Italian Legions in Argentina

The Italian Legions in the Argentine Republic

José Luis Alonso y Juan Manuel Peña.
Published in the Revista Superior de Guerra, Number 553, Apr-Jun 2004

The prolonged struggles faced by the Argentine nation during the 19th century gave rise to significant human actions that have largely faded into obscurity or are briefly mentioned in history books.

On February 5, 1856, 352 Italian soldiers under the command of Colonel Silvino Olivien arrived by sea at the present-day city of Bahía Blanca, in southern Buenos Aires Province. At the time, the city was a modest settlement surrounding the old Fort Argentino, facing the vast pampas and the constant threat of Indigenous attacks. The enthusiastic welcome from the sparse local population prompted Colonel Olivien to issue a printed proclamation, urging the people of Bahía Blanca to see the legionnaires as “brothers who wished to help them continue the great task of settling that rich and expansive southern region of Buenos Aires Province.”

Origins of the Italian Legion

Who were these foreigners? Where did they come from? And who was Silvino Olivien?

The prolonged siege of Montevideo (1843–1851) had attracted numerous Italians with liberal and Masonic ideals. These individuals—defeated in Italy’s Wars of Independence and the Roman Republic—were inspired by Alexandre Dumas’ book The New Troy, which portrayed Montevideo’s siege as another fight against tyranny for freedom. Many were Ligurian, Piedmontese, and Savoyard exiles who, under Giuseppe Garibaldi’s command, extended their struggle for liberty to the shores of the Río de la Plata, forming a Legion.

Their shared experiences, dangers faced, and shared ideals forged strong bonds between these European exiles and their Uruguayan and Argentine comrades. These ties were further solidified by the close friendship between Garibaldi and Bartolomé Mitre, then an Argentine military leader and later the President of Argentina. After the siege ended, many Italians moved to Buenos Aires, where Mitre became not only their best ally but also their “brother in cause and principles,” a title he gave to both Mazzinians (followers of Giuseppe Mazzini) and Garibaldinians.

Formation of the Italian Legion in Buenos Aires

On December 9, 1852, Buenos Aires faced a siege by forces loyal to General Hilario Lagos, who had rebelled against the state government. A decree authorized foreign residents to take up arms “exclusively to maintain public order.” Numerous volunteers formed the German, Spanish, and Swiss legions. Among these, the Italian Legion stood out not only for its size but also for its refusal to limit itself to police functions, insisting on active participation in the trenches defending the city.

The force was organized by two Italian officers: Colonel Silvino Olivien, born in Bruscios in 1820 and trained at the Naples Military Academy (La Nunziatella), and Major Eduardo Clerici, a Milanese graduate of the Milan Military Academy and former lieutenant in the Austrian Army. Both men had fought in Italy’s revolutionary struggles and were exiled following their defeats.

Together, they assembled approximately 300 Italian residents of Buenos Aires into a battalion named the Italian Legion. This force fought valiantly alongside the defenders of Buenos Aires, earning praise for their military skills. Their first casualty was Lieutenant Erba, who fell on January 9, 1853, and was honored with burial in the city’s cathedral.

Distinctions and Honors

The Italian Legion distinguished itself in battles at Plaza Lorea and the English Cemetery (near present-day Pasco and Pichincha streets). Their bravery earned them recognition from General Manuel Hornos, commander of the Argentine forces. On April 21, 1853, the Buenos Aires government presented the Legion with a blue-and-white flag featuring the city’s coat of arms embroidered in silver and gold. The flag bore a blue silk ribbon inscribed in gold: "Con questa bandiera vinceremo" - Buenos Aires, 16 aprile 1853. The flag, gifted by “porteñas” (women of Buenos Aires), remains preserved in the National Historical Museum.

Further recognition came on May 30, 1853, when a government decree officially renamed the force the Valiant Legion. Its members were granted the use of honor cords, a prestigious distinction for both officers and soldiers.

Disbandment and Legacy

In July 1853, following the conclusion of the conflict, the Italian Legion was disbanded at the request of Colonel Olivien, who returned the Legion’s flag to the government before departing for Italy. There, Olivien participated in new revolutionary activities, was captured, and sentenced to death. Buenos Aires authorities intervened successfully to secure his commutation, and he returned to Buenos Aires on October 31, 1855, exiled for life from the Papal States.

Colonization Plans and New Frontiers

Olivien’s forced return coincided with government plans to secure internal frontiers against Indigenous attacks in southern Buenos Aires Province. The plan involved creating militarized colonies, where settlers would be granted land in exchange for defending and developing present and future settlements. Thus, the legacy of the Italian Legion extended beyond their valor on the battlefield to contributions in shaping Argentina’s southern frontier.

Bahía Blanca, founded in 1828 and whose characteristics have already been pointed out, was the site chosen to test the project.

Italian Legionnaire

The Agricultural-Military Legion and the Founding of Nueva Roma

On November 18, 1855, a decree established an agricultural-military colony of 600 men under the jurisdiction of the Buenos Aires state army ordinances. Initially settled in Bahía Blanca, the colony could be relocated to other points in the southern frontier as needed. Colonel Silvino Olivien, due to his military background and engineering expertise, was appointed commander, with Major Clerici serving as his second-in-command. Among the recruits were 150 former members of the Italian Legion, alongside their previous officers.

One notable member was Juan Bautista Cúneo, a former soldier and journalist, who founded the first Italian-language newspaper in Argentina, named after the military force: La Legión Agrícola Militar. Thirteen issues of this publication were printed.

Uniform and Symbolism

The Agricultural-Military Legion adopted uniforms modeled after the French Zouaves from the Crimean War, featuring a kepi similar to those of the Buenos Aires army but in red, a nod to the Garibaldinian roots of its members. As a continuation of the Valiant Legion, the governor of Buenos Aires, Dr. Pastor Obligado, and the Minister of War and Navy, Bartolomé Mitre, ceremonially returned the Legion’s original flag to the new Italian formation on January 11, 1856.

Arrival and Organization

On February 5, 1856, the Legion arrived in Bahía Blanca with approximately 300 men. While not all had military experience, they were selected for their knowledge of agricultural practices. Captain Felipe Cavanti, who had been exiled from the Papal States, remained in Buenos Aires to organize the rest of the force.

Between February and July 1856, after enduring a yellow fever outbreak, the Legion began exploring the surrounding territory and divided itself into three branches:

1. Infantry: Comprising six companies.
2. Artillery: Commanded by Captain Juan Penna, a Milanese born in 1830 with extensive experience in the Italian Wars of 1848–1849. Penna would go on to have a distinguished military career in Argentina.
3. Cavalry: Led by Captain Mariano Barilan, a revolutionary from Rimini and former officer of the Royal Guard, who had also been exiled.

The Founding of Nueva Roma

On July 1, 1856, the Legion laid the foundations for the colony of Nueva Roma, located 25 kilometers west of Bahía Blanca along the Sauce Chico River. This colony was established to fulfill the dual objectives of the Agricultural-Military Legion: to populate and defend the region.

Notable Events

Two significant events marked the development of Nueva Roma. First, Major Clerici, who had established cordial relations with the influential Indigenous chief Calfucurá, was forced to step down due to illness and passed away in October 1856. His efforts in diplomacy with the local Indigenous communities left a lasting legacy.

The Agricultural-Military Legion exemplified a unique blend of military prowess and agricultural ambition, contributing to the expansion and defense of Argentina’s southern frontier.

The Years of the Agricultural-Military Legion

On September 28, 1856, Colonel Silvino Olivien was assassinated by mutinous members of his own force, angered by the severe punishments they were subjected to. The perpetrators deserted, and their crime remained unpunished. The arrival of Captain Felipe Caronti months later restored order and ensured the continuation of the Legion’s mission.

The government appointed Lieutenant Colonel Antonio Susini as the new commander of the Agricultural-Military Legion. Susini, a Milanese sailor and veteran who had sailed and fought alongside Giuseppe Garibaldi during campaigns on Argentine rivers, was one of the founders of the Italian Legion during the siege of Montevideo.

In 1853, Susini arrived in Bahía Blanca accompanied by Major Juan Bautista Charlone, a valiant officer who would later distinguish himself in the Paraguayan War, and Captains Sagani, Zonza, and Valerga, along with forty soldiers. All these men were veterans of the Italian and Valiant Legions.

Reorganization and Military Campaigns

Susini undertook a comprehensive reorganization of the force, renaming it the Military Legion. He discharged less capable members and restored the unit’s renowned reputation. Under Susini’s leadership, the Legion distinguished itself in campaigns against Indigenous forces, including actions at Salinas Grandes and the Battle of Pigüé in February 1859, where they faced Chief Calfucurá’s forces. General Wenceslao Paunero, commander of the Bahía Blanca Division, praised their valor.

In May 1859, the Legion defended Bahía Blanca against an attack by 2,500 Indigenous warriors, defeating them, recovering stolen goods, and freeing numerous captives. For his leadership, Susini was promoted to the rank of colonel by the Buenos Aires government in July 1859.

Contributions Beyond the Battlefield

The Legion’s impact extended beyond military accomplishments. Captain Felipe Caronti spearheaded significant development projects in the Bahía Blanca region, including the construction of the first port pier, two schools, and the first church. He also manufactured ammunition, repaired weapons, drafted topographic maps, and conducted meteorological studies. Caronti, unable to complete his engineering studies in Italy due to political exile, realized his aspirations in the country that adopted him.

Final Campaigns and Legacy

After four years of campaigns against southern Indigenous tribes, the Buenos Aires government ordered the Military Legion to return and participate in the conflict against General Urquiza’s army during a renewed civil war between Buenos Aires and the rest of the country.

The Legion fought valiantly at the Battle of Pavón, further cementing its legendary reputation. Colonel Juan Bautista Charlone, renowned for his courage and leadership, was promoted and awarded an honorary sword for his service.

Recognition from Garibaldi

The Military Legion’s exploits reached Giuseppe Garibaldi, who, from his home in Caprera, sent a letter to his former comrades on November 15, 1861. In it, he expressed his admiration and pride in their contributions to Argentina, ensuring that their heroic deeds remained part of both Argentine and Italian history. The enduring legacy of the Legion reflected the ideals of liberty and resilience shared by its members. It stated:

"Alía Legione Italiana de Buenos Aires Abete combattuto valerosamente per la libertá della Reppublicá Argentina, che é un popolo caro, honesto e generoso".

"Vi invio una parola de omaggio, cl 'affette di gratitudine, in nome della Italia intera e del vostro vecchio compagno d¨armi G. Garibaldi".

The Final Chapter of the Military Legion and Its Legacy

An emotional ceremony took place on February 4, 1864, in the city of Rosario, Santa Fe Province, where the Military Legion was stationed. During the event, the legionnaires received a new Argentine flag to replace their original one, which was nearly destroyed after so many campaigns and battles.

In early 1865, the Legion returned to Buenos Aires to complete its ranks with Argentine officers and troops. In April of that year, it was merged into the 8th Line Infantry Regiment, which then marched to the Paraguayan War, initiated on May 25, 1865. On that date, Paraguayan forces under Marshal Francisco Solano López, already at war with the Empire of Brazil, launched a surprise invasion of Argentine territory, triggering the War of the Triple Alliance. In this conflict, the armies of Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina fought against Paraguay in what became the bloodiest war in South American history.

Massive numbers of men were sacrificed against Paraguayan fortresses, defended with extraordinary bravery amidst dense jungles. Both sides demonstrated courage bordering on madness. The Paraguayan government, desperate after prolonged battles, even formed battalions of children and women, continuing the struggle until the annihilation of the last 1,000 soldiers of Solano López’s army, with López himself perishing alongside them.

The Legion in the Paraguayan War

The men of the Military Legion proved their valor throughout the war, distinguishing themselves in all the battles they fought. They participated in the defense of the city of Corrientes and fought in the battles of Yatay, Uruguayana, and the infamous massacre at Curupaytí. In this brutal engagement, Colonel Juan Bautista Charlone fell while leading an infantry charge in a futile attempt to breach Paraguayan trenches, reminiscent of the trench warfare horrors that would shock the world during World War I.

After Charlone’s death, command of the Italian forces passed to Colonel Baldomero Sotelo, an Argentine officer. Under his leadership, the Legion fought at Lomas Valentinas and Paso Hondo, where on October 21, 1869, they captured an eight-cannon battery in a bayonet assault.

Following these actions, the Legion became part of the Occupation Army, stationed in Asunción, the Paraguayan capital, until January 1871. Throughout the War of the Triple Alliance, the Legion wore its distinctive uniform, though it became increasingly adapted to the campaign’s necessities and shortages. After the war, the remnants of the once-glorious Legion returned to Corrientes, where they were incorporated into the 1st Battalion of the 8th Infantry Regiment.

Other Italian Forces

The Military Legion was not the only Italian-origin force serving with the Argentine Army. Two additional Italian formations were established:

1st Volunteer Legion or Volunteers of Liberty

This unit was organized by Commander José Giribone, born in Genoa in 1823 and exiled for political reasons. Giribone arrived in Montevideo in 1843 and fought alongside Giuseppe Garibaldi and Francisco Anzani during the siege of the Uruguayan capital. Known for his musical talent and exemplary bravery, Giribone composed a military march, La Marcha del Tala, which he bequeathed to the Argentine Army as a legacy of his sacrifice and dedication, notably displayed in the Battle of El Tala.

A Lasting Legacy

The Military Legion, alongside other Italian volunteer forces, embodied the ideals of courage, sacrifice, and dedication. Their contributions to the Argentine military during some of the nation’s most challenging conflicts remain a testament to the enduring bond between Italy and Argentina, rooted in shared struggles for freedom and justice.

Cnel. Antonio Sussini

On August 10, 1861, he was appointed commander of a force to be organized under the name Volunteers of Liberty. This unit was tasked with protecting the city of Rosario, Argentina, but after only a few months, it was disbanded to form a new unit called the Foreign Legion. This new force included volunteers of various nationalities, though Italians remained the majority.

The Foreign Legion committed to serve under a three-year contract and was sent to reinforce the Third Line Infantry Regiment, which defended the town of Azul in southern Buenos Aires Province from Indigenous attacks. Its name was later changed to the First Volunteer Legion, and under this designation, it fought in the War of the Triple Alliance as part of the allied Army of Operations.

On February 17, 1868, Commander Gribone fell in battle, succumbing to 18 wounds, “all from the front,” as recorded in the military report of the time, during an engagement against superior forces. With his death, the second heroic Italian figure in this war was lost.

Second Volunteer Legion: The aforementioned Colonel Antonio Susini, who had reorganized the Agricultural-Military Legion, had previously delegated its command to Lieutenant Colonel Charlone when Susini was appointed Commander of the Buenos Aires State Government’s Naval Squadron in 1857. However, unable to remain detached from the ongoing conflict in Paraguay, Susini returned to active service on land. He organized another unit, named the Second Volunteer Legion, with which he marched as part of the Army of Operations, participating in the entire campaign.

Juan Bautista Charlone

From the very beginning, Antonio Susini was appointed to command a brigade that included his Legion and ultimately rose to the prestigious position of Commander of the 1st Corps of the Argentine Army.

At the conclusion of the war against Paraguay, remnants of the Italian forces participated in some actions during subsequent Argentine civil wars before being discharged after their extensive campaigns.

There would no longer be Italian Legions in the Argentine Army, but many of their members, both soldiers and officers, requested and were incorporated into the national army. They went on to hold high and important positions, contributing to the final struggles against Indigenous forces and the definitive organization of an army to which they had always belonged—by the right earned through their spilled blood.

Bibliography:

* Álbum de la Guerra del Paraguay. Imprenta Jacobo Peuser, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1893-1894.

* De Marco, Miguel Angel - La Guerra del Paraguay. Editorial Planeta, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1995

* Granienigo, Gaio Italiano entre Rosas y Mitre. Ediciones. Sediliba, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1987.

* Comando en Jefe del Ejército - Reseña histórica y orgánica del Ejército Argentino. Ediciones-Círculo Militar, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1972.

* Best Félix - Historia de las Guerras Argentinas. Torno II. Editorial Peuser, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1960

* Caronti, C. Luis -. Legiones Italianas. Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1907.

* Ferracutti, Enrique - Las expediciones militares en los orígenes de Bahía Blanca. Ediciones Círculo Militar, Buenos Aires, Argentina 1962

* Walther, Juan Carlos, La conquista del Desierto Ediciones Círculo Militar, Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1964.

Mount Longdon: Corporal Second Class Colemil and His Conscripts

Corporal Second Class Colemil and His Conscripts

The Marines of the 12.7 mm Machine Gun Company, attached to the 7th Infantry Regiment (RI-7) on Mount Longdon, prepared the defence of their position as they were accustomed to: deep works with shelters, crawl trenches, ammunition depots, and so on—always working to perfect them. It was the best way to pass the time before going into combat, for they were convinced they would have to fight, and constant work was the best way to endure the wait, according to Marine Corps tradition. When the British assault came, they saw the wisdom of that attitude. Those who had not done so suffered needless casualties and could not fight effectively. 



Two days before the attack, Corporal Second Class Colemil went to the Marine Corps Combat Support Service, where Lieutenant Scotto told him: “Vizcacha” (another of Colemil’s nicknames), “here you have the night sights that have just arrived—take these for the rifles and for the machine guns.” Colemil took three rifle sights, giving one to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Dachary, another to Chief Corporal Lamas, and keeping the third for himself. He also carried six Litton sights for the machine guns and five or six head-mounted night vision devices, which turned out to be of little use. The following day, the Marines spent time training with the night sights. 



The Night of 11 June 1982

Carlos Rafael Colemil, in charge of a 12.7 mm machine gun (the westernmost on Mount Longdon), had escorted conscript Leiva—who was feeling unwell—to the aid post. Once checked and treated, Leiva was authorised to return to his position. On the way back, they passed Corporal Lamas’s machine gun, where Lamas warned Colemil: “Stay very alert. Don’t let your guard down; they could attack tonight.”

They carried on walking. When they reached the rest shelter, Colemil woke the relief shift, and with the two conscripts who had already completed their watch on the 12.7, began his nightly patrol. They paused briefly at the Army’s Racit radar (an infantry radar used to detect the enemy) and exchanged a few words with the sergeant operating it.

“Get into the dugout; they’re going to start firing,” the sergeant warned.

The radar—capable of detecting enemy infantry movements—was switched off at 8 p.m., as British ships had detected it and subjected it to naval gunfire from the south, an action that facilitated the infiltration of British paratroopers. About a company’s worth of these paratroopers made their way through the minefields without triggering any devices. Silently, they infiltrated the sector occupied by 2nd Lieutenant Juan D. Baldini’s section of the Bravo Company, RI-7, whose frontage faced west on Mount Longdon.

Colemil and the two conscripts continued moving among the rocks until he stopped and looked west through his FAL rifle’s night sight. To his surprise, he saw a diffuse shape moving not far away. Uncertain, he aimed the FAL at the spot and fired a shot. In response, he heard the unmistakable chatter of a Sterling submachine gun. There was no mistake—it was the enemy, and they were close. At that moment, a paratrooper stepped on a mine; the scream and the explosion alerted all of Mount Longdon.

Once he had located the enemy, Colemil ran to the rest shelter and phoned Lieutenant Dachary’s command post.
—“Cobra, this is Araucano. Cobra, this is Araucano.”
—“Go ahead, Araucano.”
—“Attention, guns— we’re under attack, we’re under attack.”
—“Received.”

(The machine guns were connected to Lieutenant Dachary’s command post and also interlinked with each other.)

While Colemil was alerting his commander, the fighting spread. Thanks to the advantage of surprise, the British managed to gain a foothold at the western end of the mount, advancing with machine guns, rifles, and 66 mm and 84 mm rockets. The atmosphere was hellish. Colemil marked targets with tracer rounds from his rifle, aided by the night sight.

Suddenly—air raid alarm. The Argentine infantrymen dived into their foxholes, and as soon as the artillery fire ceased, they emerged to continue firing. Then more rounds came crashing in.

 

Outnumbered but Still Fighting

The paratroopers took advantage of the moments when their enemies were in the foxholes to advance, overrunning Colemil’s position, leaving him cut off and unable to contact Lieutenant Dachary’s men. Far from discouraged, Colemil kept firing the 12.7 mm, but before long the weapon jammed and was put out of action.

From then on, it was a long night for “the Araucano” Colemil—a brilliant corporal who, through determination and courage, caused the British many headaches and inflicted numerous casualties.

“Well, we’ve got rifles and plenty of ammunition,” he told conscripts Ferrandiz and Leiva, who had stayed with him. “Let’s blast them.”

“Corporal, there are hundreds of them,” said Ferrandiz.
“All right—we’ll let them pass and then hit them from behind.”

Suddenly, Colemil saw some British troops trying to set up a mortar. “These ones aren’t getting away,” he thought aloud and began firing at them, wounding one and forcing the rest to withdraw.

“Behind you, corporal!” shouted Leiva as three paratroopers charged towards them. Colemil spun round and fired a burst of about fifteen rounds. One Briton fell, and the other two, wounded, withdrew, shouting.

Lying prone, the corporal searched for enemies through the rifle sight. Whenever one came into view, he put him out of action. Alone, he caused havoc among those trying to take the Argentine positions in that sector of Longdon, while his conscripts supported him with their rifles. 



At one point, he saw the enemy attempting to recover a recoilless rifle that was near his position. He opened fire, saw one Briton fall, and then came under heavy retaliatory fire. “If I don’t fight, I’m dead,” he thought. He began crawling from position to position, opening fire whenever he spotted an enemy. He saw a Briton standing on a parapet with a bipod-fitted rifle, shot him down instantly, and then fired at his comrades trying to approach—likely to recover the weapon.

In an attempt to peer out for more targets, Colemil was hit— the bullet struck the front of his helmet, pierced it, entered his scalp, and stopped at the nape of his neck. A paratrooper, barely twenty metres away, had thrown a grenade which exploded nearby, but a rock had stopped the shrapnel. As Colemil rose to seek him through the sight, the same man fired at him, the projectile grazing his head.

(Because the wound ran from his forehead to the nape, Colemil earned the nickname “Piggy Bank.”)

He immediately felt something hot running down his face. Dazed, he tried to stand, but managed to recover the rifle in time. As soon as his attacker appeared from behind a rock, he aimed at his chest and fired. The Briton let out a cry of pain and fell heavily on his back, arms spread.

“Corporal, let’s bandage your head,” said Ferrandiz.
“Yes, but quickly—we can’t stop firing.”
“We’re cut off. We can’t hold out much longer.”

By 3 a.m., they were also under friendly artillery fire, their own side believing the position had been taken by the British.

“Corporal, why don’t we surrender?” both conscripts said at once.
“No way. I won’t be taken prisoner. I’ve no wish to have my throat cut.”
“But, corporal—”
“I’d rather shoot myself than be taken prisoner.”
“Then let’s withdraw,” insisted the conscripts.

“All right, let’s go. We’ll link up with Corporal Lamas.”
“I’ll get you a helmet, corporal.”
“No, forget the helmet. Let’s move.”

Crouching low, they tried to leave the position, covering a few metres before being forced back by rifle fire. Colemil had put up a fierce resistance; it was clear they had his position pinpointed.

At around 03:00 hours, Corporal Colemil decided to fall back to the Bravo Company, RI-7 command post, seizing a momentary lull. The three men took the opportunity to move out, but again came under fire. The two conscripts escaped, but Colemil was shot in the leg. He tried to crawl away, but after a few metres, he lost consciousness.

When the British advanced, they left him where he was, assuming him dead. Corporal Second Class Colemil was taken prisoner and only regained consciousness aboard the British hospital ship Uganda, where surgeons fitted a platinum plate to his skull.

That night of 11 June 1982, he expended all five FAL rifle magazines and reloaded twice. British publications mention a “sniper” who caused them many casualties—very likely Corporal Carlos Rafael Colemil himself.

In 1982, he was awarded the “Honour to Valour in Combat” decoration.

Sinking the HMS Ardent: A Mission for the Brave

A Mission for the Brave – Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Marcelo “Parrot” Márquez

12 June. It was a cold autumn day at the “Almirante Quijada” Naval Air Station in Río Grande. It was raining, and the mechanics of the Third Naval Fighter and Attack Squadron (EA33) already had the A-4Q Skyhawk aircraft ready for the first combat mission during the South Atlantic conflict.

One of them was A-4Q number 3-A-314, which carried on its ventral station four 500-pound (230 kg) MK-82 “Snake-eye” bombs. Its pilot, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Marcelo “Parrot” Márquez, carried out a meticulous visual inspection, checking every detail of the old aircraft as if it were his legendary Ford A, to which he had a special attachment.

During the pre-flight briefing, they had defined the mission’s objective and the tactics to be used. The weather was unfavourable: medium and low clouds, showers, and reduced visibility. Under these conditions, they had to fly in tight formation and rely on the section leader, Corvette Captain Alberto “Mingo” Philippi.

The three aircraft started up and began their coordinated taxi to runway 25. The aircraft did not respond as usual due to being close to maximum take-off weight; it felt slow and heavy. Not all the aircraft had a VLF-Omega navigation system—although imprecise, it was better than relying solely on time, speed, and heading from visual references. They selected their armament without switching on the master arm.

At 14:10 on 21 May, after a long run along the 2,000-metre concrete runway, 3-A-314 began its climb to join the leader on the right wing. At 30,000 feet (10,000 m) and with a good tailwind, they headed towards the islands. At 100 miles from the target, they descended to avoid detection and preserve the element of surprise.

Under strict radio silence, communicating only with visual signals, the leader gave brief orders. They armed the master switch and began a low-level flight along the west side of East Falkland. The weather had worsened—cloud ceiling down to just 500 feet (150 m), showers, and visibility of only 1,000 metres. They maintained tight formation, searching for a valuable target.



The three aircraft turned left to cross the southern mouth of San Carlos Water. The water was dark in colour. Reaching the coast of East Falkland at 50 feet (15 m) altitude and 450 knots, with improved weather, they continued towards Port San Carlos. They sighted a ship to the north—the 2,750-tonne Type 21 frigate HMS Ardent—and manoeuvred gently to the right to attack westward from the port quarter. The aim was to surprise from different angles.

The wingmen switched positions and began the attack run. The leader attempted to fire his 20 mm cannons, but they jammed. Passing over the ship, he released his bombs—one struck the stern. The ship had begun firing its anti-aircraft guns and missiles in a desperate defence. The right wingman, Lieutenant José César “Cacha” Arca, flew through a curtain of shells and shrapnel from the leader’s bomb, made his release, and flew through a cloud of black smoke. Another bomb hit the stern. Finally, 3-A-314, focused on the target, released its bombs and then escaped that hell.

The three aircraft fled at wave-top height. Seconds later, the voice of “Parrot” came over the radio, tense and urgent: “Harrier to the left!” Immediately, they jettisoned their external tanks and began evasive manoeuvres, heading for the south of the strait and the cover of cloud.

At that moment, a Sea Harrier fired its 30 mm cannons twice at 3-A-314, and the engine exploded into pieces. In a fraction of a second, we lost Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Marcelo “Parrot” Márquez—and gained a hero. Simply, a HERO.

Lieutenant (Posthumous) Marcelo Gustavo “Parrot” Márquez was a man always distinguished by his composure, professionalism, and humility. A sailor respected by superiors and admired by subordinates. An exceptional human being, with a rebellious and passionate spirit, an excellent professional, cheerful, witty, humble, and generous.

Malvinas: The Odyssey of the 4th Section (3/5)

The Heroes of Nacar's 4th Section

(Part 3 of 5)



“Sir! They’re coming again!” shouted one of the sentries from a nearby foxhole. Vázquez, half his body exposed, immediately began directing fire, pointing out targets, asking for ammunition status, and giving firing orders.

Combat resumed once more, intense and all-encompassing — everyone firing at anyone who got close. The inferno of infantry battle returned: the staccato of machine guns, explosions of grenades, rockets, projectiles of all calibres, rifle shots, and the screams of the wounded all merged in a single, deafening chaos.

By 2:30 a.m., the group led by Sergeant Julio Castillo, positioned at the far right of the Section, was trying to hold off the enemy onslaught. With Castillo were Second Corporal Amílcar Tejada — who had travelled to the Falklands with Lieutenant Vázquez — and Dragoon José Luis Galarza, a young man who had stood out and whom Castillo affectionately referred to as “my lad.”

The firefight raged on. Sergeant Castillo kept firing and shouting “Long live the homeland!” But as the minutes ticked by, the situation grew increasingly dire. The British were almost upon them. Castillo shouted, “Fire, you bastards! Don’t act stupid — fight back!” referring to those in the centre sector (where Vázquez and the reconnaissance group were positioned). The Scots were throwing everything at them. Tejada fired the MAG, taking turns with a conscript. Castillo, a quintessential “trooper’s sergeant” in Marine Infantry terms, commanded the right flank.

Suddenly, Castillo saw a Scot assault and kill Dragoon Galarza. Enraged, he shot at the attacker with his FAL — but was immediately struck by three rounds. Castillo collapsed, a gaping 20-centimetre wound torn through his back. A nearby soldier rushed to him, hoping he was only wounded, but Castillo had died instantly.

Castillo, Tejada, Galarza and the mobile group conscripts had withstood the enemy’s advance with stoic bravery. Their position, at the far right of the 4th Section, bore the brunt of the British assault. The Scots, advancing from the west towards the centre and left of Nacar’s line, had to pass through the right flank first — where they were filtered and held off by this group.

With Castillo’s death, Tejada became the only leader left to Vázquez on the right flank — the only one left to give orders and keep morale alive.

Meanwhile, Second Lieutenant Silva was trying to defend himself as best he could. The battle was fierce — the enemy appeared from behind rocks as close as three to twenty metres away. Two conscripts near him were wounded by machine-gun fire. Without hesitation, Silva left his cover and dragged one of the injured towards the shelter of a nearby rock, some 30 metres away. He knew the man would likely die within minutes, with no time or means to treat him.

“Stay here,” he told him, trying to offer comfort. “You’ll be fine. I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. Please don’t move.”
The conscript clutched his bleeding abdomen with both hands and looked silently at his officer — perhaps a final farewell.
“Hang in there, I’ll be back,” Silva repeated.

Crawling back under heavy fire, he reached a foxhole where a FAP machine gun had been abandoned — its operator dead. Silva began firing until it jammed.
“Pass me something I can fire with!” he shouted to a nearby conscript, who handed him a rifle.
“Thanks — it’s something at least,” Silva said, trying to smile through his soot-covered face.

Gradually, the British — advancing in perfect formation — grew stronger. Casualties among Nacar’s men mounted. More and more British soldiers were infiltrating the section’s foxholes.

Why had the Argentines suffered so few casualties in the initial assault, despite the intensity of the combat?
The answer lay in mutual support: the 4th Section had been intact. Each foxhole was covered by the adjacent ones — no one was left unprotected. Thus, the British had to fight not one position, but two or three at once.

But in the second assault, the British changed tactics — with devastating effect. Groups of three or four men, crouching 10 to 20 metres away, would rise and charge the nearest foxhole. They might be shot at — maybe one or two would fall — but the others reached their target and killed whoever was inside.
Over time, the disparity in numbers became obvious.

Vázquez grew increasingly anxious. He couldn’t shake off the enemy or stop them occupying positions. He asked Fochesatto to connect him with Lieutenant Villarraza.

—“Green, this is Green 4.”
—“Green here.”
—“What’s happening with reinforcements?”
—“Hold out — they’re about to set off.”
—“Understood.”

Around 3:00 a.m., a soldier from the Army — Private Do Santos from RI-4 — crawled to Vázquez’s position and shouted:
“Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Sub-lieutenant Silva’s been hit!”
“What happened?”
“He was shot in the chest and arm. Blood’s coming from his mouth.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right — drag him carefully into a foxhole and try to give him some aid.”

“What can I do? What can I say?” thought Vázquez.
At that moment, wounded Marine Infantry soldier Félix Aguirre came to Silva’s aid, despite his own injury. Bravely, he dragged Silva to what he thought was a safe spot.
Returning to his position, Félix Aguirre was killed by enemy fire.

Five minutes after reporting to Vázquez, the same Army soldier returned.
“Lieutenant, Sub-lieutenant Silva is dead.”

Vázquez had lost a vital officer — one who constantly motivated the men, issued orders, and covered areas where Vázquez’s voice could not reach.

What had driven the soldier to return under fire to announce Silva’s death?
Why take such a risk?
Because for a soldier, there is no worse fate than losing his commander. It destroys his hope.
The commander is the one who knows the most, the one who protects them.
If the commander dies, what hope remains for the less trained conscript?
Who will take care of him? Who will tell him, “Move — you’ll be killed there,” or “Take cover,” or “Aim that way”? Who will lead the retreat?

No one.

The death of a commander quickly leads to the death of his subordinates — disorientation, fear, and hesitation take over, especially in close combat, where only the quickest survive.

The conscript had risked himself twice: first to try and save Silva, and then to avoid the feeling of abandonment if his leader died.
A deeply human action. One of the many faces of war.

Vázquez had no time to grieve.

A machine gun opened fire on him from a stone wall nearby. The British had his position marked — whenever he raised his head to give orders, he was met with a barrage.
But he couldn’t stop commanding.
“I’ll blow you to bits,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

He grabbed an anti-tank grenade launcher and fired at the machine gun nest — then another. One hit the base of the stone, the other missed.
It was futile. He couldn’t silence it.

—“Gascó! Gascó! Fire at that machine gun!” he shouted to a conscript on his left, whom he’d promoted to Dragoon that very day — in the middle of battle. “War things,” he thought.
He’d trusted the lad, and now he desperately needed him.

—“Gascó! Gascó! Don’t be a bastard — don’t leave me alone now!”

He knew Gascó was alive.
Why wasn’t he responding?

Gascó was trying to unjam the machine gun.
“Thank God,” he muttered when it finally worked.
Without wasting time, he opened fire on Vázquez’s attackers, taking them out.

The situation was desperate.

Vázquez decided to descend into the foxhole and use the radio — normally Fochesatto’s task, but this message was too urgent.
He pressed the button — and at once the background hum of reception ceased.
Underground, all outside noise was crystal clear: explosions, screams, gunfire. The blasts shook the earth.

These men, though, no longer feared how they’d die. They knew full well they might not make it out alive — but they also knew the British wouldn’t have it easy.

Suddenly, someone spoke in English — right at the mouth of the foxhole.
Vázquez and Fochesatto froze.

“Shit! They’re going to chuck a grenade down here!” cried Fochesatto.

Vázquez had a habit of leaving two rifles outside: one with an anti-tank grenade aimed in one direction, the other pointed the opposite way.

In his desperation, he knocked over the radio but leapt out of the foxhole and grabbed the nearest rifle.
A few metres away, a British soldier lay prone, speaking into a radio. In the confusion, he hadn't noticed the foxhole.
Vázquez didn’t hesitate — he aimed and fired.

The anti-tank projectile exploded less than half a metre from the British soldier, tearing him apart.

At the same time, further right, another British soldier reached a foxhole occupied by an Army conscript. A nearby soldier, some 30 metres away, saw him — but hesitated, unsure if he was British or not, a natural reaction amidst the chaos.

“Yes, he’s British!” he shouted — and fired.
Too late.

A second before being hit in the back, the Brit had thrown an incendiary grenade into the foxhole.

The blast was instant. Flames shot from the hole.

A soldier emerged — ablaze.
Without hesitating, he tore off his poncho-style blanket, rolled on the ground and extinguished the flames. Vázquez couldn’t believe he wasn’t burned.

The man stood up like a spring, scanned the area for a weapon, found a rifle, and crawled into another foxhole to continue fighting.

Vázquez called Lieutenant Villarraza again:
“What’s happening with the reinforcements?”
“They’re on their way — already marching.”

Sub-lieutenant Lamadrid’s section from RI-6 and Marines under Lieutenant Miño had begun a counterattack, but they hadn’t yet reached Vázquez’s position.

Still, help wasn’t arriving fast enough. The situation worsened.
Casualties increased. Ammunition was running low.

At that moment, Vázquez made a drastic decision:
He would shell his own position with their 60mm mortar — all 54 rounds.

A desperate move. A last resort.
There was no other option but surrender — or die.

Since mortars fire on a high arc, the only way to hit nearby positions was to remove the bipod.

That’s what they did — they placed it upright on two ammo crates.

“Rotela,” Vázquez said to the Dragoon acting as gun chief, supported by conscript Güida and another nicknamed “Pankuka.”
“Is Güida wearing the glove?”
“Yes, sir. He’s ready.”

Güida, his gloved right hand protecting him from the hot tube, held a round in the other. Eyes fixed on the mortar, he awaited the order.

“Fire!” Vázquez commanded.

They started at the right flank, moved through the centre, and reached the left.
Each shot caused tremors, smoke, and dirt clods — but accuracy was poor.
Despite heavy casualties, the British did not retreat.

They were many — and well dug in.

“This is going to hell,” Vázquez muttered. “We can’t last much longer. Let me try to reach command.”

He grabbed the radio and began calling Captain Robacio.

Malvinas: The Odyssey of the 4th Section (1/5)

The Odyssey of the 4th Section

(Part 1/5) 

This account tells the story of the creation and struggle of the mythical 4th Section of Company Nácar of BIM 5.
Extracted from the Book “BIM 5” by Emilio Villarino.

On 13 April, Lieutenant Junior Grade Carlos Vázquez arrived on the islands alongside Lieutenants Binotti and Colombo, three corporals, and six conscripts. Their mission was to form a forward air control team to guide the Argentine air force attacks. After spending two nights at Agruimvinas and eating “lifetime supplies” of chocolate, they were informed they would not be used as air controllers and were ordered to move to Casa Amarilla, the logistics base of BIM 5.

One by one, the three officers entered Captain Robacio's office. After waiting some time, it was Vázquez’s turn. Inside the small room, there was only a field table and a map pinned to the wall. Robacio informed him that he would join Company Nácar, based at Tumbledown. Vázquez, with Second Corporal Tejada and two conscripts, headed there.

Upon arrival, he was welcomed by Navy Lieutenant Villarraza and Colombo, who had been appointed second-in-command of the company. Villarraza said:
"Look, Lieutenant, I don’t have a specific role for you yet, but don’t worry—I’ll sort something out."

For several days, Vázquez had no defined role, until Captain Robacio decided to form the 4th Rifle Section of Company Nácar (every company normally has three rifle sections and one heavy weapons support section).
The 4th Section was composed of the reconnaissance group led by Warrant Officer Fochesatto and personnel from the mobile group (soldiers previously assigned to clean-up duties), under Warrant Officer Julio Saturnino Castillo.

Arrival of Army Troops

Early in the morning of 12 June 1982, Vázquez was alerted that army personnel were retreating towards their positions. They were soldiers from the 4th and 12th Regiments—some wounded, others unarmed. Captain Robacio's orders were clear: any man fit for combat was to be retained and deployed. Vázquez evacuated the wounded to the rear and placed the armed—two corporals and five soldiers—in vacant foxholes.

Among them was a man sitting motionless on a rock, clearly in shock. He was a second lieutenant. Vázquez helped him into the shelter and offered him a hot broth:
"We have no food, but this will do you good. What’s your name?"
"Monsteirín," the sub-lieutenant replied without lifting his eyes from the cup.
"I’m from Regiment 12."
"Well then, stay here and get some rest," Vázquez said.

Later that morning, a sentry raised the alarm: a column of 15 army men was approaching under heavy British artillery fire. Vázquez left his foxhole and sought cover behind a rock, from where he watched the troops advancing, trying to dodge exploding shells. Once they reached the 4th Section’s lines, he had them move forward in pairs and assigned them to empty positions.

The last of the group was a second lieutenant. As he approached, he said:
"Hello, how are you?"
"Hi, how’s it going?" replied Vázquez, puzzled: “Who the hell is this guy?” He had no idea where they might have met.
"Look where we’ve ended up seeing each other," the other officer said.
Still unsure of his identity, Vázquez replied out of courtesy:
"Well, that’s war for you."
"Is your wife’s brother here?"
"As far as I know, he’s on the mainland," answered Vázquez, realising he did indeed know him. It was Second Lieutenant Oscar Silva from the 4th Infantry Regiment, a classmate of Vázquez’s brother-in-law.
"And how are you doing?"
"Still eager to fight," Silva replied.

"I have orders to hold anyone fit for combat," Vázquez said.
These men had just retreated from positions captured by the British and had been awake all night. Despite being exhausted, soaked, and freezing, Silva didn’t hesitate:

"All I ask is the chance to get back at the Brits for what they did to us at Mount Two Sisters."
"You and your men are a blessing," said Vázquez.
"My right flank is wide open and there’s a big gap between Lieutenant Miño’s section (which is covering our rear) and mine. You’ll be a huge help."

The men spent the rest of the day occupying foxholes. Those who couldn’t find shelter improvised. Sub-Lieutenant Silva, a corporal, and four soldiers took position on the path they would use to retreat and regroup with Miño’s section if needed. From there, they could support Warrant Officer Second Class Castillo’s group to the right. Using rocks, they built makeshift shelters.

The Eve of Battle

13 June dawned with brilliant sunshine—undoubtedly one of the finest days since BIM 5 had occupied that part of the Falklands. Around midday, Warrant Officer Fochesatto informed Vázquez that Lieutenant Villarraza, Company Nácar's commander, wanted him at company HQ for a meeting.

Vázquez walked the 1,500 metres accompanied by a conscript with a fixed bayonet, in case of British infiltrators. He was more worried about what might be hiding behind rocks than the constant shelling. Upon arriving at the command post, he found Major Jaimet from RI-6 and other section leaders from Companies Nácar and Miño. One of the companies had retreated to Tumbledown and was now in reserve.

Villarraza addressed them:

"The enemy will almost certainly attack tonight,"

He then gave final combat instructions.
At the end of the meeting, he added:

"I expect you to fulfil your duty and fight bravely, honouring the Argentine Marine Infantry. The time has come to show the British what we are made of."

These were plain, direct words that stirred every officer present. Vázquez shook Villarraza’s hand and said:

"I hope we meet again when this is all over."

At around 18:00 hrs, Vázquez held a final meeting with his leaders: Sub-Lieutenants Silva and Monsteirín; Warrant Officers Fochesatto and Castillo; and Second Corporal Tejada. They gathered in his foxhole—the largest—where they discussed matters for two hours and issued the final instructions for that night. They believed they would flank the British as it was thought they would attack Mount Williams—but fate had other plans.

They reviewed coordination measures, prearranged signals (to initiate final protective fire, ceasefire, and planned withdrawal to a ridgeline). These were standard elements of a combat operations order for a small unit.

At 20:00, after the meeting, they ate their last remaining food: a tin of peaches—the only solid food they’d had in three days.

"This feels like the Last Supper," Vázquez joked.
"If we see each other tomorrow in daylight, it means we won and are alive. If not, it means we lost—and heaven has electric fairy lights."

Each man shook the commander’s hand and wished one another luck. Castillo and Tejada headed to the right flank with Sub-Lieutenant Silva. Everyone seemed calm. No one showed signs of fear or insecurity—although surely they felt it inside. But they were confident they would fight to the end.
An end that, by then, was in God’s hands.
“Everything’s been played,” was how they truly felt. At that point, it no longer depended solely on their actions—but on destiny.

Malvinas: The Braves of the 25th IR (1/2)

"Gato" Section, the Braves of the 25th Infantry Regiment

Part 1 || Part 2

Account by Corporal Diego Enrique Pesaresi, Member of RI 25, Company "C", Section "Gato"

We arrived on the islands on April 2nd. Initially, we were stationed in Puerto Argentino, and later we were transferred to Darwin. On a day whose date I do not recall, our section departed towards San Carlos to carry out a mission. Upon arrival, we encountered the section commanded by Second Lieutenant Vázquez, which remained to reinforce the strait. Sergeant Reyes ordered me to ascend to Height 234 with three other soldiers, carrying a tent and a radio set. Our mission was to monitor the strait and report any enemy presence via radio. We had no radar—only a pair of binoculars, FAL rifles, a MAG machine gun, a FAP, and a mortar.

Once in position, we began surveillance. One night, around 1:00 a.m., under heavy fog, we started to hear unidentified noises. Suddenly, naval shelling began in support of the British landing. We quickly took our rifles and moved to rendezvous with Sergeant Reyes. Fierce fighting ensued, and we inflicted significant casualties on the enemy. We endured heavy enemy fire for hours. At dawn, our ordeal truly began.

Lieutenant Esteban’s section was located in San Carlos, and we were supposed to regroup with them. However, this proved impossible, and we were forced to begin a retreat. We marched at night and rested during the day. At one point, British troops passed extremely close—just a few meters away. Fortunately, they did not see us. The combat was intense; tracer bullets fell like rain. Yet, Second Lieutenant Reyes skillfully protected us and led us out of that hellish barrage. By then, Sergeant Martín Colque was no longer with us—he had remained by his mortar, enduring hunger and cold.

The eleven of us who remained began walking toward Puerto Argentino. At one point, we sensed we were being pursued. To evade capture, Reyes ordered us to cross a river branch and hide behind a mountain. From there, we could observe the enemy searching for us, barely a hundred meters away. For reasons unknown, British troops in a helicopter mistakenly opened fire on their own men, likely believing we were the target.

The freezing river water caused several cases of frostbite: Corporal Hugo Godoy and Soldiers Moyano and Cepeda suffered in their feet, while Soldier Alarcón was affected in his hands. We carried the wounded on our backs, as they were unable to walk.

Exhausted and weakened, Second Lieutenant Reyes ordered a halt. We took shelter in a kind of cave, which we named la cobacha. The injured were delirious, speaking incoherently, clearly beyond their physical limits. After days without food, the first thing we ate was a wild goose, which Reyes shot with his pistol. In the distance, we spotted a house. Reyes instructed us to investigate it. Upon arrival, we found it abandoned; the only food we discovered was sugar.

We visited the house several times. On one occasion, as we were leaving, a British helicopter attempted to land in front of it. We were spotted, but managed to hide in a small shed filled with scrap metal. Without Reyes present, we did not know what to do. In hindsight, we realize we could have opened fire and neutralized the invaders. They saw us clearly. In desperation, we ran back to the cobacha and reported the incident to Reyes, who immediately ordered the evacuation of the area.

We were forced to leave the wounded behind in the cobacha, leaving them with what little food we had—a raw lamb. By then, we had learned to hunt and eat raw meat, as lighting a fire was not an option.

Malvinas: A Tribute to the Heroes of BIM 5

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

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


 


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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Malvinas: GC-83 Río Iguazú, the Cutter that did not Surrender

GC-83 Río Iguazú: The Cutter that did not Surrender

The icy winds of the South Atlantic cut like blades against the skin of those brave sailors aboard the Río Iguazú. They were not on a warship. They had no armor, no firepower comparable to that of a destroyer, no speed to match that of a frigate. They were men of the Argentine Coast Guard, servants of the sea, embarked on a mission that, unbeknownst to them, would turn them into legends.

Since their arrival at Puerto Argentino (previously Stanley) on April 13, 1982, the GC-83 Río Iguazú had eluded the invisible threat of British nuclear submarines. A small, agile vessel designed for coastal patrols, it now sailed defiantly in those hostile waters, ready to fulfill its duty. On May 22, with the war already raging and the blood of battle still fresh on the Malvinas soil, it was given a critical mission: to transport two 105mm Oto Melara howitzers from Puerto Argentino to Darwin. These artillery pieces would be vital for the defense of the Argentine troops who, just days later, would fight bravely in Goose Green.

Under the command of Sub-Prefect Eduardo Adolfo Olmedo, the Río Iguazú set sail in the early hours of that fateful day. Fifteen men on board. Fifteen souls devoted to their country. They knew they were sailing in enemy-controlled waters. War offered no mercy, and neither would their adversaries. At 08:20, the ship’s radio crackled to life, delivering a chilling message: Red Alert!

The attack came instantly. Two British Sea Harrier jets swooped down from the gray sky, their roar shaking the very air. The men on deck barely had time to react before a storm of fire rained down upon them. The 30mm cannons ripped through the ship’s hull, destroying navigation equipment and sowing chaos aboard. In the engine room, Second Corporal José Raúl Ibáñez fought desperately against the flooding that threatened to doom the vessel. But the damage was beyond repair—the water was rising fast.

On deck, resistance had a name and a face. Julio Omar Benítez, the youngest crew member, manned one of the ship’s two 12.7mm machine guns, the only defense against the enemy aircraft circling above like hawks. But fate was merciless. A British volley struck him down where he stood. His body collapsed beside the weapon he had so valiantly fired. Nearby, Juan José Baccaro and Second Corporal Bengochea lay wounded, their blood soaking the deck.

The Río Iguazú was critically damaged, but it would not surrender. Olmedo, his resolve unshaken, ordered a desperate maneuver—set course for the nearest islet, zigzagging to evade another deadly pass from the Harriers. Every second counted.

And then, Ibáñez, his heart pounding with rage and grief, made a decision that would change everything. Leaving the flooded engine room, he climbed to the deck and rushed toward the unmanned machine gun. With swift hands, he pulled his fallen comrade’s body aside and gripped the weapon. His eyes locked onto the sky.

A Harrier was lining up for the final strike. Ibáñez held his breath. He squeezed the trigger. A hail of bullets erupted, tracing a path of fire through the air. The aircraft, caught in the storm of gunfire, began spewing thick black smoke. For a brief, eternal moment, it seemed to hover in midair, before gravity took its toll—it plunged into the sea, vanishing beneath the icy waves.

The surviving Harrier pilot, seeing the fate of his wingman, turned away and disappeared over the horizon.

The battle was over. The humble patrol boat had struck down a titan.

Severely damaged, the Río Iguazú was deliberately beached on a nearby islet to save the remaining crew. The survivors were later rescued and taken to Darwin, where, on May 24, with full military honors, Julio Omar Benítez was laid to rest. His sacrifice had not been in vain. The artillery pieces that the Río Iguazú had been transporting were salvaged and flown to Darwin, where they would play a crucial role in the upcoming battle.

Thus ended the journey of the patrol boat that dared to defy the impossible. It was not a warship. It was not a heavily armed frigate. But it was Argentine. And that was enough to carve its name into history.

Malvinas: Soldier Horacio Balvidares and the Camaradie of War

Camaraderie and commitment in the fight for Mount Tumbledown

The little-known story of soldier Horacio Balvidares

On the night of June 13, the battle for Tumbledown, an Argentine defensive position in the path of the British advance towards Puerto Argentino, began. It was a battle that both sides remember as very hard, fierce, with a lot of automatic weapons fire and hand-to-hand combat.


View from Mount Tumbledown

The troops of the 5th Marine Infantry Battalion, the 4th Infantry Regiment and the 6th Infantry Regiment gave ample evidence of their determination and bravery in the face of an equally determined and brave enemy. For two days the Army men had been fighting at close range, and under the cover of their own Artillery they tried to recover physically while perfecting their positions.


English drawing about Tumbledown combat

The remnants of Company "B" of the 6th Infantry Regiment were waiting on Wireless Ridge for their turn to engage. They could not determine where the enemy would come from, but the sounds of the increasingly violent fighting made it clear that action would soon begin. They were ordered to block the flank of a Marine section on Tumbledown Mountain and began to advance in the darkness broken by flares.

A soldier is wounded in the legs and Private Adorno bravely goes forward to help him. Before reaching the position he is shot and seriously wounded in the arm, falling onto the rocks.

Private Horacio Balvidares assists him and carries him to the rear, on foot and with his companion on his shoulder, he travels kilometers from Tumbledown to the entrance of the town of Puerto Argentino. There they are met by a nurse who had gone ahead.

After handing over his wounded comrade and despite having reached an area far from the combat, with greater safety, he turned around and began to return to his section's positions, knowing the danger of crossfire and hand-to-hand combat, so it was that while returning he was mortally wounded by an enemy artillery shell.

A brave man who rescues another brave man. A soldier who returns with determination to the place of danger. Soldier Balvidares left an indelible mark among his comrades and saved a life that is still remembered, thanked and paid tribute to.



Brave, generous, good comrades and, above all, respectful of the oath to the flag of their country; that is what our men were like in Malvinas.

Argentine government

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.”