Malvinas: Argentine Naval Prefecture Shot Down a Harrier

1982, The Malvinas War
22 May, Choiseul Sound
Argentine Naval Prefecture Vs Royal Navy
Z-28 Patrol Boat Vs Sea Harrier Fighter

David Vs Goliath

On 22 May 1982, at 08:25, the GC-83, a small Z-28 patrol launch of the Argentine Naval Prefecture, the PNA Río Iguazú, commanded by Deputy Prefect Eduardo Adolfo Olmedo with 14 men under his orders, was sailing through Choiseul Sound and was about to reach Darwin. She was carrying two 105/14 mm Otto Melara Mk-56 howitzers and 15 Argentine Army artillerymen as artillery reinforcement for Lieutenant Chanampa, when she was intercepted and attacked by two Sea Harrier aircraft. The Argentine vessel was destroyed — but not before knocking one Sea Harrier out of action and damaging another.

When Argentina recovered the Malvinas Islands on 2 April 1982, that very same day, after expelling the English usurping authorities, it began the immediate military withdrawal back to the mainland. Argentina decided to deploy only a limited unit for policing duties until the United Nations resolved the dispute. Thus, two patrol launches from the Argentine Naval Prefecture were sent to the islands for coastguard, policing and SAR duties, in compliance with UN Security Council Resolution 502, while Great Britain was violating that same resolution by sending a massive naval invasion force from 5 April onwards.

The GC-83 Río Iguazú was assigned to the mission together with the GC-82 Islas Malvinas. The two small security vessels of the Argentine Naval Prefecture were placed under the Malvinas Naval Command and were tasked with everything from reconnaissance to logistical supply for the different garrisons scattered across the islands, patrol work, radar sweeps, pilotage for ships entering Puerto Argentino so they could be guided clear of mined areas, communications interception, and search-and-rescue missions.

While carrying out one of those missions — supplying a garrison — on 22 May, the vessel undertook what, unbeknown to her crew, would be her final run. The coastguard launch left Puerto Argentino. Her task was to transport 15 men from Battery A of the Argentine Army’s 4th Airborne Artillery Group, along with the two Otto Melara howitzers already mentioned. Since those pieces could be dismantled for mountain use, they were taken apart and stowed below deck on the small vessel, so as not to endanger her stability. She was bound for Goose Green, where it was already expected that the enemy would make its move before attempting to assault Puerto Argentino, the main objective.

At 08:25, over Choiseul Bay on Gran Malvinas Island (East Falkland), the patrol launch was intercepted by two Sea Harrier FRS.1 fighter-bombers of the Royal Navy. The crew of the Río Iguazú mistook them for RAF Harrier GR.3s. They were caught off guard. The Sea Harriers came in low, proper low, and opened fire with their 30 mm ADEN cannon, mortally damaging the vessel, killing Corporal Benítez and seriously wounding Assistant Baccaro and Corporal Bengoechea, all gunners on the ship’s M2HB .50 calibre machine gun, with which they had been returning enemy fire.

The British rounds also struck the rudder, destroyed the electrical panel, and opened a breach in the hull, which led to flooding in the engine room. With the electrical panel out of action, the bilge pumps could no longer be used effectively, and the ship was done for. Deputy Prefect Olmedo therefore made the decision to beach the Río Iguazú on the coast, so that, once stabilised, the crew could better concentrate the fire of their weapons and, at the same time, protect the men ashore until they could be rescued.

Even so, while that was being attempted, Second Corporal Julio Omar Benítez, who was operating one of the machine guns, had already been killed by a shot to the chest, leaving that weapon out of action. The other machine gun, manned by Third Assistant Juan José Baccaro, was also put out of service, while Baccaro and Second Corporal Carlos Bengoechea were both seriously wounded, along with Principal Officer Gabino González.

Olmedo presented the stern of the GC-83, where the two machine-gun mounts were located, to face the second attacking pass of the Sea Harriers now bearing down on them. But with all the vessel’s gunners either dead or wounded, it was Second Corporal José Raúl Ibáñez, an engine-room man, who at that moment was trying to bail out a breach that had already become unstoppable. Water was coming in with such pressure that the jet was smashing against the engine-room ceiling. When he came up on deck to report the situation, he was met with the grim sight of Baccaro and Bengoechea dragging themselves across the deck, and Benítez dead at the foot of the machine gun.

Although Ibáñez had no specific training as a machine-gunner, he did know how to use the weapon. He saw that the Sea Harriers were already diving once again towards the vessel and immediately took Benítez’s place at the Browning .50 calibre machine gun. He aimed and began firing at the attacking aircraft, shouting:

“¡Viva la Patria!” — Long live the Fatherland!

His courage and marksmanship allowed him to hit one of the Sea Harriers that was approaching from astern, firing at point-blank range. The aircraft withdrew inland, trailing a thick plume of smoke behind it. The other aircraft managed to veer away and left the area, following its badly wounded mate.

Minutes later, the vessel ran aground. The crew disembarked and took shelter on land, tending to the wounded, and by nightfall they were evacuated. Later, the howitzers and ammunition, which had remained inside the vessel in a section that had been flooded, were recovered by an improvised diving mission carried out by Chanampa’s men. They were then transported to Darwin by helicopter. In this way, the mission assigned to the Río Iguazú was completed after all, and those guns went on to take part in the fierce fighting that later broke out at Darwin-Goose Green.

And what happened to the English aircraft and its pilot? The CIC at Puerto Argentino, using its AN/TPS-43 radar, had detected three aircraft and was able to monitor two of them breaking off for the attack. Later, it tracked the withdrawal of the three aircraft until one of them began descending and disappeared a few kilometres from the target, while the other two continued flying until they were lost beyond the radar horizon. Naturally, the British did not acknowledge any loss at the time.

According to the British, the Sea Harriers involved were XZ496, flown by Lieutenant Hale, to whom they attributed the attack, and XZ460, commanded by Lieutenant Commander Frederiksen, who provided top cover. Not only do they deny that any aircraft was damaged, they also make no reference whatsoever to the third aircraft detected by the CIC at Puerto Argentino.

In Argentina, it is taken as fact that a Sea Harrier was shot down — almost certainly ZA192, flown by Lieutenant Commander Gordon Batt, who was killed. Batt had been one of those who attacked and sank the Argentine fishing vessel Narwal while it was carrying out intelligence work, and for that he was decorated posthumously with the DFC. The British, however, claim that the loss of this aircraft and pilot occurred, with no rational explanation to this day, one day later — on 23 May — when, after allegedly taking off alone, something impossible since British fighters operated in pairs or threes, the aircraft mysteriously exploded without reporting any fault or alarm and fell into the sea without leaving a trace.

The wounded Argentines were transported by Air Force helicopters to Puerto Argentino for treatment. The rest of the crew, including the Army personnel who had not suffered casualties, were taken to the settlement at Darwin, where they remained for two days until they could be returned to Puerto Argentino, where their presence was later deemed unnecessary for the fighting.

On 24 May, the remains of Second Corporal Julio Omar Benítez were buried with military honours at Darwin, in the presence of his Prefecture comrades who had not yet been evacuated, as well as senior personnel and troops from the Army and Air Force of the local garrison.

When the fighting at Darwin-Goose Green ended, Royal Navy experts inspected the GC-83 and determined that she could be recovered. But bad luck for them: on 13 June 1982, a Royal Navy Lynx helicopter, XZ691 of 815 Squadron, assigned to the Leander-class frigate HMS Penelope, mistook her for a vessel on an incursion and fired a Sea Skua missile, which struck the launch’s bridge and rendered her completely useless.

While the GC-82 was captured when Puerto Argentino fell the following day, the GC-83 remained abandoned for many years at the spot where she had been beached, until, on an undetermined date, she was freed, towed to a deeper area of the bay, and sunk. Not like what was done with the submarine ARA Santa Fe in South Georgia, which they tried to take to the United Kingdom as a war trophy, only for the operation to fail and the submarine to sink hundreds of kilometres off the South Georgia coast — when she could perfectly well have been sunk a couple of kilometres offshore, where she posed no danger whatsoever to navigation.

Second Corporal Julio Omar Benítez was promoted posthumously to the rank of First Corporal and was awarded the medal “The Argentine Nation to the Fallen in Combat.”

Second Corporal José Raúl Ibáñez, a Corrientes man from the town of Libertador, in the district of Esquina, received the highest decoration in existence: “The Argentine Nation for Heroic Valour in Combat.” In 1984 he married. He has one daughter, Rocío Belén, and two sons, Hernán and Gustavo Joaquín. He continued serving the Fatherland, proudly wearing the uniform of the Argentine Naval Prefecture, until reaching the highest rank in his career branch, and now enjoys his recent retirement.

The Argentine wounded were awarded the medal “The Argentine Nation to the Wounded in Combat.”

All of Benítez’s comrades, the crewmen of the Río Iguazú, also received the distinctions “Operations in Malvinas” and “Prefecture in Malvinas,” which to this day they wear with pride for having fulfilled their duty and their oath to defend the Fatherland — just like San Martín’s grenadiers, Brown’s sailors, Güemes’s gauchos, Mansilla’s artillerymen, Roca’s horsemen, the engineers of Manchala, the infantrymen of the 29th Regiment of Formosa, and the soldiers and policemen of La Tablada.

As the Liberator, General Don José de San Martín, rightly said:

“Argentines are not empanadas to be eaten with no more effort than opening one’s mouth.”

FIRST CORPORAL JULIO OMAR BENÍTEZ — SALUTE!
LONG LIVE THE FATHERLAND!

Images: We see the heroic PNA Second Corporal José Raúl Ibáñez of the coastguard GC-83 Río Iguazú, later as First Corporal; in another image, in the Malvinas, still a Second Corporal, holding the M2HB with which he would be responsible for the downing of Sea Harrier ZA192; and later, as a Senior Non-Commissioned Officer, acting as standard-bearer for the Argentine Naval Prefecture at an official ceremony. There are also images of the Río Iguazú and her crew during operations in the Malvinas; Sea Harriers in action; the Islas Malvinas captured by the British and moored alongside HMS Cardiff; a Z-28 class patrol launch in its traditional peacetime livery; the Río Iguazú out of action in Choiseul Sound; and the man from Entre Ríos, born in Basavilbaso, PNA Second Corporal Julio Omar Benítez, 1962–1982, who joined the Argentine Naval Prefecture in 1979 and gave his life for the Fatherland on that 22 May 1982.

Argentine Marines: Colemil and his Men en Monte Longdon

Lance Corporal Colemil and his men on Monte Longdon

The Marines of the 12.7 mm machine-gun company attached to RI-7 on Monte Longdon prepared the defence of their position as they were accustomed to: deep works, with shelters, communication trenches, ammunition stores, etc., always working to improve them. It was the best way to pass the time before going into combat, as they were convinced they would have to fight, and constant work was the best way to overcome the انتظار, in line with Marine Corps tradition. When the British assault came, they saw how right that attitude had been. Those who had not done so suffered unnecessary casualties and were unable to fight effectively.

Two days before the attack, Lance Corporal Colemil went to the Marine Corps Combat Support Service. There, Lieutenant Scotto told him: “Vizcacha (another of Colemil’s nicknames), here are the newly arrived night sights—take these for the rifles and machine guns.” The lance corporal took three for rifles: he gave one to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Dachary, another to Chief Corporal Lamas, and kept the third. He also carried six Litton sights for the machine guns and five or six head-mounted night vision devices that proved of no 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 one positioned furthest to the west on Monte Longdon), had taken conscript Leiva, who felt unwell, to the aid post. After being examined and treated, he was authorised to return to his position. On their way back, they passed by Chief Corporal Lamas’s machine gun, who said to Colemil: “Stay very alert. Don’t let your guard down—there could be an attack tonight.” They continued on. When they reached the shelter they used for rest, Colemil woke the relief and, together with two conscripts who had already completed their watch on the 12.7, began the nightly patrol. They stopped briefly near the Army’s Racit (S) radar (an infantry radar used to detect the enemy) and exchanged a few words with the operator sergeant. “Get into your dugout—they’re about to start firing,” he warned Colemil.

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 fire from the south, which facilitated the infiltration of British paratroopers for the attack. These paratroopers, roughly a company in strength, made their way through the minefields without triggering them. Silently, they infiltrated sectors held by the Bravo Company of RI-7, under Second Lieutenant Juan D. Baldini, whose front faced west on Monte Longdon.

Colemil and the two conscripts continued moving among the rocks until he stopped and looked west through his rifle’s night sight. To his surprise, he saw a diffuse shape moving not far away. Uncertain, he aimed his FAL rifle and fired a shot. In response, he heard the unmistakable rattle of a Sterling machine gun. There was no doubt—it was the enemy, and close. At the same time, a paratrooper stepped on a mine; the man’s cry and the explosion alerted the whole of Monte Longdon.

Once the enemy was detected, Colemil ran to the shelter and used the field telephone to call Lieutenant Dachary’s command post: “Cobra, this is Araucano. Cobra, this is Araucano.” —“Go ahead, Araucano.” —“Man the weapons—we are under attack, we are under attack.” —“Received.” (The machine guns were connected to Dachary’s command post and to each other.)

While Colemil alerted his superior, the fighting spread. Thanks to the element of surprise, the British managed to position themselves at the western end of the hill, advancing with machine guns, rifles, and 66 and 84 mm rockets. The atmosphere was hellish. Colemil marked targets with tracer rounds from his rifle, aided by the night sight. Then came artillery fire. The Argentine Marines dived into their foxholes; as soon as it stopped, they emerged to keep firing, only to be hit again. The paratroopers took advantage of these moments to advance, overrunning Colemil’s position, leaving him isolated and unable to rejoin Dachary’s men.

Undeterred, Colemil continued firing the 12.7, but not for long—the weapon jammed and went out of action. From that point, a long night began for “Araucano” Colemil, a brilliant NCO whose determination and bravery caused the British many problems and numerous casualties.

“Well, we’ve got rifles and plenty of ammunition,” he told conscripts Ferrandiz and Leiva, who had remained with him. “Let’s shoot them to pieces.”
“Corporal, they’re coming in their hundreds,” said Ferrandiz.
“That’s fine—we’ll let them pass and then hit them from behind.”

At one point, Colemil saw British troops trying to set up a mortar. “These won’t get away,” he said, opening fire, wounding one and forcing the others to withdraw.
“Watch your back, Corporal!” warned Leiva as three paratroopers approached at speed. Colemil turned and fired a burst of about fifteen rounds. One fell; the other two retreated wounded, shouting.

Lying prone, he searched for targets through his sight. Whenever one came into range, he put them out of action. Alone, he caused heavy losses among those attempting to take the Argentine positions in that sector of Longdon. His conscripts supported him with their rifles.

At one point, he saw the enemy trying to recover a recoilless rifle near his position. He opened fire, saw one fall, and then his position came under intense fire. At that moment he thought: if I don’t fight, I’m dead. He began crawling from position to position, firing whenever he saw an enemy. He spotted one standing on a parapet with a bipod-mounted rifle—he fired, and the man dropped instantly. He continued firing at others trying to reach him.

While exposing himself to find targets, Colemil was hit—the round struck the front of his helmet, pierced it, and lodged in his scalp, stopping at the back of his head. A paratrooper, from just over twenty metres away, had thrown a grenade which exploded nearby, but a rock stopped the fragments. As Colemil rose to locate him, the same man fired his rifle. The bullet grazed his head. Because of this wound, running from forehead to nape, Colemil earned the nickname “Moneybox”. He felt warm blood running down his face. Dazed, he steadied himself, took up his rifle, and waited. As soon as his attacker appeared from behind a rock, he aimed at his chest and fired. The man cried out and fell backwards.

“Corporal, let’s bandage your head,” said Ferrandiz.
“Yes, but quickly—we can’t stop firing.”

“We’re cut off—we won’t hold much longer.”

At around 3 a.m., they began receiving fire from their own artillery, which was striking the area assuming it had already fallen.
“Corporal, why don’t we surrender?”
“No—no way. I won’t be taken prisoner.”
“Then let’s fall back.”
“All right—let’s go. We’ll link up with Corporal Lamas.”

They tried to withdraw but were immediately engaged and forced back. Colemil had offered fierce resistance and was clearly pinpointed.

At approximately 03:00, he decided to withdraw towards Bravo Company’s command post. Taking advantage of a lull, they tried again. The two conscripts managed to escape, but Colemil was hit in the leg. He tried to crawl but lost consciousness after a few metres. When the British advanced, they left him where he lay, believing him dead. He was later taken prisoner and regained consciousness aboard the British hospital ship Uganda, where a platinum plate was inserted in his skull.

That night, he expended five FAL magazines and reloaded twice. British accounts speak of a “sniper” who caused heavy casualties—this was likely Lance Corporal Carlos Rafael Colemil.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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