flying low, at around seven hundred and fifty kilometres per hour, enough to allow it to manoeuvre comfortably around the hills. Despite the aimers’ composure, through the sight it looked enormous, very close. When the Harrier began to turn side-on, at a thousand metres, Frecha and Fernández fired their missiles almost diagonally. A moment later and the shot would have been inaccurate. Because of a technical fault in his missile — which veered out of control towards some houses — Captain Frecha had to bring it down, and it fell some twenty-five metres away (it later had to be blown up). Corporal Martínez had not fired. But First Lieutenant Sergio Fernández had, and an explosion briefly hid the enemy aircraft from sight.

“I have that instant image seared into my mind,” recalls Fernández, “the explosion and the nose of the aircraft emerging from it.” Once the guidance phase of the missile was over, he lowered the weapon to see the whole picture and assess the effect of his shot. Disappointed, he saw that the Harrier was still flying, “and it had not disintegrated in the air like confetti”. But it began to trail smoke, to roll, and a fraction of a second later its pilot ejected and his orange-and-white parachute opened. The fighter-bomber continued on its path and then crashed a short distance away, at the bottom of the bay.

Everyone’s excitement was intense: now the infantry had gone into action for the first time, because they were forewarned, and their conduct had been outstanding, given that they were raw conscripts. They fired at the aircraft with every weapon they had, even pistols. The noise of rifle fire was impressive, though of limited effect, with their commander, Colonel Mabragaña, setting the example by firing his FAL standing fully exposed. Shouts of triumph, the characteristic correntino sapucai cries, filled the air, sharply contrasting with the tears of the kelper children, the hysterical outbursts of their mothers and the nervous crises of their fathers, who came out of the houses in which they had taken refuge when the aircraft activity began. Shots were still being fired, because the soldiers, who had fired at the already damaged Harrier, now continued to shoot at the figure of its pilot…

Without losing a second, Major Castagneto and the medical officer, Captain Llanos, jumped on two motorbikes and headed towards the bay where the airman was floating. Officers, NCOs and soldiers ran after them, some shouting as they went for the firing to stop:

“Cease fire! Cease fire! You’re going to hit the pilot!”

Fortunately, the euphoria, the distance and the movement combined to prevent them from hitting him. But the freezing water is merciless, and when Doctor Llanos arrived first by motorbike near the bay and saw the British airman a hundred metres away, he had no option but to watch him, unable to swim out to him in those conditions.

Castagneto had branched off as they left the settlement, heading towards where the aircraft had crashed. At that moment the doctor spotted a boat, and an NCO from 5th Regiment who had reached the shore told him:

“I’ll go and get him!”

Helped by another comrade, the corporal rowed out to the downed pilot and between them managed to haul him aboard. When they reached the shore, several officers from the Commando Company — Llanos, Fernández, García Pinasco, Anadón — dragged him onto the beach along with his parachute and survival gear. The pilot had injuries to his face and a fractured left collarbone, as a result of his violent ejection from an aircraft travelling at full speed and banked over, which had caused him to slam into the side of the cockpit as he came out; he did not even have his helmet, which had shattered on impact. Although he was wearing a flying overall that gave him some protection from the water, he was almost frozen and struggled to speak; but at no point did he lose consciousness, to the extent that Sergio Fernández noticed that, as he sat up to get out of the boat, the pilot rubbed the transparent kneeboard on his right thigh — where aviators make their notes — with his hand, in order to erase the course written there. The Argentine officer managed to memorise the double group of numbers and letters and later reproduced them to report to Port Stanley.

Llanos, with his perfect command of English, identified himself as a doctor and, after asking about his injuries, he and Fernández tried to calm the prisoner:

“Are you okay, are you hurt? Don’t worry, we are friends now; take it easy.”

The pilot, without speaking, nodded with movements of his head. With the help of Staff Sergeant Poggi, they settled him on Llanos’s motorbike, and the doctor told him to hold on to him because he was going to take him to a hospital. Using the international sign used by aviators — thumb raised — the pilot indicated his agreement. First Lieutenant Fernández wrapped him in his jacket and they set off.

Meanwhile, Major Castagneto had headed towards the place where the Harrier had come down, some ten kilometres from Howard. He rode parallel to the narrowing bay, then crossed the river — “those bikes would do anything,” he told me — and, after a further stretch, reached the crash site half an hour later. “The largest piece I found was the wheel,” he said. “I even came to think it might be the remains of an aircraft from another era…”

In its final run, as it broke up against the ground, the aircraft had hit a horse, cleanly severing its neck so that the head lay a good distance from the body. Castagneto loaded all the pieces he could carry, which he thought might be important for intelligence analysis — including the communications equipment — and set off back. It was near midday, and the naval–air battle in San Carlos had already taken place.

Memories from an Intelligence Officer in Malvinas

 

 

Memories from My First Days in Malvinas

Account by First Lieutenant Echeverría – Intelligence Officer, RI-4

After the fall of Darwin — though I can't recall the exact date — a series of reports came in warning us about the British positions. They were advancing roughly twenty kilometres from our location. Between us and them, although we had some of our own troops, they were small groups, whose main task was to raise the alarm and report movements.

We had a number of experiences ourselves — like finding traces of British commando patrols very close to us. Direct contact didn’t happen simply because we never came face-to-face with them, but we did come across remains that clearly showed they’d passed through.

We already knew they were there, and like us, they were deploying people to gather intelligence. These patrols continued for a while without actual clashes, and we still hadn’t felt their artillery — except for the naval guns that fired at night, or during the day when there was heavy fog.

That’s when the anti-radar and anti-radio missiles began to appear — and hit us. At the same time, we started facing limitations in using our radar and radio systems. The interference was heavy, and the British even insulted us over the airwaves. They had tools and technologies we simply didn’t. Still, we didn’t believe they would beat us. We told ourselves: “They won’t be able to defeat us.” Among those I spoke to, the general feeling was: we had to fight with whatever we had — even stones if it came to that. Our weapons weren’t bad, but they required more careful handling than on the mainland, mainly due to the extreme humidity.

The cold changed everything, just like what happens to a car. It's not the same as having one in Buenos Aires compared to parking it in Ushuaia.

At Mount Kent, a small unit had to retreat with the British literally on their heels. They reached us with the enemy right behind. Our troops were going along one side of the hill, while the British were climbing up the other. That unit didn’t have enough manpower or weapons to hold off a serious attack.

By then, our own commandos had already engaged with the British on multiple occasions, but luckily many were recovered — wounded, yes, but alive.

Harriers came and went, mostly over Puerto Argentino, and the ships kept firing at us at night. As I said, we also found remnants of British commandos operating very close to our positions. That was the situation. We had already lost helicopters, which reduced our mobility, and also ships like the Carcarañá, the Isla de los Estados, and a Coast Guard vessel. Our commandos, operating deep behind enemy lines, told us about extensive British helicopter traffic. We could already hear them nearby on calm, dark nights.

One evening around eight o'clock, our commander returned from a command meeting in town and updated us on the situation. All options were considered, and there was no choice but to fight while retreating — or risk getting caught mid-manoeuvre. The plan was to regroup and make a stand at Mounts Dos Hermanas and Harriet.

We already had small detachments at Harriet. Think of it like using your hands to protect your body — we were the “hands” of Puerto Argentino. And when one of those hands starts to feel the heat, that’s where you focus your defences. Don’t overreact, but observe, and try to understand why the enemy is moving in that direction.

It was decided to change front and redeploy to Dos Hermanas and Harriet, where the regiment would hold its ground. The withdrawal had to be swift — lightning fast. A decision was made about what equipment to leave behind, and the rest — weapons, ammunition, medical supplies, all vital gear — had to be moved. We were assigned three helicopters for the operation. The idea was to move everything possible at night, gather heavy equipment in specific spots, and if the helicopters couldn’t carry it, to bring it down to where three lorries were waiting — and then transport the troops.

But just after 10 p.m., the ships started firing again, and on top of that, it began to snow. It was chaos. We had to suspend the descent from the hills for two valuable hours — it was dark, snowing, and under naval fire.

Fortunately, the ships shifted fire to another sector, the snow stopped, and a thick layer settled. Around three or four in the morning — keeping in mind that darkness lasts until eight — we resumed the descent. At first light, troops were loading lorries or moving on foot. Others were loading the helicopters. A small anti-air unit stayed behind to cover the operation.

The Harriers arrived just after the helicopters had departed — luckily — but they did strike our marching columns: troops moving along a road, lorries gathered in a clearly visible and exposed area. From our hilltop position, waiting for the helicopters, we opened fire on the Harriers with tracer rounds. I don’t know if we managed to bring one down, but we hit them repeatedly. Still, we never saw one fall.

The British planes flew over daily, at all hours. They photographed us — we even made faces at them. That’s the truth. They attacked with mixed results, mainly damaging storage areas and equipment. Some of our lorries were destroyed, and although we started taking casualties, at that point they were still light — mostly wounded.

Back to the Harrier attack I was mentioning — we had to suspend helicopter use, and the troops kept retreating — even if it meant crawling through the rocks. The whole withdrawal was extremely tough — like being caught at home in your pyjamas.

That same morning, while the Harriers were still attacking, a lone commando arrived from enemy territory — the only one left from his patrol. He gave us a clearer picture of where the enemy was and what movements they had made. He came back completely shattered, desperate to explain what he had seen. The rest of his patrol was still out there, ahead of our lines. In time, it was confirmed that some of those brave commandos had been killed, and others made it back, wounded, to our positions.

Argentina: The Rise of the Peronist Guerrilla

Genesis and Evolution of the Revolutionary Process in Argentina

  

Preliminary Considerations

Several articles have been written about the genesis and evolution of the Revolutionary War in our country, and it would seem redundant to revisit them, given that they all generally mention the same sequence of causes and effects. However, it is never superfluous, as it will always be possible to incorporate new information into what is already known regarding dates, organizations, events, people involved, etc.

Some define the stages of the revolutionary process within the political timeframes of the governments that emerged from electoral processes or military coups; others analyze the process marked by the attitudes and events generated by subversive organizations, or by the outcome achieved by the regular forces that confronted them. Personally, I believe, as have several others, that the analysis to determine the stages should be based on those episodes or events that represent a change or a significant situation between what has occurred and its continuation with the new events that are unfolding. The work to be developed here aims to fall within this framework.


OUTLINE
1. Introduction
2. Origins of the Guerrilla Movement (1955-1965)
3. Creation and Development of the Revolutionary Armed Organizations (1965-1970)
-Revolutionary Workers' Party-People's Revolutionary Army (PRT-ERP)
-Revolutionary Armed Forces (FAR)
-Peronist Armed Forces (FAP)
-Armed Forces of Liberation (FAL)
-Montoneros (currently in government)
4. Evolution of the Revolutionary Process – Periods of the War
a. First period (1970 – May 1973)
b. Second period (May 25, 1973 – end of 1974)
c. Third period (1975-1978) d. Fourth period (1978-80).
e. Last period (1980-88).
f. Current situation.

Development

1. Introduction
The Argentine Republic was the theatre of a revolutionary war (RW) that began to take shape in 1956, showed its first signs of guerrilla activity in 1959, escalated in 1970, and reached its peak intensity between 1973 and 1976.

Signs of a military defeat could be seen before May 1973. However, political and legal circumstances turned the successes achieved—through the application of precise and specific justice—into failure, as the relevant legislation was repealed. Revolutionary activity then re-emerged with greater force. Despite this, its annihilation was completed by 1980. However, the military success was not matched politically, and developments in that sphere extended until 1988, persisting in distorted forms to this day.

The objective of this revolutionary process was to seize state power in order to impose a political, economic, and social system—and indeed an entire way of life—that was foreign to our traditions, alien in nature, and opposed to our national values. Fortunately, this ideology ultimately garnered support from only a small minority of the population. Amid a fratricidal conflict, Argentina was able to escape that situation, though to this day, true pacification has not been achieved.

This revolutionary process was not born in Argentina. It was imported, infiltrated, adopted, and developed in the context of a world shaken by ideological movements first proclaimed by Marx and Engels, and later expanded in the 20th century by Lenin, Mao Tse-tung, and other communist theorists who aimed to establish a proletarian world through unlimited violence, national liberation movements, and the unified action of communist countries. These aims constituted the true objectives of the global revolution of that time—a revolution from which Argentina could not escape, due to the actions of both domestic ideologues and others known as “useful idiots.” These actors formed various revolutionary organisations, which will be discussed later, and took part in waging the war on the internal front.

These organisations had complex and clandestine structures, based primarily on a political apparatus for leadership, propaganda, and indoctrination, and an armed-military apparatus responsible for overtly violent, terrorist, and revolutionary actions, forming a true irregular army.

In response to these realities, it became necessary to deploy the armed forces and security services to confront these political and military organisations—this being the only way to prevent them from seizing power, which they could not achieve through legal or democratic means due to their lack of representation.

This course of action was not aimed at achieving a social goal, but rather a political-ideological-revolutionary one—namely, the seizure of power—regardless of the means or methods used, in accordance with their own revolutionary philosophy.

2. Origins of the Guerrilla (1955–1965)
Revolutionary war in Argentina had its genesis immediately after the fall of Perón. Beginning in September 1955, a group of activists known as the "Peronist Resistance", organised and led by John William Cooke—originally a nationalist, later turned Marxist-Leninist—carried out numerous acts of terrorism during the governments of the “Revolución Libertadora”, President Arturo Frondizi, and President Arturo Illia.

In 1959, in the province of Tucumán, several individuals were arrested while operating in the hills, attempting to launch “rural guerrilla” actions. This marked the emergence of a Peronist-aligned guerrilla group called the "Union of Andean Guerrillas", led by a former military officer named Ciro Ahumada. Another similar group, known as the “Uturuncos” (Tigers of the Sierra), operated under the command “17 de Octubre” and its “National Liberation Army”. Lacking support, these groups eventually dissolved but served as precursors to future organisations.

With Fidel Castro’s rise to global prominence, revolutionary momentum spread through Latin America, prompting agitation and violence in Argentina. In 1961, a revolutionary apparatus began forming in Santiago del Estero through the “Popular Indo-American Revolutionary Front” (FRIP), which later became a foundation for the Revolutionary Workers' Party (PRT), based on Trotskyist factions.

Che Guevara’s presence in Bolivia extended the revolutionary process in Latin America. In Orán, Salta, reports from locals and attacks against national gendarmerie personnel led to the discovery of an armed group equipped with automatic weapons, anti-tank weaponry, and explosives. In an abandoned camp, a "war diary" was found, in which guerrilla fighter Hermes Peña Torres (killed in a clash with the gendarmerie) described in detail the ambush of security forces—Orán Squadron—and the execution of two of their own members for violations of internal revolutionary discipline.

In 1964, another guerrilla camp was uncovered in Icho Cruz, Córdoba, named “Camilo Cienfuegos”. It was composed of seven young men with various weapons and explosives. The group, communist in orientation, was led by Juan Enrique Saleme, who had been trained in Cuba.

This period also saw numerous attacks and murders, such as:

• The attack on Captain Cabrera’s home, resulting in the death of his daughter and serious injury to one of his sons.

• The armed robbery of the banking polyclinic in Buenos Aires.

• The bombing of Shell Mex in Córdoba, which killed thirteen workers and injured several others.

• The discovery on 24 February 1964 of a new guerrilla camp in La Toma, Salta, operated by members of the “People’s Revolutionary Army” (ERP), aligned with Castroist-communist ideology.

• A major explosion in July 1964 on Posadas Street, Buenos Aires, where a guerrilla was killed while handling explosives. A terrorist cell was discovered, and documents revealed both past actions and planned operations.

These events—and many more—marked the first expressions of armed guerrilla warfare and laid the groundwork for what, in the 1970s, became the revolutionary war in Argentina. During this period, revolutionary organisations carried out more than 1,500 attacks. As a result, President Frondizi implemented the “Conintes Plan” (Internal Commotion), under which the armed forces were tasked—by executive order—with taking direct control of counter-terrorism efforts.

3. Creation and Development of Armed Revolutionary Organisations (1965–1970)
Between 3 and 13 August 1966, a meeting was held in Cuba named the “Tricontinental Conference of Havana”, attended by representatives of revolutionary movements and radical groups from Latin America, Asia, and Africa. At its conclusion, Latin American delegates met separately and, on 31 July 1967, established the “Latin American Solidarity Organisation” (OLAS), with the following main objectives:

• To promote armed revolutionary struggle in Latin America

• To coordinate strategy among revolutionary movements

• To foster solidarity among the peoples of the Americas, defending the Cuban revolution and similar movements across the region

As a result, clandestine armed organisations began forming across Latin America, including preparations for guerrilla warfare in Bolivia, led by Che Guevara and involving both foreign and local fighters.

To meet these goals, OLAS mandated the creation of a military apparatus in each country. In Argentina, the “National Liberation Army” (ELN) was established with the mission of operating in the north to support Che’s campaign in Bolivia. It was divided into three politically independent sectors—1, 2, and 8—which initially engaged in urban guerrilla actions.

With Che Guevara’s death in 1967 and Inti Peredo’s in 1969, guerrilla activity in Bolivia came to an end. The ELN was dissolved, and its three sectors returned to their respective organisations:

• Sector 1 joined the Revolutionary Workers’ Party (PRT), which, in addition to terrorism, promoted classist activity in factory unions such as SITRAM and SITRAC.

• Sector 2 formed the Armed Revolutionary Forces (FAR).

• Sector 8 split into two: one faction created the Montoneros trade union organisation via the group “Christianity and Revolution”; the rest joined the Peronist Armed Forces (FAP).

Meanwhile, a split in the Communist Party in 1967 gave rise to the Revolutionary Communist Party (PCR), whose armed wing became the Argentine Liberation Forces (FAL).

Within the PRT, two distinct factions emerged:

• El Combatiente, supporting armed struggle

• La Verdad, favouring a political solution

At its 5th Congress in 1970, the El Combatiente line prevailed, resulting in the formation of the armed wing: the People’s Revolutionary Army (ERP).

In 1973, the original Montoneros group and the FAR merged into a new organisation retaining the name Montoneros, chosen for its nationalistic appeal to the Peronist base.

4. Evolution of the Revolutionary Process – War Periods

a) First Period (1970 – May 1973)
The year 1970 clearly marked the beginning of a widespread and coordinated assault on the country’s institutions, social groups, and through specific acts of systematic and selective violence.

The three most powerful organisations emerged publicly, each committing major crimes:

• Montoneros: Kidnapped, tortured, and murdered former President General Pedro E. Aramburu on Army Day, 29 May 1970.

• FAR: Took over the town of Garín, Buenos Aires Province, on 30 July 1970.

• ERP: Raided Police Station No. 24 in Rosario, Santa Fe Province, killing two officers in September 1970.

During this period, the ERP’s terrorist activities were largely conducted by smaller cells focused on propaganda, recruitment, training, and strengthening logistical capacity.

Montoneros and FAR were meanwhile in talks to merge, aiming to infiltrate the political base loyal to Peronism and planning long-term strategies. Both were responsible for high-impact terrorist operations such as:

• The armed takeover of La Calera on 1 July 1970

• The attack, weapons theft (70 FAL rifles), and murder of Lieutenant Asúa in Pilar, Buenos Aires Province, on 29 April 1970

• The kidnapping and murder of FIAT Argentina president Oberdán Sallustro in Buenos Aires on 21 March 1972

• The ambush and assassination of the deputy commander of the army, General Juan Carlos Sánchez, on 10 April 1972

• The armed assault and theft of military materials from Communications Battalion 141 in Córdoba Province on 19 February 1973

 

From the perspective of the actions taken by the legal forces and the government, this period was highly significant, as it saw the drafting and implementation of special criminal legislation tailored to this type of activity. Through the work of the National Federal Criminal Court, the main leaders of terrorist organisations, along with nearly all subversive elements, were identified and prosecuted. This resulted in the imprisonment of six hundred terrorists and criminals, and the initiation of legal proceedings against more than one thousand individuals for similar offences. This could have marked the beginning of the end of the armed struggle.

However, that was not the case, as with the arrival of the constitutional government of Dr Cámpora, all these legal measures were repealed.

It is also worth noting that during this period, the fight against armed criminal activity was primarily carried out by police forces, with the support of certain elements from the security services.

b) Second period (25 May 1973 – late 1974)

On 25 May 1973, Dr Cámpora assumed the constitutional presidency and repealed the existing anti-subversive legislation, declaring a total amnesty for all individuals imprisoned for "political reasons".

This period was marked by intense urban guerrilla activity, including numerous attacks, assassinations, and takeovers of towns, largely carried out by the many criminals who had been released from prison. In addition, subversive infiltration penetrated most levels of the state, as well as various social sectors and organisations (including trade unions, student groups, and other intermediary bodies).

Cámpora’s resignation, the elections of 12 September, and the subsequent presidency of General Perón marked a turning point in the relationship between the ruling party—the Justicialist Party—and the subversive organisations. These groups found their political paths blocked and intensified their armed actions, returning to clandestine operations.

The actions carried out during this period reached such a level of magnitude and aggression that they seriously disrupted social order and shocked the population. 

Among the most significant events during this period were:

• The assassination of the Secretary-General of the CGT, José Ignacio Rucci, on 25 September 1973.

• The armed assault on the 10th Cavalry Regiment and the 1st Armoured Artillery Group in Azul, Buenos Aires Province. This involved the murder of Colonel Camilo Gay, his wife, and a soldier, as well as the kidnapping of Lieutenant Colonel Jorge Ibarzábal, who was later killed after a prolonged captivity (19 January 1974).

• The assassination of Federal Judge Jorge Quiroga—formerly a judge on the National Federal Criminal Court who had presided over trials of subversives—on 27 April 1973.

• The assassination of former Minister of the Interior, Dr Arturo Mor Roig, on 15 July 1974.

• The armed takeover, theft of weapons, kidnapping, and subsequent murder of Major Argentino del Valle Larrabure, at the Military Gunpowder and Explosives Factory in Villa María, Córdoba, on 12 August 1974.

• The kidnapping and extortion of Juan and Jorge Born, executives of the Bunge & Born company, who were released following the payment of a $60 million ransom, on 19 September 1974.

• The murderous attack on the Chief of the Federal Police, Commissioner General Alberto Villar, and his wife, in Tigre, on 1 November 1974.

 

At the same time, in Tucumán, the reconnaissance of the south-western area was completed in preparation for launching a rural guerrilla campaign. The ultimate goal was to declare the province—and its surrounding area—a “liberated zone”, which could potentially lead to international recognition. Beginning on 30 May 1974, with the takeover of the town of Acheral by the ERP company “Ramón Rosa Giménez”, the ERP began its open operations in Tucumán.

c) Third period (1975–1978)

On 9 February 1975, the Army launched “Operation Independence”, with the mission of neutralising and/or annihilating rural subversive activity in Tucumán. This was carried out under Presidential Decree 261/75, and the mission was accomplished after just over a year and a half.

On 23 December 1975, the ERP’s Ramón Rosa Giménez Company attempted to seize Arsenal Battalion 601 in Monte Chingolo. This operation, the most ambitious ever undertaken by the urban guerrilla movement, ended in defeat for the insurgents. It marked a serious blow to the PRT-ERP, leading to the beginning of the dissolution of that company.

The year 1975 represented the peak of revolutionary activity, with significant material and financial resources—largely obtained through foreign support, ransom payments, and robberies carried out within the country. Social unrest deepened as the population faced growing insecurity due to a wave of indiscriminate attacks.

Following the military’s assumption of power, the Armed Forces, Security Forces, and Police Forces intensified counter-revolutionary actions to restore order and bring about the definitive defeat of the irregular forces.

Among the most significant events during this period were:

• Attack on a C-130 Hercules aircraft in Tucumán, on 28 August 1975.

• Assault, killings, and theft of weapons from Infantry Regiment 29.

• Bombing of the Federal Security Superintendency in Buenos Aires on 2 July 1976, resulting in 22 deaths and 60 injuries.

• Bomb attack at the Military Circle cinema on 17 October 1976, injuring 50 people.

• Explosion at the Undersecretariat of Planning of the Ministry of Defence on 15 December 1976, which left 14 dead and several injured.

 

The actions of the regular forces in control, intelligence gathering, identification, and prevention led to a decline in revolutionary activity. By late 1976 and throughout 1977, the terrorist organisations began to disintegrate—initially the PRT-ERP, and later the Montoneros. The leaders of these organisations either fled abroad, were killed in open combat with legal forces (as was the case with Mario Roberto Santucho, head of the ERP, in July 1976), or committed suicide to avoid capture.

d) Fourth period (1978–1980)

In 1978, the main focus of the Montoneros was to interfere with preparations for and the hosting of the FIFA World Cup, through an intensive campaign carried out in Western Europe aimed at discrediting Argentina and deterring tourism.

At the same time, the PRT-ERP formed the so-called "ERP Support Command", which re-entered the country to carry out acts of sabotage. However, it was completely neutralised.

That same year, the Montoneros also began preparing what they called the “Counteroffensive Maneuver”. Between January and April 1979, specialised groups arrived clandestinely in Argentina to conduct shock operations, agitation, and propaganda. These groups, known as TEA and TEI, were responsible for three major attacks:

• The attack and destruction of the home of Dr G. W. Klein, injuring members of his family, on 29 September 1979

• An attack on Dr Juan Alemán, on 7 November 1979

• The assassination of engineer Guillermo Soldatti, on 13 November 1979

At the same time, a psychological campaign was launched abroad, aimed at achieving international isolation of the Argentine Republic.

e) Final period (1980–1988)

After the failure of the Counteroffensive campaign, the Montoneros—like the PRT-ERP—decided to abandon armed struggle and pursue their goals through political means.

Following the decision in July 1982 to restore constitutional order in Argentina, the Montoneros resolved to reintroduce their militants into the country, seeking to infiltrate the Justicialist Party (PJ). Their aim was to represent their organisation within the party by appealing to the idea of Peronist unity. This involved a shift in strategy, with a deliberate effort to rebrand themselves from a guerrilla force to a political group.

Despite this repositioning, the PJ maintained a place within its internal structure for revolutionary Peronism, regarding it as the vanguard of a mass movement.

Meanwhile, the PRT reorganised its ranks and entered a period of party reconstruction, which it declared complete during its 7th Congress, held in Argentina in April 1987. From that point on, the PRT aligned itself with the Broad Front for National Liberation (FRAL), led by the Communist Party.

f) Current situation

Analysing the current situation requires a separate and specialised study, as it falls outside the immediate context of this work—not only because of the changes experienced by society itself, but also due to the influence of international forces in the internal affairs of individual countries.

Nevertheless, it can be stated that within the national and political sphere, there is a clear tendency among radical and subversive groups, including so-called front organisations, to seek legal recognition. This would allow them to keep their activity alive, placing them in the best possible position to resume the struggle should conditions permit.

On the international level, this strategy reflects the doctrine of “non-armed approximation”, which in Argentina is being pursued primarily through labour and trade union groups, considered the most likely sectors to initiate armed struggle in the form of a mass urban insurrection.


O. E. Guerrero (Brigadier General, Ret.)