The Marine Infantry is one of the components of the Argentine Navy. Its primary mission is to carry out amphibious operations involving the landing of troops on coastal areas from the sea. They may also take part in land, riverine, and other missions. 🇦🇷⚓ 
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.
When the Welsh landed at Puerto Madryn, “the flag with the red dragon in the centre was flying on the hill above the caves…”. In 1965, to mark the centenary of the arrival of the first contingent of Welsh immigrants, Camwy magazine – published by the regional museum in Gaiman – reproduced in its July issue (No. 5) the diary of Lewis Humphreys, but transcribed the phrase as: “the Argentine flag with the red dragon…” (emphasis mine – C.I.D.). This version, with the word “Argentine” inserted, has been repeated by other writers without verifying its accuracy or providing any explanation. From the original account it is clear that it referred to the Welsh flag, which the Emigration Commission had given to Luis Jones and Edwin Roberts when they departed from Wales on 10 February 1865 to prepare the site for disembarkation. This is confirmed by Edwin Roberts’ own account, in which he relates that, once the warehouse was built, “as the friends of the Colony in Liverpool had sent a flag with the Red Dragon, a tall pole was set up in front of the depot and that flag was raised” (quoted by Matthew H. Jones in Trelew, un desafío patagónico, vol. I, p. 122). Another Welsh chronicler gives the same version: “On 27 July [1865] Edwin saw the Mimosa approaching and hurried to the white rocks near the shore. He hoisted the Red Dragon flag and fired into the air, then went out by boat to the ship to welcome them”.
To carry out the Interior Minister’s instructions, the military commander of Patagones, Lieutenant Colonel Julián Murga, was sent. On 15 September 1865, at the very spot where Enrique Líbanus Jones had established the settlement, he raised the Argentine flag once again.
Abraham Matthews, in his Chronicle of the Welsh Colony in Patagonia, recounts it as follows: “Captain Murga (who was the military commander of Patagones) came on behalf of the Argentine government to raise the flag of the Argentine Republic in the place and to give us formal permission to take possession of the land and settle it.”
The official record drawn up by Murga states that “in the name of his government he made formal delivery and placed in possession of the national lands granted to the Colony from the Country of Wales… After this, and having raised the Argentine flag and saluted it with a rifle volley as a sign of respect to the Argentine Nation which it represents, the Colony from the Country of Wales was established.” “The flag was raised in complete silence. The raising of the Argentine flag that day dealt a mortal blow to the idea of a Welsh Colony. Nonetheless, there was not the slightest sign of protest from the settlers.”
The flag raised on that occasion was brought to Chubut by Commander Murga from Patagones, and it remained there. This is evident from a note Murga sent on 1 October 1866 to the Inspector and Commander General of Arms of the Republic, General Benito Nazar, requesting the dispatch of “two National Flags”, as there was none in that Command “as one had been sent to Chubut, and the one left behind” was completely destroyed “due to the strong and constant winds”.
There, “inside and outside the Old Fort”, or on the embankment itself, the first houses were built, forming the initial nucleus of the city of Rawson – the oldest in Patagonia after Patagones and Viedma. When, ten years later, Antonio Oneto was appointed as the Executive Power’s representative for the administration of the colony, his instructions emphasised: “Prudence, tolerance, morality and the strictest justice must be the standard of all your administrative acts, so that the national flag may fly proudly over your residence and be respected and blessed by all.”
Ensuring the presence of the national flag in Patagonia – so coveted by foreigners – was no easy task, as the reader will see in the following pages. In late 1878, Commander Daniel de Solier of the gunboat La República found a company on Tova Island, in the northern part of the Gulf of San Jorge, engaged in hunting penguins and seals without Argentine government authorisation, operating under the French flag. Solier ordered them to lower it and to raise the Argentine flag on land, which they did without resistance.
A similar situation occurred on Leones Island, east of the previous one. Ordered by Captain Augusto Lasserre of the gunboat Paraná to suspend operations, the manager did so some time later. Upon leaving, he left the French flag flying and the Argentine flag rolled up at the base of the mast. This is how, in 1883, Captain Francisco Villarino of the schooner Santa Cruz found them, ordering the French flag lowered and the Argentine flag raised, with the corresponding honours. Similar incidents took place at other points along the Patagonian coast. Companies from various countries (United States, Britain, France, Chile), flying their own flags, exploited natural resources as if they were their property.
On 21 December 1880, the Falkland Island Association attempted to purchase from the Argentine Government the Península Valdés and “one hundred and sixty leagues in the vicinity of San Sebastián Bay in Tierra del Fuego” for the purpose of colonisation and livestock breeding. The request was denied; had it been accepted, it is certain the Argentine flag would never have been flown there.
From the book “Patagonia azul y blanca” by Clemente Dumrauf.
The prolonged struggles faced by the Argentine nation during the 19th century gave rise to significant human actions that have largely faded into obscurity or are briefly mentioned in history books.
On February 5, 1856, 352 Italian soldiers under the command of Colonel Silvino Olivien arrived by sea at the present-day city of Bahía Blanca, in southern Buenos Aires Province. At the time, the city was a modest settlement surrounding the old Fort Argentino, facing the vast pampas and the constant threat of Indigenous attacks. The enthusiastic welcome from the sparse local population prompted Colonel Olivien to issue a printed proclamation, urging the people of Bahía Blanca to see the legionnaires as “brothers who wished to help them continue the great task of settling that rich and expansive southern region of Buenos Aires Province.”
Origins of the Italian Legion
Who were these foreigners? Where did they come from? And who was Silvino Olivien?
The prolonged siege of Montevideo (1843–1851) had attracted numerous Italians with liberal and Masonic ideals. These individuals—defeated in Italy’s Wars of Independence and the Roman Republic—were inspired by Alexandre Dumas’ book The New Troy, which portrayed Montevideo’s siege as another fight against tyranny for freedom. Many were Ligurian, Piedmontese, and Savoyard exiles who, under Giuseppe Garibaldi’s command, extended their struggle for liberty to the shores of the Río de la Plata, forming a Legion.
Their shared experiences, dangers faced, and shared ideals forged strong bonds between these European exiles and their Uruguayan and Argentine comrades. These ties were further solidified by the close friendship between Garibaldi and Bartolomé Mitre, then an Argentine military leader and later the President of Argentina. After the siege ended, many Italians moved to Buenos Aires, where Mitre became not only their best ally but also their “brother in cause and principles,” a title he gave to both Mazzinians (followers of Giuseppe Mazzini) and Garibaldinians.
Formation of the Italian Legion in Buenos Aires
On December 9, 1852, Buenos Aires faced a siege by forces loyal to General Hilario Lagos, who had rebelled against the state government. A decree authorized foreign residents to take up arms “exclusively to maintain public order.” Numerous volunteers formed the German, Spanish, and Swiss legions. Among these, the Italian Legion stood out not only for its size but also for its refusal to limit itself to police functions, insisting on active participation in the trenches defending the city.
The force was organized by two Italian officers: Colonel Silvino Olivien, born in Bruscios in 1820 and trained at the Naples Military Academy (La Nunziatella), and Major Eduardo Clerici, a Milanese graduate of the Milan Military Academy and former lieutenant in the Austrian Army. Both men had fought in Italy’s revolutionary struggles and were exiled following their defeats.
Together, they assembled approximately 300 Italian residents of Buenos Aires into a battalion named the Italian Legion. This force fought valiantly alongside the defenders of Buenos Aires, earning praise for their military skills. Their first casualty was Lieutenant Erba, who fell on January 9, 1853, and was honored with burial in the city’s cathedral.
Distinctions and Honors
The Italian Legion distinguished itself in battles at Plaza Lorea and the English Cemetery (near present-day Pasco and Pichincha streets). Their bravery earned them recognition from General Manuel Hornos, commander of the Argentine forces. On April 21, 1853, the Buenos Aires government presented the Legion with a blue-and-white flag featuring the city’s coat of arms embroidered in silver and gold. The flag bore a blue silk ribbon inscribed in gold: "Con questa bandiera vinceremo" - Buenos Aires, 16 aprile 1853. The flag, gifted by “porteñas” (women of Buenos Aires), remains preserved in the National Historical Museum.
Further recognition came on May 30, 1853, when a government decree officially renamed the force the Valiant Legion. Its members were granted the use of honor cords, a prestigious distinction for both officers and soldiers.
Disbandment and Legacy
In July 1853, following the conclusion of the conflict, the Italian Legion was disbanded at the request of Colonel Olivien, who returned the Legion’s flag to the government before departing for Italy. There, Olivien participated in new revolutionary activities, was captured, and sentenced to death. Buenos Aires authorities intervened successfully to secure his commutation, and he returned to Buenos Aires on October 31, 1855, exiled for life from the Papal States.
Colonization Plans and New Frontiers
Olivien’s forced return coincided with government plans to secure internal frontiers against Indigenous attacks in southern Buenos Aires Province. The plan involved creating militarized colonies, where settlers would be granted land in exchange for defending and developing present and future settlements. Thus, the legacy of the Italian Legion extended beyond their valor on the battlefield to contributions in shaping Argentina’s southern frontier.
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| Italian Legionnaire |
On November 18, 1855, a decree established an agricultural-military colony of 600 men under the jurisdiction of the Buenos Aires state army ordinances. Initially settled in Bahía Blanca, the colony could be relocated to other points in the southern frontier as needed. Colonel Silvino Olivien, due to his military background and engineering expertise, was appointed commander, with Major Clerici serving as his second-in-command. Among the recruits were 150 former members of the Italian Legion, alongside their previous officers.
One notable member was Juan Bautista Cúneo, a former soldier and journalist, who founded the first Italian-language newspaper in Argentina, named after the military force: La Legión Agrícola Militar. Thirteen issues of this publication were printed.
Uniform and Symbolism
The Agricultural-Military Legion adopted uniforms modeled after the French Zouaves from the Crimean War, featuring a kepi similar to those of the Buenos Aires army but in red, a nod to the Garibaldinian roots of its members. As a continuation of the Valiant Legion, the governor of Buenos Aires, Dr. Pastor Obligado, and the Minister of War and Navy, Bartolomé Mitre, ceremonially returned the Legion’s original flag to the new Italian formation on January 11, 1856.
Arrival and Organization
On February 5, 1856, the Legion arrived in Bahía Blanca with approximately 300 men. While not all had military experience, they were selected for their knowledge of agricultural practices. Captain Felipe Cavanti, who had been exiled from the Papal States, remained in Buenos Aires to organize the rest of the force.
Between February and July 1856, after enduring a yellow fever outbreak, the Legion began exploring the surrounding territory and divided itself into three branches:
The Founding of Nueva Roma
On July 1, 1856, the Legion laid the foundations for the colony of Nueva Roma, located 25 kilometers west of Bahía Blanca along the Sauce Chico River. This colony was established to fulfill the dual objectives of the Agricultural-Military Legion: to populate and defend the region.
Notable Events
Two significant events marked the development of Nueva Roma. First, Major Clerici, who had established cordial relations with the influential Indigenous chief Calfucurá, was forced to step down due to illness and passed away in October 1856. His efforts in diplomacy with the local Indigenous communities left a lasting legacy.
The Agricultural-Military Legion exemplified a unique blend of military prowess and agricultural ambition, contributing to the expansion and defense of Argentina’s southern frontier.
On September 28, 1856, Colonel Silvino Olivien was assassinated by mutinous members of his own force, angered by the severe punishments they were subjected to. The perpetrators deserted, and their crime remained unpunished. The arrival of Captain Felipe Caronti months later restored order and ensured the continuation of the Legion’s mission.
The government appointed Lieutenant Colonel Antonio Susini as the new commander of the Agricultural-Military Legion. Susini, a Milanese sailor and veteran who had sailed and fought alongside Giuseppe Garibaldi during campaigns on Argentine rivers, was one of the founders of the Italian Legion during the siege of Montevideo.
In 1853, Susini arrived in Bahía Blanca accompanied by Major Juan Bautista Charlone, a valiant officer who would later distinguish himself in the Paraguayan War, and Captains Sagani, Zonza, and Valerga, along with forty soldiers. All these men were veterans of the Italian and Valiant Legions.
Susini undertook a comprehensive reorganization of the force, renaming it the Military Legion. He discharged less capable members and restored the unit’s renowned reputation. Under Susini’s leadership, the Legion distinguished itself in campaigns against Indigenous forces, including actions at Salinas Grandes and the Battle of Pigüé in February 1859, where they faced Chief Calfucurá’s forces. General Wenceslao Paunero, commander of the Bahía Blanca Division, praised their valor.
In May 1859, the Legion defended Bahía Blanca against an attack by 2,500 Indigenous warriors, defeating them, recovering stolen goods, and freeing numerous captives. For his leadership, Susini was promoted to the rank of colonel by the Buenos Aires government in July 1859.
The Legion’s impact extended beyond military accomplishments. Captain Felipe Caronti spearheaded significant development projects in the Bahía Blanca region, including the construction of the first port pier, two schools, and the first church. He also manufactured ammunition, repaired weapons, drafted topographic maps, and conducted meteorological studies. Caronti, unable to complete his engineering studies in Italy due to political exile, realized his aspirations in the country that adopted him.
After four years of campaigns against southern Indigenous tribes, the Buenos Aires government ordered the Military Legion to return and participate in the conflict against General Urquiza’s army during a renewed civil war between Buenos Aires and the rest of the country.
The Legion fought valiantly at the Battle of Pavón, further cementing its legendary reputation. Colonel Juan Bautista Charlone, renowned for his courage and leadership, was promoted and awarded an honorary sword for his service.
The Military Legion’s exploits reached Giuseppe Garibaldi, who, from his home in Caprera, sent a letter to his former comrades on November 15, 1861. In it, he expressed his admiration and pride in their contributions to Argentina, ensuring that their heroic deeds remained part of both Argentine and Italian history. The enduring legacy of the Legion reflected the ideals of liberty and resilience shared by its members. It stated:
"Alía Legione Italiana de Buenos Aires Abete combattuto valerosamente per la libertá della Reppublicá Argentina, che é un popolo caro, honesto e generoso".
"Vi invio una parola de omaggio, cl 'affette di gratitudine, in nome della Italia intera e del vostro vecchio compagno d¨armi G. Garibaldi".
An emotional ceremony took place on February 4, 1864, in the city of Rosario, Santa Fe Province, where the Military Legion was stationed. During the event, the legionnaires received a new Argentine flag to replace their original one, which was nearly destroyed after so many campaigns and battles.
In early 1865, the Legion returned to Buenos Aires to complete its ranks with Argentine officers and troops. In April of that year, it was merged into the 8th Line Infantry Regiment, which then marched to the Paraguayan War, initiated on May 25, 1865. On that date, Paraguayan forces under Marshal Francisco Solano López, already at war with the Empire of Brazil, launched a surprise invasion of Argentine territory, triggering the War of the Triple Alliance. In this conflict, the armies of Brazil, Uruguay, and Argentina fought against Paraguay in what became the bloodiest war in South American history.
Massive numbers of men were sacrificed against Paraguayan fortresses, defended with extraordinary bravery amidst dense jungles. Both sides demonstrated courage bordering on madness. The Paraguayan government, desperate after prolonged battles, even formed battalions of children and women, continuing the struggle until the annihilation of the last 1,000 soldiers of Solano López’s army, with López himself perishing alongside them.
The men of the Military Legion proved their valor throughout the war, distinguishing themselves in all the battles they fought. They participated in the defense of the city of Corrientes and fought in the battles of Yatay, Uruguayana, and the infamous massacre at Curupaytí. In this brutal engagement, Colonel Juan Bautista Charlone fell while leading an infantry charge in a futile attempt to breach Paraguayan trenches, reminiscent of the trench warfare horrors that would shock the world during World War I.
After Charlone’s death, command of the Italian forces passed to Colonel Baldomero Sotelo, an Argentine officer. Under his leadership, the Legion fought at Lomas Valentinas and Paso Hondo, where on October 21, 1869, they captured an eight-cannon battery in a bayonet assault.
Following these actions, the Legion became part of the Occupation Army, stationed in Asunción, the Paraguayan capital, until January 1871. Throughout the War of the Triple Alliance, the Legion wore its distinctive uniform, though it became increasingly adapted to the campaign’s necessities and shortages. After the war, the remnants of the once-glorious Legion returned to Corrientes, where they were incorporated into the 1st Battalion of the 8th Infantry Regiment.
The Military Legion was not the only Italian-origin force serving with the Argentine Army. Two additional Italian formations were established:
This unit was organized by Commander José Giribone, born in Genoa in 1823 and exiled for political reasons. Giribone arrived in Montevideo in 1843 and fought alongside Giuseppe Garibaldi and Francisco Anzani during the siege of the Uruguayan capital. Known for his musical talent and exemplary bravery, Giribone composed a military march, La Marcha del Tala, which he bequeathed to the Argentine Army as a legacy of his sacrifice and dedication, notably displayed in the Battle of El Tala.
The Military Legion, alongside other Italian volunteer forces, embodied the ideals of courage, sacrifice, and dedication. Their contributions to the Argentine military during some of the nation’s most challenging conflicts remain a testament to the enduring bond between Italy and Argentina, rooted in shared struggles for freedom and justice.
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| Cnel. Antonio Sussini |
On August 10, 1861, he was appointed commander of a force to be organized under the name Volunteers of Liberty. This unit was tasked with protecting the city of Rosario, Argentina, but after only a few months, it was disbanded to form a new unit called the Foreign Legion. This new force included volunteers of various nationalities, though Italians remained the majority.
The Foreign Legion committed to serve under a three-year contract and was sent to reinforce the Third Line Infantry Regiment, which defended the town of Azul in southern Buenos Aires Province from Indigenous attacks. Its name was later changed to the First Volunteer Legion, and under this designation, it fought in the War of the Triple Alliance as part of the allied Army of Operations.
On February 17, 1868, Commander Gribone fell in battle, succumbing to 18 wounds, “all from the front,” as recorded in the military report of the time, during an engagement against superior forces. With his death, the second heroic Italian figure in this war was lost.
Second Volunteer Legion: The aforementioned Colonel Antonio Susini, who had reorganized the Agricultural-Military Legion, had previously delegated its command to Lieutenant Colonel Charlone when Susini was appointed Commander of the Buenos Aires State Government’s Naval Squadron in 1857. However, unable to remain detached from the ongoing conflict in Paraguay, Susini returned to active service on land. He organized another unit, named the Second Volunteer Legion, with which he marched as part of the Army of Operations, participating in the entire campaign.
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| Juan Bautista Charlone |
The Marines of the 12.7 mm Machine Gun Company, attached to the 7th Infantry Regiment (RI-7) on Mount Longdon, prepared the defence of their position as they were accustomed to: deep works with shelters, crawl trenches, ammunition depots, and so on—always working to perfect them. It was the best way to pass the time before going into combat, for they were convinced they would have to fight, and constant work was the best way to endure the wait, according to Marine Corps tradition. When the British assault came, they saw the wisdom of that attitude. Those who had not done so suffered needless casualties and could not fight effectively. 
Two days before the attack, Corporal Second Class Colemil went to the Marine Corps Combat Support Service, where Lieutenant Scotto told him: “Vizcacha” (another of Colemil’s nicknames), “here you have the night sights that have just arrived—take these for the rifles and for the machine guns.” Colemil took three rifle sights, giving one to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Dachary, another to Chief Corporal Lamas, and keeping the third for himself. He also carried six Litton sights for the machine guns and five or six head-mounted night vision devices, which turned out to be of little use. The following day, the Marines spent time training with the night sights. 
The Night of 11 June 1982
Carlos Rafael Colemil, in charge of a 12.7 mm machine gun (the westernmost on Mount Longdon), had escorted conscript Leiva—who was feeling unwell—to the aid post. Once checked and treated, Leiva was authorised to return to his position. On the way back, they passed Corporal Lamas’s machine gun, where Lamas warned Colemil: “Stay very alert. Don’t let your guard down; they could attack tonight.”
They carried on walking. When they reached the rest shelter, Colemil woke the relief shift, and with the two conscripts who had already completed their watch on the 12.7, began his nightly patrol. They paused briefly at the Army’s Racit radar (an infantry radar used to detect the enemy) and exchanged a few words with the sergeant operating it.
“Get into the dugout; they’re going to start firing,” the sergeant warned.
The radar—capable of detecting enemy infantry movements—was switched off at 8 p.m., as British ships had detected it and subjected it to naval gunfire from the south, an action that facilitated the infiltration of British paratroopers. About a company’s worth of these paratroopers made their way through the minefields without triggering any devices. Silently, they infiltrated the sector occupied by 2nd Lieutenant Juan D. Baldini’s section of the Bravo Company, RI-7, whose frontage faced west on Mount Longdon.
Colemil and the two conscripts continued moving among the rocks until he stopped and looked west through his FAL rifle’s night sight. To his surprise, he saw a diffuse shape moving not far away. Uncertain, he aimed the FAL at the spot and fired a shot. In response, he heard the unmistakable chatter of a Sterling submachine gun. There was no mistake—it was the enemy, and they were close. At that moment, a paratrooper stepped on a mine; the scream and the explosion alerted all of Mount Longdon.
Once he had located the enemy, Colemil ran to the rest shelter and phoned Lieutenant Dachary’s command post.
—“Cobra, this is Araucano. Cobra, this is Araucano.”
—“Go ahead, Araucano.”
—“Attention, guns— we’re under attack, we’re under attack.”
—“Received.”
(The machine guns were connected to Lieutenant Dachary’s command post and also interlinked with each other.)
While Colemil was alerting his commander, the fighting spread. Thanks to the advantage of surprise, the British managed to gain a foothold at the western end of the mount, advancing with machine guns, rifles, and 66 mm and 84 mm rockets. The atmosphere was hellish. Colemil marked targets with tracer rounds from his rifle, aided by the night sight.
Suddenly—air raid alarm. The Argentine infantrymen dived into their foxholes, and as soon as the artillery fire ceased, they emerged to continue firing. Then more rounds came crashing in.
Outnumbered but Still Fighting
The paratroopers took advantage of the moments when their enemies were in the foxholes to advance, overrunning Colemil’s position, leaving him cut off and unable to contact Lieutenant Dachary’s men. Far from discouraged, Colemil kept firing the 12.7 mm, but before long the weapon jammed and was put out of action.
From then on, it was a long night for “the Araucano” Colemil—a brilliant corporal who, through determination and courage, caused the British many headaches and inflicted numerous casualties.
“Well, we’ve got rifles and plenty of ammunition,” he told conscripts Ferrandiz and Leiva, who had stayed with him. “Let’s blast them.”
“Corporal, there are hundreds of them,” said Ferrandiz.
“All right—we’ll let them pass and then hit them from behind.”
Suddenly, Colemil saw some British troops trying to set up a mortar. “These ones aren’t getting away,” he thought aloud and began firing at them, wounding one and forcing the rest to withdraw.
“Behind you, corporal!” shouted Leiva as three paratroopers charged towards them. Colemil spun round and fired a burst of about fifteen rounds. One Briton fell, and the other two, wounded, withdrew, shouting.
Lying prone, the corporal searched for enemies through the rifle sight. Whenever one came into view, he put him out of action. Alone, he caused havoc among those trying to take the Argentine positions in that sector of Longdon, while his conscripts supported him with their rifles. 
At one point, he saw the enemy attempting to recover a recoilless rifle that was near his position. He opened fire, saw one Briton fall, and then came under heavy retaliatory fire. “If I don’t fight, I’m dead,” he thought. He began crawling from position to position, opening fire whenever he spotted an enemy. He saw a Briton standing on a parapet with a bipod-fitted rifle, shot him down instantly, and then fired at his comrades trying to approach—likely to recover the weapon.
In an attempt to peer out for more targets, Colemil was hit— the bullet struck the front of his helmet, pierced it, entered his scalp, and stopped at the nape of his neck. A paratrooper, barely twenty metres away, had thrown a grenade which exploded nearby, but a rock had stopped the shrapnel. As Colemil rose to seek him through the sight, the same man fired at him, the projectile grazing his head.
(Because the wound ran from his forehead to the nape, Colemil earned the nickname “Piggy Bank.”)
He immediately felt something hot running down his face. Dazed, he tried to stand, but managed to recover the rifle in time. As soon as his attacker appeared from behind a rock, he aimed at his chest and fired. The Briton let out a cry of pain and fell heavily on his back, arms spread.
“Corporal, let’s bandage your head,” said Ferrandiz.
“Yes, but quickly—we can’t stop firing.”
“We’re cut off. We can’t hold out much longer.”
By 3 a.m., they were also under friendly artillery fire, their own side believing the position had been taken by the British.
“Corporal, why don’t we surrender?” both conscripts said at once.
“No way. I won’t be taken prisoner. I’ve no wish to have my throat cut.”
“But, corporal—”
“I’d rather shoot myself than be taken prisoner.”
“Then let’s withdraw,” insisted the conscripts.
“All right, let’s go. We’ll link up with Corporal Lamas.”
“I’ll get you a helmet, corporal.”
“No, forget the helmet. Let’s move.”
Crouching low, they tried to leave the position, covering a few metres before being forced back by rifle fire. Colemil had put up a fierce resistance; it was clear they had his position pinpointed.
At around 03:00 hours, Corporal Colemil decided to fall back to the Bravo Company, RI-7 command post, seizing a momentary lull. The three men took the opportunity to move out, but again came under fire. The two conscripts escaped, but Colemil was shot in the leg. He tried to crawl away, but after a few metres, he lost consciousness.
When the British advanced, they left him where he was, assuming him dead. Corporal Second Class Colemil was taken prisoner and only regained consciousness aboard the British hospital ship Uganda, where surgeons fitted a platinum plate to his skull.
That night of 11 June 1982, he expended all five FAL rifle magazines and reloaded twice. British publications mention a “sniper” who caused them many casualties—very likely Corporal Carlos Rafael Colemil himself.
12 June. It was a cold autumn day at the “Almirante Quijada” Naval Air Station in Río Grande. It was raining, and the mechanics of the Third Naval Fighter and Attack Squadron (EA33) already had the A-4Q Skyhawk aircraft ready for the first combat mission during the South Atlantic conflict.
One of them was A-4Q number 3-A-314, which carried on its ventral station four 500-pound (230 kg) MK-82 “Snake-eye” bombs. Its pilot, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Marcelo “Parrot” Márquez, carried out a meticulous visual inspection, checking every detail of the old aircraft as if it were his legendary Ford A, to which he had a special attachment.
During the pre-flight briefing, they had defined the mission’s objective and the tactics to be used. The weather was unfavourable: medium and low clouds, showers, and reduced visibility. Under these conditions, they had to fly in tight formation and rely on the section leader, Corvette Captain Alberto “Mingo” Philippi.
The three aircraft started up and began their coordinated taxi to runway 25. The aircraft did not respond as usual due to being close to maximum take-off weight; it felt slow and heavy. Not all the aircraft had a VLF-Omega navigation system—although imprecise, it was better than relying solely on time, speed, and heading from visual references. They selected their armament without switching on the master arm.
At 14:10 on 21 May, after a long run along the 2,000-metre concrete runway, 3-A-314 began its climb to join the leader on the right wing. At 30,000 feet (10,000 m) and with a good tailwind, they headed towards the islands. At 100 miles from the target, they descended to avoid detection and preserve the element of surprise.
Under strict radio silence, communicating only with visual signals, the leader gave brief orders. They armed the master switch and began a low-level flight along the west side of East Falkland. The weather had worsened—cloud ceiling down to just 500 feet (150 m), showers, and visibility of only 1,000 metres. They maintained tight formation, searching for a valuable target.
The three aircraft turned left to cross the southern mouth of San Carlos Water. The water was dark in colour. Reaching the coast of East Falkland at 50 feet (15 m) altitude and 450 knots, with improved weather, they continued towards Port San Carlos. They sighted a ship to the north—the 2,750-tonne Type 21 frigate HMS Ardent—and manoeuvred gently to the right to attack westward from the port quarter. The aim was to surprise from different angles.
The wingmen switched positions and began the attack run. The leader attempted to fire his 20 mm cannons, but they jammed. Passing over the ship, he released his bombs—one struck the stern. The ship had begun firing its anti-aircraft guns and missiles in a desperate defence. The right wingman, Lieutenant José César “Cacha” Arca, flew through a curtain of shells and shrapnel from the leader’s bomb, made his release, and flew through a cloud of black smoke. Another bomb hit the stern. Finally, 3-A-314, focused on the target, released its bombs and then escaped that hell.
The three aircraft fled at wave-top height. Seconds later, the voice of “Parrot” came over the radio, tense and urgent: “Harrier to the left!” Immediately, they jettisoned their external tanks and began evasive manoeuvres, heading for the south of the strait and the cover of cloud.
At that moment, a Sea Harrier fired its 30 mm cannons twice at 3-A-314, and the engine exploded into pieces. In a fraction of a second, we lost Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Marcelo “Parrot” Márquez—and gained a hero. Simply, a HERO.
Lieutenant (Posthumous) Marcelo Gustavo “Parrot” Márquez was a man always distinguished by his composure, professionalism, and humility. A sailor respected by superiors and admired by subordinates. An exceptional human being, with a rebellious and passionate spirit, an excellent professional, cheerful, witty, humble, and generous.
Particularly for the British, owing to the devastating loss of Lieutenant Colonel H. Jones and almost his entire team within mere minutes of combat.
“The first land battle in the Malvinas was initiated at Colonel Jones’s request. At first, everything seemed likely to proceed smoothly, but the fighting proved ferocious. The 2 PARA, exhausted after nearly a full day’s march, was forced to attack across open ground, in broad daylight, and with inadequate fire support. They lost their commander, his aides-de-camp, and almost the entire staff — and with them, very nearly the action itself...”
Captain David Wood, a close friend of H. Jones, was known for his humour and knack for lifting the men’s spirits at just the right moment. According to the plans and training carried out in Kenya in 1981, Wood was not meant to accompany Jones during reconnaissance, as his role was to remain at the command post. But swept up in Jones’s enthusiasm, Wood moved to the front line. During the assault on the Argentine trench, he shouted to his comrades: “Remember Arnhem!” — a reference to the largest airborne operation ever undertaken by the Parachute Regiment, and their greatest loss at the hands of the Germans, depicted in the film A Bridge Too Far.
David Wood ran forward, but an Argentine bullet killed him instantly, along with two other soldiers. Jones witnessed the scene, unaware that his fallen friend was among the dead. At his side, Captain Chris Dent was ordered by Jones to recover the radio equipment used by the fallen men. Dent prepared to move, but another soldier warned him of the danger of venturing into the open under Argentine fire. Dent went anyway and was shot dead on the spot.
Jones was shaken; he could see almost his entire team being cut down by enemy fire. He decided to take the nearest trench, hurling a grenade, when from a slightly offset position an Argentine machine-gun, about fifty metres away, opened fire. The first burst hit him. Another officer nearby, Farrar-Hockley, tried to help him, as Jones was bleeding heavily and making faint movements, but the intense Argentine fire made it impossible. Corporal Michael Melia of the Royal Engineers attempted to reach Jones’s body, only to be killed by several shots. Another burst struck Jones again, and this time he no longer moved.
Jones was mortally wounded. A young soldier named Tuffen tried to rescue him but was shot in the head. Another paratrooper, Worrell, was badly wounded in the same action. Corporal Stephen Prior attempted to reach the bodies but was killed by Argentine fire; his comrade Albols lay prone and motionless, unable to act. Tuffen was thought dead, but several hours later medics found him in the field, covered with a sheet of metal, still alive.
Corporal Hardman, who had been watching the events unfold, tried to reach them at a run but was killed by multiple Argentine shots, one of which completely destroyed his head. His comrades, lying prone, used Hardman’s body as cover.
Only Corporal Todd remained. Seeing that his entire team and commanding officers were gone, he requested permission to withdraw to the starting point.
The posthumous decoration awarded to H. Jones was heavily questioned within the British Armed Forces, notably by 2 PARA officer and military theorist Spencer Fitz-Gibbon, who wrote in 1995 that, despite his undoubted bravery, Herbert Jones did more to hinder his unit’s victory than to secure it. According to his analysis, Jones lost sight of the broader picture of the battle and prevented his sub-unit commanders from exercising mission command, in favour of attempting his “own feat of heroism.”