Malvinas: On How the AAF Operated the Pucará

 

This is how we had to operate with the Pucará

Account taken from the book “With God in the Soul and a Falcon in the Heart”
Narrated by: Captain Grunert — Pucará pilot
Date: 1 May 1982
Place: Darwin
Flight: Captain Grunert, No. 1; Lieutenant Calderón, No. 2; Lieutenant Russo, No. 3; and Lieutenant Cimbaro, No. 4
Weather: calm wind, 3/8 Ac. As. — altocumulus and altostratus. Almost half the sky covered.

Take-off: night-time.

At approximately 05:00 hours we were woken by the Squadron Commander, Major “Toto” Navarro, who informed us that Puerto Argentino had been attacked at 04:40 hours and that we should prepare to take off at first light.

After the pre-flight briefing, we went to a small hut beside the runway to wait while the runway markers were put in place: two at the threshold, one on top of a half 200-litre drum, and another at the opposite threshold.

The flight that was to take off was designated, but since No. 1 and No. 2 were not ready, No. 3 and No. 4 were ordered to take off, in that order.

At the threshold we placed the two aircraft parallel to one another, in order to make use of as much ground as possible, since the field was very short and take-off was not safe. It was a semi-prepared strip laid out on a paddock, very soft and uneven.

While we were at the threshold, No. 1 and No. 2 were taxiing towards it.

During the take-off run, No. 3 put one of its undercarriage wheels into a hole, causing the pilot to lose control of the aircraft. It became completely airborne for approximately 15 seconds and then came down again on three points. By the time it reached the end of the runway, the aircraft was still 5 kilometres per hour below the speed needed for take-off. The departure was extremely rough, with the aircraft buffeting and its wheel striking the marker at the end of the strip.

At the end of the threshold, about 30 metres away, there was a wire fence covered with a kind of creeper roughly 1.5 metres high, which made the take-off even more critical.

Once airborne, No. 4 set course to the south, where we were to remain awaiting orders, while No. 1 and No. 2 were to carry out an offensive reconnaissance before rejoining in the southern sector of Cóndor Base, at Darwin.

No. 1 and No. 2 were unable to take off because No. 1 had an accident at the runway threshold. As a result, the only element available to carry out the mission was the section made up of No. 3 and No. 4.

After five minutes of waiting, the section headed towards the target: a British helicopter-borne landing — an attack with men transported by helicopters — near Puerto Argentino. The radar later informed us that the helicopters had disappeared. For that reason, and after overflying the area, we returned to our base of origin.

With fuel already down to the minimum, I contacted the tower and requested permission to enter the circuit. Permission was denied, and I was ordered to proceed to the alternative airfield, Calderón Naval Air Base, located on Isla Borbón.

Since my fuel gauge was almost at zero, I informed the tower and requested authorisation to land, but they repeated the previous instructions. On my third communication, I was ordered to reach the alternative by any means necessary, because Darwin had been under attack by enemy aircraft for the previous two hours.

The section reached Calderón with practically no fuel left, and No. 3 had to land with the nose wheel unlocked, since it had been twisted during take-off when it hit the hole. To make matters worse, this runway was even worse than the one at Cóndor Base: its surface was very soft and prone to flooding, something that would cause us serious problems in the future.

We were all eager to refuel and rearm, because the escape of our prey had left us full of frustration and with a strong desire to make them pay for the surprise attack of that early morning. But the days to come would more than give us the chance for a revenge we would never forget.

Malvinas: Jeremy Moore, His Ostracism

 

“The Ostracism of Jeremy Moore”

One does not always receive a warm welcome on returning from a war. And this applies not only to the defeated, but also to the victors. Even, indeed, to supposedly victorious generals.

Of the three British generals who directed operations on land, two were forced into retirement after the conflict because of their poor handling of the wartime situation. Not even the supreme commander of the British land forces sent to Malvinas, Major General John Jeremy Moore of the Royal Marines, escaped ostracism. After the conflict, following only the minimal and strictly prescribed honours required by law (he was merely made a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath, which he had already received in 1973), he made a very swift and discreet exit from the service in 1983.

Margaret Thatcher’s government never forgave him for the setbacks of the campaign, of which there were no few for the British. He was also held responsible for the disaster at Bluff Cove, a landing near Puerto Argentino which ended with two ships put out of action and heavy human and material losses as a result of attacks by the Argentine Air Force. Nor was it of any help that he sent to London what he himself called daily rubbish — rubbish or daily drivel, in plain terms. These were colloquial-style messages, full of optimism to the point of stretching credibility, concealing the fact that he was unable to secure the great and rapid victory being demanded of him, with which the Argentines stubbornly refused to cooperate, clinging fiercely to every inch of ground.

However, what sealed his fate was his disobedience of the order to demand an unconditional surrender from the Argentines. After the conflict had ended, Moore said that he had been greatly troubled by the possibility that fighting might resume. Although the Argentines had withdrawn from the heights dominating the capital, the British were equally exhausted and short of ammunition. For that reason, he removed the word unconditional from the instrument of surrender.

In an article written by Ana Barón shortly before the first anniversary of the war for Gente magazine, it was stated: “Today Jeremy Moore is no longer a general. This man has become one of the approximately four million unemployed in Great Britain. His pension is 1,500 dollars a month, that is to say half the salary he earned when he was still in service. Evidently, that sum is not enough to pay for the education of his three children: for the time being he manages by making television programmes about the war. But he knows that this is not a solution. At fifty-four years of age, no one resigns himself to being without work, much less someone who has led a life as eventful as General Moore’s.”

In that interview — conducted despite the obstacles placed by the British Ministry of Defence, which claimed not to know where Moore was living — he declared in a tone of regret: “I feel great sadness when I think that we had to endure a war simply because there were people with political power who did not know how to solve the problem by peaceful means.”

He never wished to write a book about the war, and passed his idle hours serving as churchwarden of the church in Wiltshire where he lived, until his death on Saturday, 15 September 2007.

It was not until Monday the 17th that The Times published his obituary. Naturally, it extolled his figure as a military leader. An obituary written in very professional terms… and nothing more.

In the same newspaper, the obituary for Galtieri, who died on 12 January 2003, not only appeared the day after the event, but was also twice the length of the one devoted to Moore.

The Guardian and The Daily Telegraph published the news the following day. In the former, it appeared only on page 42 of the main section, and on the Telegraph website the story did not receive a single comment. For its part, The Independent did not report his death until 26 September.

The British Ministry of Defence, when consulted by the AFP news agency, said that “no comment was to be made on his death”, arguing that “he was no longer in active service”.

Malvinas: The Remains of the Day

 “Galtieri put the problem on the table”

Interview with Guillermo Suárez Mason

In its edition of 23 June 1982, the magazine Siete Días published an interview by journalist César M. Sorkin with General Guillermo Suárez Mason, then former Chief of the Army General Staff. On that occasion, General Suárez Mason gave his views on different aspects of the war, some passages of which are of particular interest, especially those concerning the circumstances that led to the final outcome:

“The battle, unpleasant as the results may have been, was fought through to the end. Our troops fought as best they could with what they had, and they were overcome. There was no one unwilling to face the alternative… We could talk about the very small fractions still left to General Menéndez, but they were so minimal that they don’t really count. Our troops were genuinely overpowered in the field, after an effort in which they used everything they had. It is quite simple to understand: if you have troops on the ground and they are crushed by fire, and when you still can’t move them much they land a helicopter-borne battalion behind your troops… well then, they’ve passed you, they’ve left you behind, completely cut off. That is much more practical than pushing through the same battlefield, through minefields, across barbed wire and under fire… They destroyed the most important objectives with fire and then went over the top. They are respectable. When I speak of the respect I have for them, I refer strictly and solely to their professionalism.”

On the morale of the Argentine forces he stated:

“It was very good, and this is confirmed in the final act signed between General Menéndez and General Moore, whose first point highlights the courage shown by our men.”

Towards the end of the interview, the dialogue was as follows:

“I refer exclusively to the actions of the Army. I do not speak about the Navy’s lack of action in the area, and that is because it would have been impossible for them to do anything; despite the pain their absence caused, I understand why they were not there. It would have been suicide. Just as I understand that General Menéndez halted the actions at a certain point… Collective suicide makes no sense, militarily speaking. When things are already lost, the human worth of command must weigh more than supposedly heroic attitudes, terrible in their finality of death. That is not the purpose of military operations. Military operations are carried out to subdue the enemy.”

Journalist: – Will the future course of action unfold politically or militarily?
Suárez Mason: – Politically. That is my impression. I am not recommending anything. I am speaking of the ceasefire.
Q: – Does the adverse outcome of this action prevent trying again in the future?
SM: – No, on the contrary. I believe that one merit of the operation, failed as it may be, is that it brought the problem to a level of priority that Britain had not previously accorded it. This is what history will one day acknowledge in Lieutenant General Galtieri; he put the problem on the table, in full view, despite all the setbacks. Things did not turn out well, but even so they have their value.

Source: excerpt from an interview by César M. Sorkin.
Documentary Chronicle of the Malvinas. Hugo Gambini.
“Redacción” Library.

Argentine Air Force: The Dagger and Its Severe Limitations in Combat Flight

The Dagger and Its Severe Limitations in Combat Flight

During the war, among the pilots facing the greatest challenges in attack missions against the British fleet were those flying the IAI Nesher Dagger aircraft. In addition to lacking missiles and defensive countermeasures, these aircraft were not equipped with aerial refueling capability—unlike the Skyhawks and Super Étendards—thus forcing them to operate under extremely adverse conditions. They regularly exceeded their designated combat weight limit of approximately six tons, taking off at full load with over thirteen tons. This excess weight was due not only to the bombs but also to the supplemental fuel tanks, which they could not afford to jettison if they hoped to return to their base at San Julián in Santa Cruz, over 500 kilometers from the Malvinas Islands.

These constraints severely compromised their maneuverability in aerial combat situations, especially when confronted by enemy aircraft or by ship-based surface-to-air missiles. As a result, eleven aircraft were shot down—nine by AIM-9L Sidewinder missiles launched from Sea Harrier jets, and two by surface-launched anti-aircraft missiles—leading to the deaths of six Argentine pilots.

First Lieutenant Carlos "Lobo" Musso recounted these difficulties as follows:

"The cruising altitude was low, considering the characteristics of the aircraft—approximately 7,000 to 8,000 meters, nearly twice what the aircraft normally allowed. Since the Dagger had no in-flight refueling capability, we took off fully loaded with fuel, carrying external tanks that we had to keep at all costs (two wing tanks and one centerline tank). Consequently, we could not ascend to higher altitudes or fly at supersonic speeds. The armament consisted of two bombs and the cannons—nothing more. Under these conditions, we always took off with an exceptional takeoff weight, even above the limits set by the manual. It was more akin to a ferry configuration than a combat setup."

Despite these considerable limitations and the immense effort required, Dagger pilots, flying overloaded aircraft, managed to strike several British vessels with their bombs. These included the HMS Antrim (D18), HMS Brilliant (F90), HMS Broadsword (F88), HMS Arrow (F173), HMS Plymouth (F126), and the RFA Sir Tristram (L3505). They also played a role in the sinking of the HMS Ardent (F184) and the RFA Sir Galahad (L3005).

 

Pulqui II: A Prototype Betrayed by Politics

The Day When The Pulqui Became Pulquiría

On 31 May 1951, the fate of the IA-33 Pulqui II was definitively sealed. Rather than investing decisively in its development and mass production, the Peronist government chose to relegate it to the role of a technological demonstrator, effectively dismantling Argentina’s opportunity to position itself at the forefront of global military aviation. This decision, ultimately the responsibility of President Juan Domingo Perón, was critical to the project's failure.

That day, during a test flight of the second prototype, Captain Vedania Adriel Mannuwal was killed while attempting to eject from the aircraft. The crash exposed severe structural deficiencies: one wing detached mid-flight due to faulty welding of its anchor bolts, and the ejection system failed owing to its overly complex operation. Yet the most alarming aspect was that this was an unapproved prototype, being recklessly used for pilot training manoeuvres, exposing personnel to unacceptable risks.



El Pulqui II fue fruto de una coyuntura histórica excepcional. Argentina, al finalizar la Segunda Guerra Mundial, se encontraba entre las pocas naciones con acceso a tecnología de propulsión a chorro. Esta situación fue facilitada, paradójicamente, por su relación con el Reino Unido, que le proveyó motores y repuestos militares sin restricciones. El Instituto Aerotécnico —posteriormente Fábrica Militar de Aviones— ya tenía experiencia en diseño y producción, pero nunca alcanzó una escala industrial significativa. Los modelos IAe-22 y Calquín, diseñados antes del peronismo, son prueba de ello.



The Pulqui II emerged during an exceptional historical juncture. In the aftermath of the Second World War, Argentina found itself among the few nations with access to jet propulsion technology. This was largely thanks to its relationship with the United Kingdom, which supplied engines and military parts without restrictions. The Aerotechnical Institute—later the Military Aircraft Factory—had a background in design and production, but had never reached industrial-scale output. Earlier aircraft such as the IAe-22 and the Calquín, both conceived prior to the Peronist period, demonstrate this limitation.

With the arrival of German engineer Kurt Tank, a specialist in advanced aircraft design, Argentina hoped to capitalise on his expertise. In collaboration with local engineers, Tank led the development of the Pulqui II—a swept-wing fighter jet powered by a Rolls Royce Nene II engine, capable of speeds around 1,080 km/h. At its inception, it was not far behind its contemporaries, such as the American F-86 Sabre and Soviet MiG-15. However, while these foreign aircraft were already being mass-produced and deployed, the Pulqui II remained a prototype in an early development phase, hampered by delays, redesigns and a series of serious accidents.



The programme faced recurring technical issues: structural failures, landing gear malfunctions, instability during certain manoeuvres, and an underpowered engine. These challenges were not insurmountable, but overcoming them required sustained funding, highly skilled personnel, and, above all, political will. None of these factors were sufficiently present.



Between 1950 and 1953—a period crucial for industrial transition—the Peronist government failed to provide the necessary support. The tragic death of Captain Mannuwal, followed by the fatal crash of German test pilot Otto Bherens in 1952, were not isolated incidents but direct consequences of a political approach that prioritised symbolism over technical maturity. Most egregiously, the prototype was used for combat training purposes before it had even completed its flight testing phase—a grossly irresponsible act.



In 1953, a fourth prototype was flown, featuring several improvements including a pressurised cockpit and mounted cannons. But by then, global aviation had already moved on. While Argentina was still trying to perfect a subsonic prototype, major powers were entering the era of supersonic flight with aircraft like the F-100 Super Sabre and MiG-19.



By the time of the 1955 military coup, the Pulqui II was still unapproved for service. Only one prototype remained operational, and its development was far from complete. Although a small group of engineers attempted to keep the project alive, including undertaking ambitious long-distance flights with full weapon loads, the technological gap had become unbridgeable. One such flight nearly ended in disaster when pilot Rogelio Balado suffered from hypoxia due to faulty oxygen equipment, highlighting once more the unresolved safety issues.



In 1956, Brigadier Ahrens met with engineer Guillot, head of planning at the Military Aircraft Factory, and was informed that only enough materials remained to build roughly a dozen aircraft. Despite a proposal to manufacture 100 units, the infrastructure inherited from the Peronist era could not support such output. While the Air Force held a licence to produce the Nene II engine, it would have taken five years to build those twelve aircraft—an unviable timeline for a design already technologically outdated.



Faced with an urgent need to replace ageing IA-24 Calquín aircraft, Ahrens pointed to an alternative: an offer of 100 F-86 Sabres, available immediately. Ultimately, only 28 second-hand F-86F-NA-30s were acquired—without the Orenda engine variant initially considered—but these were delivered in 1960. Despite the delay, the aircraft proved cost-effective, logistically supportable, and operationally viable—something that the Pulqui II, even in the best-case scenario, could never have achieved with just a dozen units and no production infrastructure.



The sole Pulqui II prototype continued limited test flights under the post-coup government, eventually receiving formal approval but never progressing to series production. Its final flight occurred around 1961, with the last prototype flown in 1959. By then, the aircraft was obsolete. The critical investment period had passed, and by 1955 the project remained unapproved, unfinished, and incapable of fulfilling any real strategic role. Its fate was sealed back in 1951, when combat pilots were ordered to fly an untested prototype still deep in its experimental phase—a criminally negligent decision. Blaming the 1955 coup ignores the real issue: the failure to act when it truly mattered. Pilots ended up nicknaming it 'Pulquiría' — a play on words resembling porquería (meaning 'rubbish' in Spanish) — due to its poor performance.



Today, both the Pulqui I and Pulqui II are preserved in the National Aeronautics Museum in Morón, following years of neglect in open air. They serve as relics of a missed opportunity—symbols of a time when Argentina could have broken into the elite of aerospace nations, but failed to do so through indecision, political vanity, and a lack of genuine strategic commitment.



Captain Vedania Adriel Mannuwal, of the 4th Interceptor Fighter Regiment of the Argentine Air Force, acted with a profound sense of duty and national service. His sacrifice, made in pursuit of institutional advancement and national greatness, remains unquestionable—a noble Argentine who gave his life for an ideal that, sadly, others failed to uphold. 

Malvinas: Zubizarreta and the Absurd Accident that Costs His Life

Everything failed, except his courage: the last flight of the pilot who died after returning from a mission in the Malvinas

Captain Zubizarreta departed for the islands on May 23, 1982, in his A-4Q Skyhawk. Over the fleet, he was unable to release his bombs due to a technical malfunction. Loaded with explosives and almost out of fuel, he returned to the mainland. He landed on the wet and slippery runway at Río Grande. He was supposed to eject, but the mechanism also failed. The final moments of a hero

Based on the article by Marcelo Larraquy || Infobae

A Squadron on the Edge: Skyhawks and Broken Wings

The War’s Beginning: Scarce Resources, Unbreakable Will

From the very start, the Argentine pilots flew with courage but also with hardship. The A-4Q Skyhawks they operated were aging warriors. Their wings were cracked, their systems outdated, and their ejection seats were more luck than science. Ammunition was scarce. Missiles, if they worked, were miracles. But none of this stopped them.

The Third Naval Fighter and Attack Squadron, tasked with aerial assaults on enemy fleets, faced near-impossible conditions. Every sortie they flew risked not just combat casualties, but technical failure before even reaching the target. Mechanics worked miracles overnight, often cannibalizing one plane to get another airborne. Pilots trained relentlessly, often with simulators or outdated manuals. What they lacked in hardware, they made up for in heart.

Every time one of them took off, everyone on the base knew the risk. The chances of return were slim, and the margin for error was nonexistent. Yet, men like Zubizarreta flew because surrender wasn’t an option—not to a foreign flag flying over Argentine land.

Captain Rodolfo Castro Fox: Leadership Born from Pain

If courage had a face during that campaign, it might have looked like Captain Rodolfo Castro Fox. Just nine months before the war, he had survived a near-fatal training accident. Ejecting too late from his aircraft during a drill, he had hit the sea hard, fracturing his arm and suffering cardiac arrests. For most, that would end a flying career. But for Castro Fox, it was just another hurdle.

When war was declared, he was barred from combat due to his injuries. But something inside him wouldn’t accept that. He believed a leader couldn’t send his men into danger unless he too was willing to face it. Despite his limited mobility and pain, he climbed into his A-4Q Skyhawk. Mechanics had to help him close the cockpit. He operated the landing gear by crossing arms mid-flight. It was more than grit—it was defiance, a mirror of the national spirit.

On May 23, 1982, he led the mission to San Carlos Bay. Alongside him were Capt. Zubizarreta, Lt. Oliveira, and Lt. Benítez. It wasn’t just a routine strike—it was a bold charge into the lion’s den, knowing full well the lion had teeth, claws, and aircraft carriers.

Lieutenant Commander Carlos Maria Zubizarreta with pilot Lieutenant Gustavo Diaz (castrofox.blogspot)

Flying into Fire: The Final Mission

The Mission Brief: Objectives Over San Carlos

San Carlos Bay was a hot zone, crawling with enemy vessels and ready-to-fire Sea Harriers. The objective was simple: inflict damage, disrupt logistics, and remind the enemy that Argentina would not surrender. Castro Fox and his team took off just after noon, their Skyhawks loaded with bombs, their hearts heavier still.

They flew in formation, hugging the ocean, low and fast—trying to avoid radar. Oliveira soon experienced a malfunction and had to return. The rest pushed on. Over the hills of Gran Malvina, the coast came into view. It was time. The mission was live.

Just minutes earlier, Captain Pablo Carballo had passed through the same airspace. He radioed back: enemy ships were in position, anti-aircraft fire was intense, and Sea Harriers were on patrol. His warning was clear: "It’s hell up here." But still, they flew in.

The Assault Begins: Low Flight and Courage Under Fire

Castro Fox dropped to just 100 meters above sea level—barely enough to clear the waves. He saluted his men behind him. And then the hell began.

As they pierced into the strait, the sky turned black with smoke and tracer fire. Every second was life or death. Anti-aircraft guns blazed, missiles locked on. But they kept going. Castro Fox spotted his target—Intrepid—dodged a missile, dropped his payload, and veered away. Behind him, Benítez and Zubizarreta faced their own crucible.

Missiles were launched. Two whistled between their aircraft but missed. Benítez unloaded on Antelope. Zubizarreta couldn’t—his system malfunctioned. His bombs stayed locked in. That failure would change the course of his fate.

Castro Fox had suffered a serious accident months before and two heart attacks, however he informed his superiors that he felt obliged to disobey the prohibition: he could not send his pilots into aerial combat if he did not do so. (castrofox.blogspot)

The Flight Back: Fear, Faith, and Fuel

Mid-Air Decisions: Life or Death Over the Sea

After surviving the bombing run, the pilots were not out of danger. In fact, the return journey was often more perilous than the attack itself. With enemy aircraft possibly in pursuit, low fuel levels, and aircraft damaged or malfunctioning, every second in the sky could be your last.

Captain Castro Fox, already dealing with impaired mobility, discovered his external fuel tanks weren’t transferring properly. The fuel gauge dipped into the red. At that altitude and speed, any miscalculation would mean crashing into the cold South Atlantic. He climbed to over 12,000 meters, adopting a flight profile that might just extend his range long enough to reach the coast. But he was uncertain. He may have to eject over the freezing waters, alone and vulnerable.

Fox made a decision that speaks volumes of his character. He told Zubizarreta and Benítez not to accompany him on the high-altitude route. He didn’t want them wasting precious fuel, or worse, dying trying to save him. “Fly safe,” he said. “I want to be alone.” This wasn’t fear—it was love. A leader protecting his men with his own sacrifice.

Captain Fox’s Solitary Journey Back Home

Alone in the sky, thousands of meters above the sea, Castro Fox had only the hum of his struggling Skyhawk and the hope that his calculations would hold. He couldn't contact base properly, and with low visibility, navigation became guesswork. He was flying on fumes and faith.

But somehow, he made it. Against all odds, he brought his crippled aircraft home. When he landed, there was no applause, no ceremony—just his breath fogging the cockpit glass. He had done his duty. And yet, his heart was heavy. He didn't know that Zubizarreta’s fate was about to unfold before his eyes.

Zubizarreta’s Return: Silent Hero with a Burden

Captain Carlos Zubizarreta was not supposed to return with bombs. His mission had failed due to a technical glitch, a malfunction that rendered his payload useless during the heat of battle. But instead of ditching the bombs into the sea—as protocol permitted—he brought them home.

Why? Perhaps he wanted them preserved for another mission. Perhaps he didn’t want to discard something so precious in a war where every piece of ammunition mattered. Or maybe, just maybe, he wanted to return whole. Bombs or not, he had done his duty. He faced the same missiles, the same gunfire, and emerged unscathed. His courage was intact.

As he approached Río Grande, the weather had turned. It had started to drizzle, the wind howled, and the airfield’s condition deteriorated rapidly. A slippery runway with no braking system armed greeted him—a dangerous welcome.

HMS Antelope sinks after being attacked by Argentine pilots in the San Carlos Strait (AP)

Tragedy on the Tarmac: The Final Moments

The Slippery Runway and the Unarmed Hook

Landing a Skyhawk on a perfect day is a challenge. Doing so with minimal fuel, live bombs onboard, and a slippery runway is nothing short of a miracle. Zubizarreta touched down on the slick surface, but the plane’s design wasn’t made for wet airstrips—it was meant for carrier landings. The wheels, inflated for deck use, couldn’t grip the asphalt. The aircraft began to veer off.

Captain Curilovic rushed to arm the emergency braking cable system—but it was too late. The plane slid out of control. Mechanics, pilots, and ground crew watched in horror as Zubizarreta’s jet skidded across the runway, disappearing behind a mound of earth.

Third Naval Fighter and Attack Squadron, photographed on May 20, 1982: Sylvester, Medici, Lecour, Oliveira, Carlos Zubizarreta, Olmedo, Arca, Alberto Phillippi, Castro Fox, Rótolo, Benítez and Alejandro Diaz

A Deadly Descent: Ejection Seat Failure and Fallen Hero

At that moment, Zubizarreta knew he had to eject. The standard ejection protocol required enough speed and altitude to ensure the seat’s rocket mechanism would launch the pilot into the air, giving the parachute time to deploy.

But this wasn’t a normal moment. His seat’s rocket had expired—another legacy of outdated equipment. Maintenance had delayed its replacement. He pulled the lever. The canopy detached. But the rocket didn’t fire properly. The seat didn't reach the required height. The parachute failed to open.

In front of his comrades, Zubizarreta fell to the hard pavement with brutal force. His bombs didn’t detonate. The plane’s nose was barely damaged. The Skyhawk would fly again within a week. But Zubizarreta would not. His body, broken by impact, held a spirit that refused to quit until the very end.
Aftermath: A Plane Flies Again, A Hero Does Not

It is one of the cruel ironies of war. The machine that failed him lived on. Fixed and flown within days. But the man—the soul who rode that machine into battle—was gone. Carlos Zubizarreta succumbed to his injuries shortly after. There was no spectacular explosion, no enemy kill, no banner headline. Just quiet death on a lonely runway.

His coffin was loaded onto a Navy Fokker F-28. Fellow pilots flew in formation, giving him a warrior’s farewell. A national flag draped over him, bearing witness to the price of patriotism.

Patriotism in the Air: What Zubizarreta Stood For

The Spirit of the Malvinas: More Than a Conflict

The Malvinas cause is not about a war lost. It’s about dignity. It’s about memory. And it’s about men like Zubizarreta, who didn’t have the luxury of modern aircraft, perfect intelligence, or diplomatic protections. All they had was courage—and love for their homeland.

For Argentines, the Malvinas symbolize a national wound that still aches, but also a collective pride that refuses to fade. Every schoolchild learns the map showing the islands as part of Argentina. Every plaza has a monument. Every April 2nd, the country pauses to remember.

Zubizarreta’s sacrifice embodies that patriotism—not abstract, but raw and real. He didn’t die for land. He died for honor. For sovereignty. For his brothers-in-arms and for every Argentine who still says with pride: “Las Malvinas son Argentinas.”

Zubizarreta's Legacy: Symbol of Argentine Valor

In a country where true heroes often go unsung, Zubizarreta’s story deserves to be shouted from rooftops. His name should be etched in every classroom, his courage studied, his memory honored. He didn’t die trying to kill. He died trying to live another day—to fly again, to fight again.

He chose duty over safety. He chose loyalty over life. And in doing so, he joined the eternal ranks of Argentina’s most honored. Not with medals or fanfare, but with a legacy that speaks through time.

* Marcelo Larraquy es periodista e historiador (UBA) Su último libro publicado es “La Guerra Invisible. El último secreto de Malvinas”. Ed. Sudamericana.

Malvinas: A Study Case (2/3)

Malvinas: A Study Case
Comes from Part 1 - follows with Part 3
Part 2/3
By
Harry Train,
Admiral USN 

Critical analysis of the Malvinas Conflict. It covers chronologically from the previous incidents to the end of the battle for Puerto Argentino. Strategically, it includes the levels of general, military and operational strategy. The analysis considers the concepts of the operation from the perspective of each side.

Argentine Directives for Action

The Argentine directives for action stemmed from the Junta's erroneous hope of achieving a diplomatic solution. The directive for the recapture of the Malvinas on April 2 established, "do not spill British blood or damage British property." Between April 2 and April 30, the directives were "fire only if attacked." When operational commanders were observed by the Junta for issuing orders that violated this directive, such orders were annulled. One example was the Junta's revocation of the naval operations commander’s order for the ARA Drummond and ARA Granville to intercept the Endurance if it evacuated workers from South Georgia. Another example was the withdrawal of authorization for the ARA San Luis submarine to use its weapons when ordered to enter the exclusion zone. The ARA San Luis patrolled the exclusion zone from April 20 to April 30 without authorization to use its weapons.

The authorization to use weapons was granted to Argentine forces on April 30. At that time, Argentine forces were informed that any ship in the exclusion zone should be considered British. This order did not account for the fact that Russian fishing vessels were present in the exclusion zone. Decision-making authority over directives for action was as tightly held at the highest political levels in Argentina as it was in the United Kingdom.

British Directives for Action - Political Structure in London

The War Cabinet created a Directives Committee comprised of officers tasked with making forecasts and providing commanders with the directives they needed, in a manner that could be perfectly understood. This committee met daily at 1800 hours and addressed questions such as what authorizations were to be granted when the Task Force crossed the equator or what prior approval long-range maritime patrol aircraft required if encountering Argentine forces. The committee’s decisions were always approved because they anticipated events.

The maritime exclusion zone defined an area where British ship commanders and pilots could attack. It was an area where the Argentine command knew their units would be attacked. This zone was intended, or so it was thought, to provide British commanders with a sufficiently deep buffer area to avoid tactical surprises for the Task Force ships, which lacked tactical reconnaissance aircraft and high-performance planes.

The next step in the evolution of directives for action and the maritime exclusion zone was the declaration of a Total Exclusion Zone on April 30. A complication arose on April 23 when the order for free use of weapons was issued. This applied everywhere, against any force deemed a threat. A warning that this order had been issued was broadcast at the time. The maritime exclusion zone remained unchanged.

In the conflict theater, British directives for action contained a numbered list of rules covering foreseeable situations, target descriptions, and the zones where the rules applied. These rules—of which there were many—were implemented selectively in time and place according to political and military advice. The fundamental purpose of the directives for action was to provide political and military information to commanders in the theater of operations, with established rules when a policy of maintaining the status quo, de-escalation, or escalation was required. The numbered directives still carried ambiguities and frequently required interpretation via satellite communications. The definition of "hostile intent," given the existence of weapons requiring rapid reaction—such as the Exocet—created problems ultimately resolved by defining "hostile intent" as the mere physical presence of an Argentine platform.

The British also amended directives for action to authorize attacks on any unconfirmed submarine contact operating near their own forces. Crucial to the structure and execution of directives for action were the 200-nautical-mile exclusion zones declared by the British around the Malvinas, South Georgia, and South Sandwich Islands. Within these zones, there were very few restrictions. Structuring and altering directives for action were tightly and centrally controlled from Whitehall. Changes normally required coordination between land, sea, and air forces and ministerial approval. However, expedited procedures were in place for urgent changes, such as the one that allowed the attack on the ARA Belgrano outside the exclusion zone.

The War at Sea

The Malvinas conflict included the first true naval confrontation since the Pacific campaign of World War II. The toll on the Royal Navy inflicted by the Argentine Air Force and Naval Aviation during the war at sea included the British destroyers HMS Sheffield and Coventry, the frigates HMS Ardent and Antelope, the landing ship HMS Sir Galahad, and the merchant ship Atlantic Conveyor. Additionally, two British destroyers, fourteen frigates, and two landing ships were damaged during the conflict, primarily by Argentine air attacks using bombs, missiles, rockets, and cannons, except for the destroyer Glamorgan, which was hit by an Exocet missile launched from land. Thirty-seven British aircraft were lost due to various causes.

The fourteen unexploded bombs embedded in British ships' hulls could have easily doubled the losses if their fuzes had been properly calibrated. The British Task Force deployed virtually all existing submarine weapons against false submarine contacts. The Task Force lacked in-depth defense. They did not have the kind of support that the deck of a large aircraft carrier could provide with embarked tactical reconnaissance and early warning aircraft. They were forced to rely on small, inexpensive combat ships whose inferior armament made them more vulnerable than large, well-armored ships, whose only disadvantage was their high cost.

We tend to think of the Malvinas naval campaign only in terms of unit losses and the impact these had on the final outcome. However, for a nation closely observing the facts, there is an additional discussion. The Malvinas naval war also included:

• The first use of modern cruise missiles against ships of a first-rate navy.
• The first sustained aerial attacks against a naval force since World War II.
• The first combat use of nuclear-powered submarines.
• The first known combat use of vertical/short takeoff and landing aircraft.
• A small force of Argentine diesel-electric submarines caused enormous concern to British naval authorities and influenced naval operations as much as the air threat, prompting the use of significant amounts of anti-submarine weaponry.
• A similarly small force of British attack nuclear submarines shaped Argentine naval commanders’ decisions and kept Argentine surface units in protected waters. It also influenced some of the first political decisions made at the onset of hostilities.

Selection of the Landing Site

From the departure of the fleet toward the Malvinas, one of the primary decisions faced by planners was determining the location for the initial assault. British thinking on the site and timing of the campaign’s first landing was guided by many considerations. Some of the most important were:

• Political convenience: The British government’s perception of the need to engage with Argentine forces to appease British public opinion eager for action.
• Proximity of the southern hemisphere winter, with its accompanying environmental challenges.
• Effects on morale, training, and the general physical condition of ground forces subjected to prolonged stays ashore in harsh climatic conditions.
• Logistical challenges of maintaining a large ground force in operations for an extended period.
• Transport difficulties in moving a large ground force and its support across the rugged terrain of the Malvinas.
• Lack of intelligence on the morale and training of Argentine soldiers in the Malvinas.
• Lastly, British staff had to choose between two diametrically opposed concepts for the initial assault on the Malvinas: conducting a mass landing through an audacious operation at or near Port Stanley, close enough to immediately target the campaign’s main objective, or conducting a more administrative landing at an undefended site far enough from Port Stanley to make it difficult for Argentine ground forces, mostly concentrated in Port Stanley, to attack the fragile beachhead.

The sites considered by the British as potentially suitable for the initial assault were:

• Stevely Bay, Soledad Island: The farthest from the objective and the least vulnerable to potential Argentine counterattacks by ground forces. At one point, the possibility of constructing an airstrip there to replace the aircraft carriers was analyzed.
• San Carlos, Soledad Island: Closer to the objective and still in a location that made an Argentine counterattack difficult.
• Bluff Cove, Soledad Island: Even closer, but also more vulnerable to an Argentine counterattack.
• Berkeley Sound, Soledad Island: Closer still to Port Stanley, but so close that an Argentine ground counterattack was almost certain.
• Puerto Argentino, Soledad Island: Rejected almost immediately due to the inherent risks.

Initially, it was agreed to conduct the landing at a site where no initial resistance was expected. The plan under Brigadier General Julian Thompson consisted of consolidating the beachhead while awaiting reinforcements arriving from the UK. Once these reinforcements arrived, the command of all land operations would be assumed by Major General Jeremy Moore.

The pros and cons analyzed by planners when selecting San Carlos as the initial landing site included:

• The protection offered by the restricted waters of the anchorage against submarines.
• The natural protection provided by the surrounding high ground for landing ships against air attacks, and its excellent potential for positioning Rapier missile anti-aircraft batteries.
• Intelligence reports indicating the absence of enemy presence in the area, except for infrequent patrols.
• Reports from the Special Boat Squadron (SBS) confirming the absence of mines on the beaches and no evidence of mining activity in the adjacent sea.
• The anticipated delay in an Argentine response due to the distance—approximately fifty miles of rugged terrain—from Port Stanley.
• The distance and rugged terrain between the landing site and the main objective, Port Stanley, which ground forces would have to cross in some manner.
• The proximity of a strong Argentine garrison at Goose Green, thirteen miles south of the site.
• The lack of suitable beaches for landing large numbers of troops and equipment.
• The proximity of high ground in the surrounding area that could be used advantageously by the enemy to repel and dislodge the landing forces.
• Although not verified by SBS patrols, the possibility that the Argentines had mined or intended to mine the maritime approaches to the site, given its obvious suitability for a landing. (At least in the minds of British planners, this was obvious. We now know that Argentine planners, in a pre-conflict study, deemed the site unsuitable for a successful amphibious landing.)
  
  

General Argentine Land Strategy

The Argentine land strategy was explained after the conflict by the commander in charge of the Malvinas, stating:

• The first and main military objective was Puerto Argentino. It was the campaign’s linchpin, as it was the seat of political power, home to the majority of the population, and housed the main port and airfield.
• The initial operational concept was to defend Port Stanley from direct attacks using the airfield and aircraft.
• The second phase involved building defenses to repel a direct amphibious assault. Three battalions were deployed to counter attacks from the south and another three to defend the north and west.
• Regarding attacks from the west, the defensive perimeter was determined not only by the terrain but also by the difficulty of maintaining distant troop positions due to limited mobility resources.
• There were high points dominating the inner part of the perimeter that had to be occupied and defended, but there were even better high points further out. However, the ground force commanders judged that they lacked the necessary mobility to occupy and maintain those more distant positions with the personnel and means available.
• This plan probably discouraged the British from attempting a heliborne assault on Port Stanley and may have similarly deterred plans for a direct amphibious assault. This allowed Argentine ground forces to reinforce and adjust their defenses while the British sought another landing site.

The time gained by this arrangement of forces in Port Stanley was not utilized effectively because political leaders in Buenos Aires failed to achieve a political solution to avoid the war. Ground force commanders believed this arrangement gave the political leadership an additional fifteen days to find a diplomatic solution. However, the negative aspect was that the Junta, despite the events involving the ARA Belgrano and HMS Sheffield, continued to focus primarily on a negotiated resolution rather than advancing a military strategy. Military commanders viewed the sinking of the ARA Belgrano and HMS Sheffield as the point of no return for the war, while political leaders saw the "exchange of blood" as an opportunity to reopen negotiations.

The Army believed that this mindset of the Junta restricted action and deprived ground forces of their main weapons, particularly air power. British naval forces surrounded the islands and waged a war of attrition against Argentine ground forces while preparing for their landing. They landed with their landing forces intact. Army commanders believed this occurred because political authorities in Buenos Aires restrained the Air Force and Navy from acting to their full capacity. The Army believed that if the Navy and Air Force had persisted in their attacks on naval transports and aircraft carriers by May 30, the outcome could have been different. However, the attack came far too late. The beachhead had been established, and British troops were advancing freely.

When the British landed, the Army began to consider modifying its defensive positions, reinforcing those protecting Port Stanley from attacks from the west. This realignment of forces began five days late. Western positions were reinforced with weapons, but moving them further west was impossible due to mobility and distance limitations. Efforts were made to cover the distance between Port Stanley and San Carlos with commando patrols, but by the time this decision was made, the British had already occupied the outer high positions. The commandos fought efficiently on several occasions but could not significantly slow the pace of the advance.

The Argentine Sector

The Argentine invasion plan had been entirely conceived as a short and peaceful occupation of the Malvinas by a relatively small force, not as sustained operations by a large force preparing for and ultimately engaging in combat. Operation Rosario was planned and initially executed as a "diplomatic invasion," intended as a nudge to the stalled negotiations with the British over the sovereignty of the islands. The operation was never intended as a combat operation.

The British reaction to the invasion, which consisted of the rapid assembly and deployment of a large naval task force, including amphibious assault units, was initially unforeseen by the Argentines. Argentina’s response to the realization that combat with the British in the Malvinas would be inevitable was a large-scale reinforcement of the islands—an alternative not foreseen in the original plan. This created a logistical nightmare for the Argentine supply system, which likely would have struggled to sustain even the far more limited original operation.

The logistical situation worsened further due to the Military Committee's decision not to use ships for reinforcement or resupply after April 10, following the British declaration of a maritime exclusion zone starting April 12. This decision forced Argentina to rely entirely on air transport and, where possible, fishing vessels.

Border with Chile

Even with the logistical challenges mentioned above, the Argentine force assembled and tasked with the defense of the Malvinas could have been composed of better-trained and equipped troops had Argentina not retained many of its most effective troops on the mainland. This decision was explained as militarily prudent, preserving these forces in reserve against a potential attack by Chile.

The Argentine force assembled under the original plan and used in the initial phase of the conflict was sufficient for a short-term "diplomatic invasion." With no immediate British military threat present in the theater, the basic Argentine concept appeared to be putting enough uniformed bodies on the islands to demonstrate that the territory was under Argentine control, thereby forcing the stalled diplomatic process to resume. Unfortunately for Argentina, when the British threat materialized, their thinking did not adapt, and their efforts to reinforce the islands were simply extensions of the original concept: for example, sending more personnel to reinforce the illusion of control and push for a diplomatic resolution to the situation.

Argentines later admitted that at no point during the planning of the Malvinas retaken did they believe they could win if the British decided to fight for the islands. Unfortunately, this preconception prevailed throughout the conflict, influencing decisions and weakening Argentina’s overall military capability.


Static Defense

The basic Argentine concept for the defense of the Malvinas appears to reflect this preconception. The plan did not foresee an aggressive ground campaign to fight and repel British invasion forces, regardless of where they landed. Instead, Argentina’s defense of the Malvinas relied on a series of static strongpoints around Port Stanley, which were expected to appear so formidable that the British would be deterred from invading. If they did invade, they would supposedly avoid landing near Port Stanley, and if the British landed elsewhere, it was assumed they would opt for a diplomatic resolution before attempting to attack the town.

Following this defensive concept, the Argentines concentrated nearly all their ground forces around Port Stanley throughout the conflict and simply waited for the British attack to arrive. There was never any serious attempt by Argentina to leave their entrenched positions and seize the initiative in the ground war against the enemy.

The Ground War – The British Perspective

The British also faced challenges and made some difficult decisions before the actual Malvinas invasion at San Carlos.

Although the deterioration of the South Atlantic situation had been closely monitored by the British, the Argentine invasion of the Malvinas came as a genuine surprise. There is no doubt, however, that the British demonstrated great ingenuity and determination by assembling a task force of thirty-six ships and setting sail for the Malvinas just two days after the invasion. However, due to the hasty departure, the ships of the landing force were not tactically loaded in the UK, meaning that the equipment and supplies could not be unloaded in the order required by the landing force once they were ashore. This situation was partially rectified during the delay at Ascension Island, where additional equipment was loaded, and an inventory of existing stores was conducted. This period was also used to reorganize cargo holds to facilitate unloading in the combat area. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the unloading of the ships delayed the supply of equipment to the San Carlos landing area.

The Landing at San Carlos

Despite all the doubts about the choice of landing site and concerns over the multitude of things that could go wrong, the British landing at San Carlos was completely uneventful in terms of troop transport ashore. The British amphibious task force approached and arrived at the target area undetected, aided by the cover of darkness, poor weather conditions, and diversionary operations conducted at Goose Green, Fanning Head, and other locations on East Falkland.

British troops landed in the early hours of May 21, encountered no resistance from Argentine ground forces, and moved quickly to their planned defensive positions around the area. As time passed, the anticipated Argentine threat to the landing failed to materialize. The military battle fought at San Carlos became one between the Argentine Air Force and Naval Aviation and the ships of the British amphibious task force.

To their frustration, British ground forces found themselves relegated to the role of spectators in these actions while waiting for orders to advance. Meanwhile, the primary challenges faced by the ground assault forces were the environment, poor logistical support, and boredom.

Although not directly involved in the air-sea battle taking place at San Carlos, the ground forces were nonetheless affected by the outcome of this action.

On the first day of the assault on San Carlos, the British lost a frigate and sustained damage to four others due to Argentine air attacks. In the days following the landing, British naval losses continued at an alarming rate. Confronted with the Argentine air threat, the British were forced to alter their Basic Logistical Plan for supporting the ground forces, shifting from a concept based on afloat depots to one focused on the massive offloading of equipment onto land.

This change in plans was tied to the necessity of restricting ship movements to nighttime and a significant miscalculation regarding the number of helicopters needed to transport equipment, resulting in painfully slow logistical growth on land. A near-fatal setback for the progress of the ground campaign occurred on May 25 with the loss of the Atlantic Conveyor, which had been carrying three Chinook helicopters whose high load capacity was vital for the timely execution of logistical and operational plans. This loss placed an even heavier burden on the remaining helicopters, which were subsequently almost entirely dedicated to equipment transport for the remainder of the conflict.

British Maneuver Plan

Notably absent in the planning for the San Carlos landing was consideration or discussion of what the ground force should do once ashore.

The operation was a landing plan, not a ground campaign. As someone humorously remarked, it was assumed that, once on land, the forces would simply advance and win.

Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the British, either consciously or unconsciously, expected the Argentines to quickly react and oppose the landing with ground forces. In this scenario, the use of British ground forces would, to some extent, be guided—at least in the short term—by the actions and defensive reactions required during this confrontation.

When the anticipated Argentine opposition to the landing failed to materialize, the British found themselves somewhat at a loss regarding what to do with their ground forces.

Boletin del Centro Naval 748 (1987)

Malvinas: A Critical View of "The Mistake of Marching in Broad Daylight"

Critics to "The Error of Errors"

In the photo, commandos of the 601 operating in the San Carlos area in broad daylight.

Excerpt taken from the book "Comandos en Malvinas - La otra historia," chapter "Analysis of Operations." written by some Manuel De Remiro Oyón.

We have all read countless times that the great mistake made by the Argentine commandos at Top Malo was entering the house to spend the night. But what would have happened if no one had seen them enter?

...However, if the commandos of the 602 Company committed a mistake worthy of going down in history — one that stands out above all others — it was their decision to start marching immediately after being dropped off by helicopters, in broad daylight, no less. Once on the ground, the grave mistake of flying in during the morning was already irreparable, but to immediately begin moving toward the summit of Mount Simon was, without a doubt, an almost suicidal act. It was certainly a reckless move, and it makes it abundantly clear that these men had no idea what they were doing.

The terrain of the Malvinas, consisting primarily of hills and vegetationless plains, facilitated long-distance observation. This allowed British observers, hidden in advantageous positions within their observation posts (OPs) and equipped with telescopes, to monitor the terrain for many kilometers around them.

Once on the ground, an alternative course of action that Vercesi could have chosen, as a lesser evil, would have been to remain motionless. The men could have hidden as best they could, waiting for nightfall, hoping their infiltration had gone unnoticed or trusting that, if they had been detected, the British would not have time to react.

But moving during daylight? On terrain like the Malvinas? And, on top of that, climbing a height? It was a completely irrational decision that true commandos would never have made, especially in a situation where British dominance was already well established.

But one didn’t need to be a commando to know that. A simple conscript soldier doing his military service, if he had paid attention to his theoretical lessons, would know that you don’t do that. One doesn’t even need to be a soldier. It’s just common sense. An eight-year-old child who regularly plays hide-and-seek would understand that if you don’t want to be seen in an open, well-lit area, you simply don’t move.

To a British observer hidden among the rocks of a hill, scanning the terrain intently, a man loaded with equipment moving across the Malvinas peat bogs, no matter what camouflage he wore, would stand out like a black dot against the predominantly soft hues of the peatlands.

If the distance was too great, the observer wasn’t paying attention, or he was already tired, there was a slim chance the man might not be detected. But if that one man carrying equipment is accompanied by twelve more, and, on top of that, they are made to ascend a mountain or hill — or descend from it — and, to make it even worse, do so over snow, as they did on the 30th, then the march of the commandos of the 1st Section of the 602 became something akin to lighting a match in a dark room. It was as if they were shouting, “Hey guuuuys, we’re heeere!”

This reckless practice was common among the patrols of the GOE, the 601, the 602, the APCA, and the APBT.

Critics to the above story

The presented text attempts to analyze the performance of the Argentine commandos at Top Malo during the Falklands War, but it does so with an excessively emotional approach, rife with oversimplifications and a notable lack of historical or strategic rigor. Instead of offering a balanced and well-founded analysis, it resorts to disproportionate criticism and absurd comparisons, disregarding the complexity of the events.

To begin with, the tone is blatantly scathing, almost offensive, and focuses more on disparaging the Argentine soldiers than on examining the real conditions of their mission. Phrases like "almost suicidal act" or "they had no idea what they were doing" are not only unnecessary but also demonstrate an absolute ignorance of the operational circumstances. It is evident that the decisions made at Top Malo were constrained by external factors: superior orders, time constraints, logistical pressure, and an environment where the British had clear technological and tactical advantages. Criticizing these decisions without considering these limitations reveals a misunderstanding of how war operates in real scenarios.

The author points out that moving during the day was an "irrational" mistake and compares it to something that "even an eight-year-old child playing hide and seek would understand." Such statements are not only insulting but also simplistic. Military operations are not reduced to children's games or basic logic dictated by intuition. Missions are carried out under specific constraints, and in the case of Top Malo, it is likely that the Argentine commandos had no other choice but to advance. Remaining stationary in an exposed terrain, where the British already had advanced observers equipped with telescopes, also did not guarantee success. The text avoids exploring these options and limits itself to ridicule, reflecting a lack of depth in the analysis.

Another serious issue is the historical decontextualization. The author criticizes the Argentine commandos as if they were expected to operate under the standards of British or modern special forces, ignoring that resources, training, and experience were significantly different. It is true that the British had technological, aerial, and logistical superiority, but placing exclusive blame on the Argentine soldiers for questionable decisions in such an unequal environment is unfair and reveals an evident bias.

The terrain of the Falklands, described as "plains without vegetation," is also not as simple as the author portrays. Although the terrain was largely open, it also featured undulations and low-lying areas that could offer limited concealment. The text fails to consider whether the commandos attempted to take advantage of these features or whether the daytime movement was an operational necessity rather than an imprudent choice.

Although the author is correct in pointing out that moving during the day in exposed terrain is extremely risky, the criticism loses strength by failing to analyze why this decision might have been made. It is easy to criticize with the benefit of historical hindsight and the absence of pressure, but in the battlefield, decisions are made with limited information, under extreme stress, and with deadlines that do not always allow for the ideal choice.

Finally, the text not only exaggerates in its criticism of the Argentine commandos but also makes unfounded generalizations. It claims that such practices were "common" among all units, from the GOE to the 602, without providing concrete evidence to support this accusation. Additionally, the use of metaphors like "lighting a match in a dark room" may be striking, but it adds nothing to the tactical understanding of what occurred.

In conclusion, this text is neither a serious nor objective analysis of the events at Top Malo, but rather a critique laden with prejudice and superficiality. It ignores the context, omits operational constraints, and relies more on disdain than on solid strategic analysis. While it raises some valid ideas, such as the importance of avoiding movement in exposed terrain during daylight, these are buried under a torrent of sarcasm and generalizations that trivialize the complexity of war and the sacrifice of the soldiers involved. A true analysis would require empathy, rigor, and a deeper understanding of the facts—something this text, unfortunately, fails to achieve.

Commandos in Malvinas: Lack of Technique and Doctrine in Reconnaissance Missions

Reconnaissance Patrols Without Technique or Doctrine

Reconnaissance Patrols Without Technique or Doctrine

Excerpt taken from the book "Comandos en Malvinas - The Other Story," chapter "Analysis of Operations." The book is available in print and e-book format on Amazon.

Without a doubt, it can be said that within the Argentine Army (EA), the Argentine Navy (ARA), and the Argentine Air Force (FAA), there was no clear doctrine regarding the use of commando units for reconnaissance tasks. Incredibly, reconnaissance missions were considered secondary and even looked down upon within the different units and in the commando training course itself. In this course, barely any time was devoted to such missions, when, as we all know, any technique is mastered by precisely dedicating time to it and practicing it repeatedly.

The problem in the Argentine case was that many of these techniques were simply unknown. A reflection of the perception of reconnaissance operations within Argentine units can be seen in comments made by Major Rico in several interviews. The commander of the 602 Commando Company stated that his men were wasted on reconnaissance missions when they should have been used for raids against high-value targets. According to Rico's exact words, exploration missions were not worth the effort and could be carried out by other units.

This outdated mindset among the Argentines regarding reconnaissance patrols, along with its resulting consequences, was in complete contrast to the practices followed at the time by units in countries with experience and ongoing conflicts, such as Israel, South Africa, and NATO nations. In these countries, reconnaissance missions occupied a large portion of training hours and unit resources, and they were valued by general headquarters as force multipliers and a high-value resource for the development of subsequent operations.

NATO countries had even established an international training school for deep reconnaissance patrols in 1979 in Weingarten, Germany. This center aimed to improve procedures, standardize protocols, and reduce training costs. The Soviet Union also placed great importance on reconnaissance patrols.

After the Malvinas conflict, the operations carried out by Argentine commandos were studied in many training centers and military schools worldwide, serving as a model of "what not to do." For example, at the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and School (SWCS) at Fort Bragg, U.S.A., the errors committed by Argentine patrols were part of the curriculum from 1984 until at least 1992. But it was especially at Weingarten, thanks in part to British instructors assigned there, that the serious mistakes of Argentine commando units were widely disseminated and known at the international level. From then on, these errors were used in commando schools and training courses in many countries as examples of the mistakes to avoid.

An old military adage says, "Time spent on reconnaissance is never wasted time," a principle that the Argentine Armed Forces and their commando units did not seem to have internalized — and had to learn the hard way.