Malvinas: The Return

The Return

Morning of the 23rd of June — but not this year — rather, of 1982. The setting is Bahía Blanca Sud station.
That Wednesday, train 325 was due to arrive from Plaza Constitución. This service ran via Pringles, and the scheduled time of arrival was 9:04 a.m.

The station looked the same as always. The arrival of the train that day seemed like just another service, one of the regular trains that came into the station as usual.

Everything appeared normal up to that point — except for one small detail. At the rear of train 325 that day, a second-class coach had been coupled. Its 103 seats were reserved for a kind of passenger not often seen in those days. In that coach were the Malvinas War Veterans. That carriage was allocated exclusively to the soldiers who, by that time, were officially recognised as war veterans.

They were boarded onto that last coach, without the possibility of moving through the train, as the door connecting it to the rest of the formation had been locked. A small ham and cheese roll and a half-litre bottle of mineral water was the “ration” provided for the journey.

There was no welcoming committee. The city, with its typical scepticism, was unaware that the returning soldiers were arriving. Hardly anyone came to greet them. Just a few family members who had somehow found out — at that time, few homes had landlines, and of course, social media or WhatsApp didn’t exist.

There was no band to greet them upon arrival — our country is so obsessed with success that, for example, if the national football team loses a World Cup final, no one turns up to welcome them home. The same thing happened with the veterans. Not even their own families had fully realised they were coming back.

The train arrived on time. A long line of passenger coaches left the last one nearly aligned with the “Bahía Blanca” sign just south of the station, near the black bridge. A few fathers, who had learned of their sons’ return, approached the station almost timidly. They had spent over 70 days filled with uncertainty and anxiety. Worried faces searched through the train, hoping to find their sons and hold them tightly at last.

Inside the second-class coach, emotions ran high. The joy of returning was genuine, yet mixed with the pain for those who had not made it back. And to that was added the bitter fact that the war had been lost — this was by no means a joyful train. Tired faces, emaciated bodies showed signs of malnutrition, revealing the hunger they had endured during the conflict — despite efforts to convince the public that our soldiers had suffered neither hunger nor cold.

During their days at Campo de Mayo, the army had tried to feed the soldiers as much as possible so they would arrive “reasonably presentable.”

Behind them were long, sleepless nights. Naval, air, and finally ground bombardments had left them no rest. They had slept in makeshift tents or, when alerts demanded, in damp, cold foxholes. The thinness of their bodies reflected just how scarce the food had been.

They had bathed only once throughout the war, and only again when they boarded the ships back to the mainland. Left behind were those nights spent shivering — from the cold and, why not, from fear — with wet feet and the constant question of where the British would come from.

Behind them remained the sounds of war — sounds only known by those who had to live through them. The whistles of bombs, the wailing of sirens, the thunder of cannons, low-flying jets at terrifying speed, shouted orders during battle, and the gut-wrenching cries of the wounded… All of it was endured by young bodies, most of whom had not yet turned twenty.

"I stood on the carriage steps because I saw my dad and got ready to hug him. He was on the platform, looking past me, trying to find me. He didn’t recognise me — that’s how skinny I was." — Guillermo.
“We felt ashamed because we had lost the war, and that weighed heavily on us. We came back defeated.”

There were heartfelt embraces, tears, a few smiles, and a flood of emotion. Orders soon arrived to board the trucks bound for command headquarters. The veterans were taken in lorries to the Fifth Army Corps.

For them, a new reality was beginning. Almost without realising, they were entering something immensely complex: the return, the process of reintegration into working life. For our Veterans, a new life was starting. Bahía Blanca Sud station stood witness to that moment.

Without doubt — once again — THANK YOU FOR SO MUCH, AND SORRY FOR SO LITTLE.

Argentine Navy: Submarine ARA Santa Fé

 

Submarine A.R.A. Santa Fe

The submarine ARA Santa Fe (S-21) hoisted her Argentine flag on 2 July 1971. At the end of 1978, as a result of the disagreement over sovereignty of the three islands, Lennox and Nueva in the Beagle Channel, tensions rose between Argentina and Chile.

On 22 December 1978, Argentina launched Operation Sovereignty to militarily occupy the islands. When conflict seemed inevitable, the timely intervention of Pope John Paul II prevented the start of hostilities. On 30 March 1982, she was incorporated into Task Force 40, Task Group 40.4, carrying on board part of the landing force of Operation Rosario. From her, the tactical divers departed who enabled the landing of Argentine forces that recapture the Malvinas Islands. She was assigned a new mission for which she was resupplied with fuel and provisions to transport a detachment of marines towards South Georgia Islands. She managed to evade the British blockade and entered San Pedro Island, penetrating Captain Vago Cove in National Guard Bay (Grytviken), disembarking personnel and materials. At 05:50 hours (local time), she departed to return to her assigned patrol zone, but was detected and attacked by a Wessex helicopter. The vessel returned to Grytviken. Resistance was offered by firing at the enemy helicopters from the sail, led by Corporal Héctor O. Feldman. At 07:30 she moored, listing to port and with the stern submerged. Faced with British superiority in troop numbers, the Argentine garrison surrendered along with the submariners. On 27 April, an attempt was made to change her position; during the manoeuvre, Petty Officer First Class Félix O. Artuso was fatally wounded when a British marine shot him, indicating that he had made movements that led him to believe he was about to operate a valve to scuttle the vessel. During the austral summer of 1984/1985, the United Kingdom ordered the salvage of the former ARA Santa Fe (S-21) in order to remove her from the anchorage at Vago Cove, to free the pier for use by active vessels. The S-21 began to be towed to deeper waters. Finally, the veteran vessel sank definitively in the South Atlantic, settling on the seabed at 196 metres depth.

Class: Balao Class (modified to GUPPY II) Diesel-electric attack submarine.

Launched:
19 November 1944 – Shipyard: Electric Boat Company (Groton, Connecticut, USA).

Power:
3 General Motors 278A 16-cylinder diesel engines
2 General Electric electric motors
2 main Exide batteries of 126 cells • 2 propellers.
Surface speed: 20–25 knots – 37.5 KM/Hour.
Submerged speed: 8.75 knots – 16 KM/Hour.

Armament:
10 Torpedo tubes of 533 mm (21 in) (6 forward, 4 aft, 24 torpedoes)
1 deck gun of 127 mm/25 calibre (5 in)
1 20 mm AA gun
2 12.7 mm (0.5") machine guns
1 40 mm AA gun

The elements for constructing the model parts are entirely made with recyclable materials respecting the measurements according to plans.
SCALE: 1/100 – Model built in 2008 by LEANDRO CISNEROS.

Submarine A.R.A. Santa Fe

Force Navy 

Length 95 mts.

Beam 8.31 mts.

Draught  4.65 mts.

Crew 80 – 85 personnel

Malvinas: Operation Uka Uka

Operation Uka Uka (ITB)

On 12 June 1982, members of the Argentine Navy installed an Exocet missile in Puerto Argentino, brought in by a C-130 Hercules aircraft of the Argentine Air Force, to be launched from land.
It was an Argentine invention that put a British warship out of action in the final days of the Falklands War.

This “ingenuity under pressure” (as it was described at an international military history congress in Europe) led two civilian Navy technicians and a naval engineer to develop a previously unthinkable land-based Exocet missile launcher. It was successfully used during one of the fiercest battles of the conflict with Britain, on 12 June 1982, at Mount Two Sisters.

They called it the ITB: Instalación de Tiro Berreta (makeshift firing installation).
“Because it was ugly, improvised… a makeshift job,” recalled Antonio Shugt and Luis Torelli, who devised it in just three days, alongside Navy Captain Julio Pérez.
Antonio and Luis were 22 and 24 years old when Captain Pérez, their superior in the Missile Division at Puerto Belgrano Naval Arsenal, assigned them a mission that seemed impossible: to launch an MM38 Exocet anti-ship missile from land to counter the British bombardment of Puerto Argentino’s defences.
“Yes, it can be done,” they replied.
“It’s urgent!” the captain warned them.
Luis had been a civilian employee of the Navy for six years and had worked as an electronics technician in the Missile Division for three. Alongside Pérez and Shugt, he had visited France when Argentina purchased the Exocet missiles, giving him valuable knowledge of the system.
In total secrecy, they locked themselves in the workshop at the beginning of May, sketching ideas, drawing up plans, laying cables...
“There was nothing like it in the Navy or anywhere else,” Luis explained. “The missile alone is useless; it needs a launch system, which consists of a set of equipment that gives the missile launch orders, target data, firing conditions, flight situation... We had to build something like that, but it had to be portable, mobile, and transportable.”



“The captain wanted to design an entirely new circuit, but we didn’t have time. So we thought it more practical to use what already existed: a ship’s fire control system, which is a large room full of equipment that takes a year to install. We used one from an old destroyer. It had to be dismantled and downsized,” said Antonio.
By the third day, they emerged from the workshop with a plan: keep the most vital components and manufacture the rest more simply.
It was a gamble — and it worked. They tested the system with a missile simulator on the destroyer Seguí. A tent was erected on the deck to shield them from enemy satellites, but even with the system and missile, they still needed a launch ramp.
“Someone came up with the idea of putting it on a trailer. So they took the ramps from the ship and mounted them on a cart. The electronics were powered by a portable system from old Marine Infantry arc spotlights. The launcher and a separate control and command unit were interconnected,” Luis recounted.
It was built at top speed, with the entire workshop working two shifts around the clock: 6 a.m. to 7 p.m., and 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. The General Workshops took care of the mechanical parts. And it was ready.
It was all extremely urgent. At 4 p.m. the system was tested, and by 6 p.m. it was loaded onto a Hercules aircraft at Base Espora for deployment to the Malvinas.



Captain Pérez travelled to the islands. He was to operate the ITB with Lieutenant Commanders Edgardo Rodríguez and Mario Abadal. Luis and Antonio, being civilians, were not deployed.
The ITB reached the Falklands on 31 May, after several radar-evading flights.
Each of the two trailers weighed 5,000 kg. Moving them around the islands was extremely difficult. They could only be transported via the road to the airport, as they would sink in the tundra.
A site was designated 300 metres from the sea, facing the airport at Puerto Argentino, in the southern part of the archipelago (see map). The components were dispersed, with the launcher positioned separately to avoid detection. They would begin setup around 6 p.m. when darkness fell. It took two hours to install the ITB, and they remained in position until 3 or 4 a.m. In daylight, the system was dismantled to avoid satellite detection. For 12 days they repeated this cycle, waiting for the ideal moment.
Using an Army radar operated by retired officer Carlos Ríes Centeno —who had travelled as a documentarian— ship movements were tracked. It was an anti-personnel radar, requiring data conversion to be useful to the Exocet’s systems. Combined with input from another surveillance radar, they identified the route taken by British ships each night.
One early morning, Captain Pérez and his team attempted the first launch, but a connection issue prevented the missile from firing.
“The only British component in the ITB failed: a worthless diode. Luckily, the Marine Infantry’s Anti-Air Artillery had the exact one we needed,” Captain Pérez recounted.
A second attempt the next day failed due to a human error in radar data calculations.
By the third or fourth night, British ships had stopped passing. The radars showed nothing nearby.
“It was almost dawn when one of the lieutenants suggested doing something they used to do during training — dancing around a tree like natives to summon rain. ‘Shall we try a spin?’ he asked. Imagine two lieutenants and a captain doing that. If anyone had seen us…” Pérez laughed.
But at one point, Pérez said: “Now, while no one’s watching.” And in the dark, they danced twice around the trailer, chanting like indigenous warriors. Believe it or not, half an hour later, they were informed that a British warship had appeared in the area.
They readied the system and fired. Third time lucky — the Exocet hit its target.

The Attack
12 June 1982. British artillery was bombarding the Argentine defences at Puerto Argentino, and that same early morning, Argentina fired an Exocet missile from land at a warship — a global first. Argentine ingenuity, devised by two civilian technicians from Punta Alta in Puerto Belgrano, was now playing its part in the heat of battle on the islands.



At 3:30 a.m., HMS Glamorgan, supporting the British advance on Mount Two Sisters from offshore, had already fired nearly four tonnes of explosives. The Royal Marines welcomed the support. But as the destroyer shifted to a new position, it entered the ITB radar’s range.
“Our radar only reached 30,000 metres,” Captain Pérez explained. “We had very little time to input the data and fire. But we managed it!”
A flash in the early morning, followed by a snaking trail and the sound of a turbine disappearing into the dark horizon.
That brilliant light approaching caught the attention of everyone on the Glamorgan’s bridge. It was also seen from the coast.



It was 3:36 a.m., and it took no time for Glamorgan’s radar operators to realise they were under Exocet attack. Their evasive manoeuvres came too late — the missile struck the stern.
“3:37 — Boom! The ship jolted as if hitting a dock. We lost all power. It was chaos,” said a crew member.
The MM38 Exocet, launched via the ITB, had hit its mark.

Gaceta Marinera

Malvinas: The Gurkha Myth

The Gurkha Myth

Beyond certain particular traits, the Gurkhas are nothing more than a regular unit of the British Army. There was a British psychological operations campaign during the war which, aided by local dissemination, reached extraordinary levels.

They were neither mercenaries nor throat-slitting machines—nothing of the sort. Yet many believed it; even Gabo García Márquez bought into the story and helped to spread it. The press also contributed, whether through the information it published or the manner in which it did so. 

It’s hard to accept that a myth was swallowed whole, but that’s exactly what happened. Even Carlos Robacio commented on them — they were a misrepresentation of the Gurkhas. They fought very little and stopped almost as soon as they began.

We must stop spreading claims about the war that never actually occurred. Don’t you agree?



Imagen: Infobae.

Independence War: The Last Day of Güemes

The Last Day of Güemes Among Us

On the night of June 7, 1821, at the corner of Belgrano and Balcarce streets in the city of Salta, Martín Miguel de Güemes was wounded and fled with his gauchos in search of shelter. Despite his injury, the hero did not fall from his saddle and, mounted on his horse, crossed the Campo de la Cruz. Entering the Chachapoya ravine, he headed east to a post located about 8 km from the city of Salta, in La Lagunilla, known as the house of Doña Pancha Luna.

Colonel Eusebio Mollinedo, who was with him that fateful day, wrote in his accounts:

“...Seriously wounded in the spine by a gunshot from an enemy patrol, and after enduring excruciating pain with the fortitude forged by the hardships of war, we reached the post at La Lagunilla... There he was assisted and could rest.”

From that location, a message was sent to Commander Ríos, who was waiting with the rest of the escort at Tincunaco, to inform the troops encamped at Campo de Velarde about the situation and join the group. Additionally, Father Francisco Fernández was notified of the general’s condition.

Commander Ríos and his soldiers, along with Father Fernández, improvised a stretcher to carry the wounded Güemes and continued the journey toward the “Las Higuerillas” estate. The path included only a few mild hills that were easily crossed, followed by flat terrain leading to the estate house.

They arrived without major issues and waited for a large contingent of patriot troops and the party led by Captain Cabral, who was bringing the physician Dr. Antonio Castellanos. There, General Güemes received initial medical attention.

Dr. Castellanos diagnosed the severity of the wound and began to suspect a very poor prognosis.

With better organization and supplies, those present realized the need to protect the wounded General from enemy forces, so they resumed the march through the "Cañada de la Higuera", heading toward the "Higuera" outpost.

“...At the spot known as La Higuera, four leagues southeast of the starting point, he was extremely weak due to blood loss...”

This outpost’s location was highly secure and strategic, as it was close to the estates La Cruz and La Quesera, where Güemes had burial grounds for his gauchos.

However, in his critical condition, the hero could go no further. Under the shade of a cebil tree, he awaited his inevitable fate with the dignity of one who gives his life for the Fatherland.
Thus, the martyr of our Nation began his journey toward immortality.

Source: Illustrated Güemesian Ephemerides and Others
Image: Güemes wounded.

Malvinas: Superb Deception

Malvinas – The Grand Narrative

Sources and Rumours in War Reporting

(An intriguing analysis of how British communication was managed in support of military operations)

"On 31 March, two days before Argentine forces landed in Malvinas, the Argentine newspaper Clarín published a report, which appeared to originate from London, claiming that the British had deployed the nuclear submarine Superb to Argentine waters. The Foreign Office had no comment to offer on that 'version', and the Argentine press concluded that this was a leak of highly classified military information.

On 1 April, as Argentine troops were preparing for the landing in Malvinas, Clarín reported that the Superb displaced 45,000 tonnes and had a crew of 97 men trained in anti-submarine warfare.

By 4 April, the submarine had allegedly been sighted off the Argentine coast. British military sources responded that they had no intention of disclosing the location of their submarines.

On 18 April, a Brazilian pilot reported having seen the Superb near Santa Catarina and even claimed to have photographed it; unfortunately, the image was nearly unreadable due to fog.

Then, when the British expeditionary force was genuinely just eighty kilometres from the war zone, with real warships and actual submarines, the Superb vanished. On 22 April, Clarín reported that the submarine had supposedly returned to Scotland. The next day, 23 April, the Scottish newspaper Daily Record revealed that, in fact, the Superb had remained anchored at its Scottish base the entire time.

What interests me most is how the story grew—from a vague rumour—into a full-fledged submarine narrative, thanks to the collective efforts of many. It became a 'character' in its own right."

Mount Longdon: The Real British Casualties Commented by the Bad Guys