Everything failed, except his courage: the last flight of the pilot who died after returning from a mission in the Malvinas
Captain Zubizarreta departed for the islands on May 23, 1982, in his A-4Q Skyhawk. Over the fleet, he was unable to release his bombs due to a technical malfunction. Loaded with explosives and almost out of fuel, he returned to the mainland. He landed on the wet and slippery runway at Río Grande. He was supposed to eject, but the mechanism also failed. The final moments of a hero
A Squadron on the Edge: Skyhawks and Broken Wings
The War’s Beginning: Scarce Resources, Unbreakable Will
Captain Rodolfo Castro Fox: Leadership Born from Pain
If courage had a face during that campaign, it might have looked like Captain Rodolfo Castro Fox. Just nine months before the war, he had survived a near-fatal training accident. Ejecting too late from his aircraft during a drill, he had hit the sea hard, fracturing his arm and suffering cardiac arrests. For most, that would end a flying career. But for Castro Fox, it was just another hurdle.
When war was declared, he was barred from combat due to his injuries. But something inside him wouldn’t accept that. He believed a leader couldn’t send his men into danger unless he too was willing to face it. Despite his limited mobility and pain, he climbed into his A-4Q Skyhawk. Mechanics had to help him close the cockpit. He operated the landing gear by crossing arms mid-flight. It was more than grit—it was defiance, a mirror of the national spirit.
On May 23, 1982, he led the mission to San Carlos Bay. Alongside him were Capt. Zubizarreta, Lt. Oliveira, and Lt. Benítez. It wasn’t just a routine strike—it was a bold charge into the lion’s den, knowing full well the lion had teeth, claws, and aircraft carriers.
Flying into Fire: The Final Mission
The Mission Brief: Objectives Over San Carlos
San Carlos Bay was a hot zone, crawling with enemy vessels and ready-to-fire Sea Harriers. The objective was simple: inflict damage, disrupt logistics, and remind the enemy that Argentina would not surrender. Castro Fox and his team took off just after noon, their Skyhawks loaded with bombs, their hearts heavier still.They flew in formation, hugging the ocean, low and fast—trying to avoid radar. Oliveira soon experienced a malfunction and had to return. The rest pushed on. Over the hills of Gran Malvina, the coast came into view. It was time. The mission was live.
Just minutes earlier, Captain Pablo Carballo had passed through the same airspace. He radioed back: enemy ships were in position, anti-aircraft fire was intense, and Sea Harriers were on patrol. His warning was clear: "It’s hell up here." But still, they flew in.
The Assault Begins: Low Flight and Courage Under Fire
Castro Fox dropped to just 100 meters above sea level—barely enough to clear the waves. He saluted his men behind him. And then the hell began.As they pierced into the strait, the sky turned black with smoke and tracer fire. Every second was life or death. Anti-aircraft guns blazed, missiles locked on. But they kept going. Castro Fox spotted his target—Intrepid—dodged a missile, dropped his payload, and veered away. Behind him, Benítez and Zubizarreta faced their own crucible.
Missiles were launched. Two whistled between their aircraft but missed. Benítez unloaded on Antelope. Zubizarreta couldn’t—his system malfunctioned. His bombs stayed locked in. That failure would change the course of his fate.
The Flight Back: Fear, Faith, and Fuel
Mid-Air Decisions: Life or Death Over the Sea
After surviving the bombing run, the pilots were not out of danger. In fact, the return journey was often more perilous than the attack itself. With enemy aircraft possibly in pursuit, low fuel levels, and aircraft damaged or malfunctioning, every second in the sky could be your last.Captain Castro Fox, already dealing with impaired mobility, discovered his external fuel tanks weren’t transferring properly. The fuel gauge dipped into the red. At that altitude and speed, any miscalculation would mean crashing into the cold South Atlantic. He climbed to over 12,000 meters, adopting a flight profile that might just extend his range long enough to reach the coast. But he was uncertain. He may have to eject over the freezing waters, alone and vulnerable.
Fox made a decision that speaks volumes of his character. He told Zubizarreta and Benítez not to accompany him on the high-altitude route. He didn’t want them wasting precious fuel, or worse, dying trying to save him. “Fly safe,” he said. “I want to be alone.” This wasn’t fear—it was love. A leader protecting his men with his own sacrifice.
Captain Fox’s Solitary Journey Back Home
Alone in the sky, thousands of meters above the sea, Castro Fox had only the hum of his struggling Skyhawk and the hope that his calculations would hold. He couldn't contact base properly, and with low visibility, navigation became guesswork. He was flying on fumes and faith.But somehow, he made it. Against all odds, he brought his crippled aircraft home. When he landed, there was no applause, no ceremony—just his breath fogging the cockpit glass. He had done his duty. And yet, his heart was heavy. He didn't know that Zubizarreta’s fate was about to unfold before his eyes.
Zubizarreta’s Return: Silent Hero with a Burden
Captain Carlos Zubizarreta was not supposed to return with bombs. His mission had failed due to a technical glitch, a malfunction that rendered his payload useless during the heat of battle. But instead of ditching the bombs into the sea—as protocol permitted—he brought them home.Why? Perhaps he wanted them preserved for another mission. Perhaps he didn’t want to discard something so precious in a war where every piece of ammunition mattered. Or maybe, just maybe, he wanted to return whole. Bombs or not, he had done his duty. He faced the same missiles, the same gunfire, and emerged unscathed. His courage was intact.
As he approached Río Grande, the weather had turned. It had started to drizzle, the wind howled, and the airfield’s condition deteriorated rapidly. A slippery runway with no braking system armed greeted him—a dangerous welcome.
Tragedy on the Tarmac: The Final Moments
The Slippery Runway and the Unarmed Hook
Landing a Skyhawk on a perfect day is a challenge. Doing so with minimal fuel, live bombs onboard, and a slippery runway is nothing short of a miracle. Zubizarreta touched down on the slick surface, but the plane’s design wasn’t made for wet airstrips—it was meant for carrier landings. The wheels, inflated for deck use, couldn’t grip the asphalt. The aircraft began to veer off.
Captain Curilovic rushed to arm the emergency braking cable system—but it was too late. The plane slid out of control. Mechanics, pilots, and ground crew watched in horror as Zubizarreta’s jet skidded across the runway, disappearing behind a mound of earth.
A Deadly Descent: Ejection Seat Failure and Fallen Hero
At that moment, Zubizarreta knew he had to eject. The standard ejection protocol required enough speed and altitude to ensure the seat’s rocket mechanism would launch the pilot into the air, giving the parachute time to deploy.But this wasn’t a normal moment. His seat’s rocket had expired—another legacy of outdated equipment. Maintenance had delayed its replacement. He pulled the lever. The canopy detached. But the rocket didn’t fire properly. The seat didn't reach the required height. The parachute failed to open.
In front of his comrades, Zubizarreta fell to the hard pavement with brutal force. His bombs didn’t detonate. The plane’s nose was barely damaged. The Skyhawk would fly again within a week. But Zubizarreta would not. His body, broken by impact, held a spirit that refused to quit until the very end.
Aftermath: A Plane Flies Again, A Hero Does Not
It is one of the cruel ironies of war. The machine that failed him lived on. Fixed and flown within days. But the man—the soul who rode that machine into battle—was gone. Carlos Zubizarreta succumbed to his injuries shortly after. There was no spectacular explosion, no enemy kill, no banner headline. Just quiet death on a lonely runway.
His coffin was loaded onto a Navy Fokker F-28. Fellow pilots flew in formation, giving him a warrior’s farewell. A national flag draped over him, bearing witness to the price of patriotism.
Patriotism in the Air: What Zubizarreta Stood For
The Spirit of the Malvinas: More Than a Conflict
The Malvinas cause is not about a war lost. It’s about dignity. It’s about memory. And it’s about men like Zubizarreta, who didn’t have the luxury of modern aircraft, perfect intelligence, or diplomatic protections. All they had was courage—and love for their homeland.
For Argentines, the Malvinas symbolize a national wound that still aches, but also a collective pride that refuses to fade. Every schoolchild learns the map showing the islands as part of Argentina. Every plaza has a monument. Every April 2nd, the country pauses to remember.
Zubizarreta’s sacrifice embodies that patriotism—not abstract, but raw and real. He didn’t die for land. He died for honor. For sovereignty. For his brothers-in-arms and for every Argentine who still says with pride: “Las Malvinas son Argentinas.”
Zubizarreta's Legacy: Symbol of Argentine Valor
In a country where true heroes often go unsung, Zubizarreta’s story deserves to be shouted from rooftops. His name should be etched in every classroom, his courage studied, his memory honored. He didn’t die trying to kill. He died trying to live another day—to fly again, to fight again.He chose duty over safety. He chose loyalty over life. And in doing so, he joined the eternal ranks of Argentina’s most honored. Not with medals or fanfare, but with a legacy that speaks through time.
* Marcelo Larraquy es periodista e historiador (UBA) Su último libro publicado es “La Guerra Invisible. El último secreto de Malvinas”. Ed. Sudamericana.
