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.

Malvinas: The Odysee of the 5th Infantry Regiment at Puerto Howard

Malvinas: The Dramatic Story of the Regiment That Withstood Brutal Isolation and the Dangerous Mission to Resupply Them

They were stationed at Puerto Howard, on West Falkland Island. Resupplying them was an almost impossible task. The soldiers of the 5th Infantry Regiment (RI5) wrote one of the most grueling chapters of the Malvinas/Falklands War. Infobae Docs gathered three veterans who revealed their fierce and uneven battle against an implacable enemy—isolation.
By Adrián Pignatelli || Infobae


The Sea Harrier Shot Down with a 1936-Made Machine Gun. The captured pilot could not believe that he had been downed by such an outdated weapon.

Located on Gran Malvina (West Falkland), Howard was, in 1982, a small port on the San Carlos Strait. A cove provided shelter and allowed ships to dock. The local population was small and primarily engaged in sheep farming and wool shearing, with the final product shipped to Great Britain. The islanders had limited opportunities for development, as the economy assigned married residents a fixed number of sheep, and a single official acted as both the local administrator and the manager of the wool trading company.

It was an extremely remote location where residents stayed informed solely through British radio relays. There was no television, primary school, or secondary school.

This was the site selected for the 5th Infantry Regiment (RI5) to counter a potential enemy landing. This regiment would go down in history as the unit that endured the longest period of isolation during the Malvinas/Falklands War.

On April 25, upon arrival at Port Stanley, RI5 was airlifted to Puerto Howard in three helicopter waves, except for 108 men from Company B, who traveled by ship transporting rations, ammunition, and anti-personnel mines.

Howard was renamed Puerto Yapeyú, as in peacetime, Company C of this regiment was based in the town where General José de San Martín was born.

 
RI5 Soldiers Boarding in Comodoro Rivadavia for the Airlift to the Malvinas

The soldiers carried a single ration of food. It was imperative to supply them with the necessary provisions, along with heavy weapons and ammunition, to endure the harsh weeks of isolation ahead.

They were still unaware that the resupply would never arrive.

The following day, in Howard, two and a half lambs were purchased from the locals to supplement the soldiers' rations. Meanwhile, in Puerto Argentino, the Monsunen, a 30-meter vessel confiscated from the Falkland Company, set sail at night. It was loaded with ten days' worth of supplies, weapons, and ammunition.

The plan was to skirt the island northward and enter the San Carlos Strait. However, strong winds and tides made this route impossible. The only alternative was the longer and far more dangerous southern route—navigating around the island while avoiding mines laid by the Argentine Navy and knowing that, in broad daylight, they would be completely exposed to enemy aircraft. The mission had to succeed, as on the 27th, food rationing had already begun in Puerto Yapeyú.

That night, the Monsunen was forced to take shelter in a small bay after the radar detected what was possibly a submarine. The ship’s only defenses were two MAG machine guns and two rocket launchers. By midday the next day, the vessel finally managed to dock at the pier in Puerto Yapeyú.

 
Alberto Miñones Carrión: Severely Wounded in Malvinas, Lost a Leg—“It Is a Special Honor to Have Been Part of This Campaign” (Santiago Saferstein)

At the time, Alberto Miñones Carrión was a young second lieutenant. He was in charge of the Support Section of Company A, RI5, and his unit was reinforced with two Colt 12.7 mm machine guns. He recalled, “From the moment we arrived, we knew resupply would be difficult—to the point that the provisions we expected the next day never arrived. As the days went by, the situation worsened, and with the arrival of more personnel, it became truly critical.”

The occupation of the area was gradual. Initially, a 130-man company was deployed. Later, the regiment’s other two infantry companies, along with two engineer sections and medical personnel, arrived—bringing the total to nearly 800 men.

 
The Isla de los Estados: Attacked While Carrying Supplies for the Troops—Only Two of 25 Crew Members Survived

On the night of May 10, the frigate HMS Alacrity attacked the transport ship Isla de los Estados in the middle of the San Carlos Strait, as it was en route to Puerto Yapeyú carrying supplies and weapons.

Of the 25 crew members, only two survived.

Hours later, Argentine troops discovered squash floating near the shore—part of the ship’s lost cargo. These were mashed and added to the regiment’s already scarce rations.

 
Hugo Gargano, Quartermaster Second Lieutenant During the War: “We Had Only Two Field Kitchens for 150 Men” (Santiago Saferstein)

"Cooking a lamb was a challenge since we had to use peat as fuel, which has very low caloric value. On top of that, we only had two field kitchens for 150 men. But the ingenuity and skill of the quartermaster personnel led us to clean out 200-liter fuel drums, and that’s how we ended up eating lamb stew with a hint of fuel taste. Heating those drums was extremely difficult, and fires had to remain extinguished for most of the day," explained Hugo Gargano, Quartermaster Second Lieutenant of Regiment 5, the unit’s only officer in that specialty.

When supply issues worsened, Gargano was in Puerto Argentino, trying to find a way to reach Gran Malvina. The RI5 commander, Colonel Juan Ramón Mabragaña, persistently requested a Quartermaster officer from the III Infantry Brigade’s commander.

"I asked every day to go to Howard," Gargano told Infobae. "On the 21st, I ran into a major who told me, ‘You have no idea how much your regiment commander is asking for you,’ but we couldn’t coordinate my transport."

 

 
Today, Juan Ramón Mabragaña, Surrounded by His Soldiers, Who Recognize “A Leader Who Cared for His Men”

"The next day, they came to pick me up in a vehicle. 'You have 15 minutes to be at Moody Brook and board a helicopter heading to Howard with supplies, weapons, and ammunition,' they told me." Hugo Gargano reported to Major Roberto Yanzi from Army Aviation.

At that moment, he had no idea he was about to embark on a journey he would never forget.

Flying to Howard

Major Roberto Yanzi was the second-in-command of the 601st Combat Aviation Battalion. He had arrived in the islands on April 7. He explained, “We had to make the most of the flight. We loaded ammunition, mortars, and medical supplies. We also took two soldiers from Regiment 5. Three Puma helicopters would fly, with an Augusta in the rear for escort, armed for protection.”

Before takeoff, Yanzi gathered the crews and briefed them on the mission. “I listened as they spoke—we were about to embark on a high-risk flight, as the day before, the British had landed at San Carlos. The 7 or 8 minutes it would take to cross the strait would be crucial.”

The mission launched on May 22.

A stopover was always made at Goose Green, where Task Force Mercedes had a garrison. However, upon arrival, the helicopters were forced to remain grounded—Sea Harriers were constantly patrolling overhead.

Yanzi knew that flying under those conditions meant taking an extreme risk.

 
Roberto Yanzi, Army Aviation: “When We Reached Howard, We Celebrated Because We Were All Still Alive” (Santiago Saferstein)

"The memory of the downing of AE 505 on May 9 was still fresh, when First Lieutenants Roberto Fiorito and Juan Carlos Buschiazzo, along with Sergeant Raúl Dimotta, lost their lives. Additionally, Army Aviation faced a serious limitation: fuel shortages," recalled Major Roberto Yanzi.

The weather conditions were also poor, with constant fog and mist. “At 10:30 on the 23rd, we took off, flying just one meter above the ground to avoid detection by enemy radar and maintaining radio silence. When we reached the strait, we saw the Río Carcarañá billowing smoke” (the vessel had been disabled by two Sea Harriers on May 16).

“It’s an Honor to Die with You”

As they were about to finish crossing the strait, the armed escort helicopter issued a warning:

• “Aircraft! Aircraft! Hit the deck!”

Two Sea Harriers were approaching. The first helicopter was piloted by First Lieutenant Hugo Pérez Cometto, the second by First Lieutenant Enrique Magnaghi, and the third by Major Roberto Yanzi, who later recounted to Infobae:

 

The Arrival of the Río Carcarañá Crew

"Pérez Cometto, in an outstanding maneuver, managed to evade the enemy aircraft, while Magnaghi and I crossed the channel and landed. Almost immediately, I saw a fireball coming from Magnaghi’s helicopter, which had flipped over—he had lost control as the aircraft spun on its axis. At the same time, the Sea Harriers opened fire on me with their 30mm cannons, hitting the tail of my helicopter, which still had its rotors spinning. That’s when I ordered Gargano to disembark as fast as possible."

"It was a moment of intense adrenaline. I opened the hatch, jumped out first… we ran and threw ourselves flat on the ground as the Sea Harriers strafed us," recalled Gargano.

The three of them lay prone as enemy rounds impacted all around them. At that moment, Yanzi spoke:

• "Take my hand, don’t look back—it’s an honor to die in war with you."

"That’s when I fully realized the situation we were in. Once the aircraft had passed, we ran and moved away from the helicopter," the officer recounted.

Yanzi had no idea what had happened to the rest of the crews until he heard the distinctive whistle of Private Elvio Nis, a skilled tracker from Paso de los Libres, which helped reunite the personnel.

"You can imagine our joy when we realized that not a single crew member had died. Magnaghi had a fractured clavicle, and Godino, one of the mechanics, had suffered a severe head injury," Yanzi explained.

"We Were All Alive"

Determined to complete the mission, Yanzi burned his Puma AE 500 to prevent it from falling into British hands, salvaging only the machine gun. The remaining crews and part of the cargo were loaded onto the only operational helicopter—Pérez Cometto’s Puma.

They took off, hoping to avoid enemy aircraft en route to Howard, as Radio Colonia had reported that three helicopters had already been shot down by Harriers.

Yanzi recalled, "When we arrived, it was an overwhelming joy. We hugged each other—we were all alive."

On the morning of May 26, the helicopter crews embarked on the risky return flight to Puerto Argentino, departing at 0500 hours. They transported members of Compañía Comando and a captain who had ejected from his aircraft.

"It was a gamble," admitted Yanzi. "We were packed in tight. We flew at extremely low altitude and managed to land. Without realizing it, we had just completed the last flight to Gran Malvina."

Years later, Gargano connected via social media with one of the Sea Harrier pilots, David Morgan, who had long wondered about the fate of the Puma crews. "He felt great relief upon learning that we had survived," Gargano shared.

Fighting in Howard

Now retired Lieutenant Colonel Miñones described the precarious situation the regiment faced in the event of a British attack:

"The heavy equipment couldn’t be transported. We lacked artillery pieces. When we crossed, I managed to bring short-range 81mm mortars, which served as our heavy weaponry for a long time. That’s why we kept requesting 120mm mortars. The 4th Artillery Battery never arrived."

RI5 Soldiers in a Trench at Puerto Howard

They had to fight with whatever was available.

Using Colt 12.7mm machine guns manufactured in 1936, they managed to shoot down a Sea Harrier and repel an attack from a Sea King helicopter. Miñones recalled, "When we captured the pilot, he told us he felt a rain of bullets striking the fuselage; he couldn’t believe we had taken him down with that machine gun."

Gravely Wounded

On the night of May 27, Miñones was severely wounded. He survived to tell the story.

*"A shell from a frigate conducting exploratory fire hit me while I was at the bottom of a trench. I was between First Lieutenant Daniel Stella and Orderly Soldier Felipe Fernández. The blast threw me 20 meters, flipping me in the air before I landed on my back, arms crossed over my chest. I entrusted myself to the Virgin Mary and prayed an Ave María, thinking I was dying.

In the darkness, I reached for my right leg—it was still there. When I checked the left, I felt a bare bone. I felt no pain. That’s when I realized I was alive and had another chance."*

During that same attack, soldiers Fernando Damián Francolino, Francisco Manuel Machado, and Ricardo Manuel Herrera were also wounded.

 

The Rescue of British Lieutenant Jeff Glover After Ejecting

"I was evacuated to a very rudimentary field hospital, run by Major Dr. Reale, a brilliant trauma surgeon. In addition to my leg wound, I had a puncture in my hip and another in my chest. With the limited supplies he had, he operated on me and sutured my femoral artery."

Given the severity of his injuries, a rapid evacuation would have been the norm, but Miñones recounted:

"For ten days, I lay on a wooden door propped up on two apple crates. There were no painkillers, no plaster, yet the doctors managed to make do."

 

Jeff Glover’s Arrival at Puerto Howard

On May 29, it snowed for the first time in Puerto Yapeyú. The temperature dropped to -18°C, and the overall condition of the troops was critical.

"Those days were terrible. The wounded were housed in a wooden shack that shook with every bombardment. I felt completely exposed since I couldn't move. As shrapnel pierced the wooden walls—on one occasion, two fragments passed right by my head—I asked my comrade, Eduardo Gassino, for a helmet."

But Miñones’ hardships didn’t end there.

"Food was extremely scarce, and due to my condition, I couldn’t eat lamb. It was Eduardo Gassino who, every day, brought me a sort of broth with bustard meat—a local bird—using an empty soda can."

Finally, on June 6, he was evacuated to the Bahía Paraíso, which had been converted into a hospital ship. Also evacuated were soldiers Exequiel Vargas, Eduardo Rubiolo, Mariano Leiva, and Fernando Francolino.

 

 

The Hospital Ship Bahía Paraíso

"When I arrived on the mainland, I weighed 42 kilos, down from my normal 68. I hadn’t even realized how much weight I had lost. I needed to recover before undergoing a major surgery. For two months, my prognosis was poor due to an infection in my leg, but I was given another chance—and I survived."

Both Gargano and Miñones hold Colonel Juan Ramón Mabragaña, their regimental commander, in the highest regard.

"He stood out for his humility and prudence, for the precision of his decisions. Beyond the war, he was a model soldier and a remarkable person. He took veterans’ needs seriously—securing jobs, medicine, and even medical evacuations, often out of his own pocket. He reaped what he sowed."

The three veterans also paid tribute to the 23 crew members of the Isla de los Estados, who died while attempting to deliver supplies.

What Does Malvinas Mean?

For Yanzi: “A feeling and a great pride to have been part of it.”

For Gargano: “It remains a daily battle—to ensure recognition for the veterans who fought there.”

For Miñones: “It is a very special honor to have participated in this campaign and to have lost a leg. It helps me emotionally. What I carry deep inside—and hope to pass on to my children—is something that changed my life for the better.”