Thursday, February 5, 2026

Malvinas: The Shackleton Incident

Malvinas: The Shackleton Incident 

Source: Sean eternos los laureles

When Argentina enforced its sovereignty! On 4 February 1976, the destroyer ARA Almirante Storni of the Argentine Navy chased with cannon fire the British oceanographic ship RRS Shackleton to Port Stanley, Malvinas/Falkland.

On Wednesday, 4 February 1976, a destroyer from the Sea Fleet of the Argentine Navy on maritime control navigation, the D-24 ARA Almirante Storni, intercepted the British oceanographic ship RRS Shackleton of the BAS, British Antarctic Survey, which without authorisation from the Argentine authorities was sailing within Argentine jurisdictional waters carrying out scientific tasks of geological prospecting. An incident occurred when the Argentine maritime authority demanded the immediate internment of the intruding vessel, which, when it resisted, was driven off by cannon fire from the Argentine warship.

This incident, which was in fact more complex than briefly described—as we shall see later—was neither isolated nor accidental, but the consequence of a failed process of delaying and useless negotiations on the British side, and forced by international pressure after 133 years of patient and peaceful Argentine claims and British intransigence, initiated in 1967, and which by January 1976 had already lost nearly 10 years with an invader who had no intention whatsoever of returning the occupied territory.

The destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (nicknamed "the Greyhound"), of the 2nd Destroyer Division of the Argentine Navy’s Sea Fleet, was a former US Navy DD-547 USS Cowell, a "Fletcher"-class vessel launched at the Bethlehem Steel Shipyard on 18 May 1943. It was modernised to SCB 74A standard (Ship Characteristics Board) in the late 1950s and early 1960s. The ship measured 114.7 metres in length, 11.9 metres in beam, and had a draught of 4 metres. It displaced 3,500 tonnes and could reach a top speed of 35 knots, thanks to its two General Electric turbines and four Babcock & Wilcox boilers delivering a total of 600,000 HP. It had a range of 11,112 km at a cruising speed of 15 knots, and was equipped with powerful armament: four Mk-30 mounts with 127/38 mm guns and three twin 76.2 mm anti-aircraft mounts. The crew complement was approximately 230 personnel.

Transferred to the Argentine Navy, it was commissioned under the Argentine flag on 10 December 1971 and served until 21 August 1979. It was sold for scrapping on 29 December 1981, which was carried out in the Buenos Aires locality of Campana in 1982.

The single 127/38 mm Mk-30 gun mounts were controlled by an Mk-37 fire control director, originally featuring an Mk-12 fire control radar and an Mk-22 height finder (replaced in the post-war SCB 74A variants used by Argentina with the Mk-25 circular radar), connected to a Mark-1A fire control computer and stabilised by a Mk-6 gyroscope operating at 8,500 rpm. These guns, which originally numbered five turrets on Fletcher-class destroyers but were reduced to four following SCB 74A modernisation, had an elevation range of +85°/-15° and fired 127×680 mmR shells weighing 24 to 25 kg at a rate of 15 rounds per minute, with a muzzle velocity of 790 m/s. Maximum range was 16,000 metres in surface fire and 11,300 metres in anti-aircraft fire. They could penetrate belt armour up to 127 mm thick at 3,700 metres or deck armour up to 25 mm thick at 12,600 metres. The average barrel life was about 4,600 rounds at maximum charge.

The 2nd Destroyer Division was at one point composed of the five SCB 74A-modernised "Fletcher"-class destroyers that served in the Argentine Navy as the Almirante Brown class. These included:

  • D-20 ARA Almirante Brown (ex-DD-532 USS Heermann), in service 1962–1979;

  • D-21 ARA Espora (ex-DD-670 USS Dortch), in service 1962–1979;

  • D-22 ARA Rosales (ex-DD-644 USS Stembel), in service 1962–1981;

  • D-23 ARA Almirante Domecq García (ex-DD-630 USS Braine), in service 1971–1982;

  • D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (ex-DD-547 USS Cowell), in service 1971–1979.

These imposing vessels were eventually decommissioned to be replaced by six new-generation MEKO-140A16 corvettes, part of the naval rearmament plan designed by Admiral Massera. This class represented the most advanced type of vessel in the Argentine fleet during the 1970s and 1980s, and they were built at the AFNE shipyard in Argentina. These corvettes still form the core of the Argentine Navy’s Sea Fleet. However, due to a complete lack of modernisation during their decades of service—and their failure to be replaced by more advanced vessels as part of the controversial unilateral disarmament and dismantling of the Argentine Armed Forces and Defence infrastructure initiated in 1983 and deepened in 2003—they have lost nearly all of their combat capabilities. Without modernisation, they are being reduced to mere offshore patrol vessels, marking the transformation of the Argentine Navy into a sort of Naval National Guard or Coast Guard Corps, effectively leading to its eradication.

The Malvinas/Falkland Islands were first sighted by Spanish navigators in the 16th century, on 7 April 1502, by Amerigo Vespucci; the first maps were Spanish from 1520, and the first to disembark on the Islands were Spaniards—Alonso de Camargo on 4 February 1540, remaining until 31 December of that year and claiming them for the Spanish Crown.

The English only sighted them 90 years after Spain, in 1592, and the first British landing only took place in 1690 by Captain John Strong of HMS Welfare, who named Falkland Sound the strait between the two main islands, in honour of Lord Falkland, Treasurer of the Royal Navy, when the islands had already been Spanish for 188 years!


Single Mk-30 127/38 mm gun mounts from the destroyer D-23 ARA Almirante Domecq García, sister ship of the ARA Almirante Storni. These guns were controlled by an Mk-37 fire control director, which originally included an Mk-12 fire control radar and an Mk-22 height finder (replaced in the post-war SCB 74A variants used by Argentina with the Mk-25 circular radar). The system was linked via a Mark-1A fire control computer and stabilised by an Mk-6 gyroscope operating at 8,500 rpm.

On Fletcher-class destroyers, these guns were originally mounted in five turrets, though this was reduced to four following SCB 74A modernisation. With an elevation range of +85°/-15°, they fired 127×680 mmR shells weighing between 24 and 25 kg at a rate of 15 rounds per minute, with a muzzle velocity of 790 m/s. Maximum range was 16,000 metres in surface fire mode and 11,300 metres in anti-aircraft mode. The shells could penetrate belt armour up to 127 mm thick at a distance of 3,700 metres, or deck armour up to 25 mm thick at 12,600 metres. The average service life of the gun barrels was approximately 4,600 rounds at full charge.


These islands off the South American coast had been confirmed as Spanish by the Treaty of Utrecht of 1713, but the French established themselves there in what they called les îles Malouines in 1764, and thus claimed by France, an act that provoked strong protests from the Spanish. In 1765, Captain John Byron of the Royal Navy claimed the islands for King George III, as Falkland Islands, and in 1766 a British settlement was established in West Falkland. However, in 1767 the French accepted the Spanish claims over the territory and handed over their colony in East Falkland, today Isla Soledad. In 1770, the Spanish forced the small illegitimate Royal Navy garrison in Puerto Egmont to abandon it. Intense negotiations between the two countries resulted in Britain returning to Port Egmont in 1771, but later Spain reserved the right to sovereignty and the British settlement had to be abandoned in 1774, despite Britain’s futile claims over the islands. The islands remained as the Spanish colony of Islas Malvinas, with continuous Spanish authority and garrison from 1766 until 1811, when authority continued to be exercised from the head of the Viceroyalty of the Río de la Plata due to the Revolution, until Argentina, having achieved independence from Spain in 1816, took possession based on the uti possidetis iuris as heir to the Spanish sovereignty over the islands, and in 1820, with the Malvinas under Spanish possession, the government of the still United Provinces sent a frigate to take possession and reaffirm sovereign rights—finding no authority, garrison, or British possession whatsoever! For they were never British. An Argentine population was established and a governor appointed, which provoked unjustified protests from Britain in 1829 with sovereignty claims it never held. On 10 June 1829, an Argentine military garrison was established in anticipation of arbitrary British claims.

The British scientific oceanographic research vessel RRS (Royal Research Ship) Shackleton, a 1,082-ton ship operated by the British Antarctic Survey, measured 65.78 metres in length, 11.08 metres in beam, and had a draught of 4.66 metres. It was powered by a 6-cylinder MAN diesel engine producing a maximum of 785 BHP at 275 RPM, driving a Kamena controllable-pitch propeller, which enabled a maximum speed of 9.7 knots and an average cruising speed of 7.8 knots. It had an operational autonomy of 28 days and accommodation for 31 personnel.

The vessel was launched on 11 November 1954 by Solvesborgs Varv A/B shipyard in Sölvesborg, Sweden, under the name MV Arendal (III) for service in the Baltic Sea. It was acquired in 1955 by the Falkland Islands Dependency Survey (later the British Antarctic Survey), renamed Shackleton, and re-designated as RRS Shackleton in 1968, undergoing modernisation in 1971. It served extensively in Antarctica and the South Atlantic between 1955 and 1992.

On 4 February 1976, while sailing approximately 125.5 kilometres south of Cape Pembroke, Port Stanley, the capital of the Malvinas/Falkland Islands, returning from a survey mission in surrounding waters as part of the so-called “Shackleton Mission”, the vessel was intercepted by the Argentine Navy destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni of the 2nd Destroyer Division. The Argentine warship attempted to board the vessel, and when the British ship began to flee, it fired several warning shots. However, it ultimately allowed the vessel to escape, escorting it nearly up to the entrance of Port Stanley.

After its service with the British Antarctic Survey, the Shackleton continued to operate under the Natural Environment Research Council (NERC) as an oceanographic research vessel, visiting Antarctica on five more occasions before being retired from NERC service in 1983. That same year, it was renamed Geotek Beta, and in 1984, Profiler. It left South Atlantic operations in 1989 and was reconfigured as a high-resolution seismic and seabed survey ship, operated by Gardline Shipping Limited. It was renamed Sea Profiler in 1992 and remained in service for many more years. The vessel was finally scrapped in New Holland, on the Humber Estuary, in 2011.


In 1831, a dispute over the Argentine apprehension of American seal hunters accused of poaching led to the USS Lexington intervening and destroying fortifications in Puerto Soledad. The Americans unilaterally and illegally declared the islands free of sovereignty before sailing off. Argentine control was immediately reestablished until 1833 when the British war frigate HMS Clio, commanded by Captain John James Onslow, seized the territory, facing almost no Argentine resistance due to a mutiny suffered by the captain of the Argentine schooner Sarandí, José María Pinedo, at the moment of the aggression.

Since the British Empire forcefully invaded the Malvinas Islands on 2 January 1833, expelling the Argentine authorities, Argentina has always pursued a peaceful and patient diplomatic claim for the British invader to rectify its aggressive and illegitimate position, as it had no business in the South Atlantic and the Falkland Islands, not only for being waters and territory under Spanish jurisdiction later inherited by Argentina, but also due to Britain’s own initiative in imposing the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 upon Spain, in which London authorities renounced all possession, claim, and right in the South Atlantic—something later reaffirmed through various agreements such as the Nootka Convention, which by historical precedent and legal and diplomatic principles left the British Crown with no sovereign right whatsoever in the South Atlantic, and no right to claim anything. Nevertheless, by settling by armed force and invading Argentine territory since 1833, Britain never accepted Argentina’s peaceful claims, showing intransigence in sustaining its colonial position within Argentine territory.

Edward Arthur Alexander Shackleton, Lord Shackleton, was the son of the famed Irish Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874–1922), who led the renowned Discovery, Nimrod, and Imperial Trans-Antarctic expeditions to the White Continent in the early 20th century. Sir Ernest was knighted and hailed as a hero among his compatriots in the United Kingdom for his achievements in polar exploration.

His son, however, who led the 1976 fact-finding mission aimed at assessing the economic development potential of the British colonial territory of the Falkland Islands during January and February of that year—a mission that ultimately led to the incident involving the Argentine destroyer ARA Almirante Storni and the British scientific research vessel RRS Shackleton on 4 February 1976—was, at the time, Vice-Chairman of the Falkland Islands Company (FIC). In this role, he was directly invested in maintaining the prevailing status quo.

It is therefore highly likely that the favourable report produced by Lord Shackleton, recommending the continued British control of the Falkland Islands, was influenced by his own personal economic, financial, and commercial interests, as well as those of British oil companies. These same companies had, in fact, previously lobbied the British government to fund the Griffiths Report, presented in March 1975.


Although over time, between the British invasion and the present, in addition to Argentina’s diplomatic claims, a series of physical actions were also undertaken by Argentina, such as the incursion of Navy seaplanes on 22 January 1940 (idem links), which, not being detected by British authorities and not escalating, never carried significant weight in the bilateral relationship between both countries, nor in the series of claims being made. Even an incident carried out by Argentine extremists who hijacked an Argentine-flagged aircraft to land it in then Port Stanley, capital of the Malvinas/Falkland Islands, carried out on 28 and 29 September 1966, also had little relevance as the Argentine authorities were not involved in that clearly criminal act. As a consequence, shortly afterwards the Argentine Navy carried out an incursion of tactical divers via submarine S-11 ARA Santa Fe at Playa Vaca, on 28 October 1966 (idem links), for preventive reconnaissance purposes in the face of a potential military intervention.


Lord Shackleton at his father's hut in Cape Royds, Antarctica.
Edward Arthur Alexander Shackleton, Lord Shackleton, was the son of the famous Irish Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874–1922), who led the renowned Discovery, Nimrod, and Imperial Trans-Antarctic expeditions to the White Continent in the early 20th century. Sir Ernest was knighted and is regarded as a hero among his fellow Britons for his achievements in Antarctic exploration. His son, who headed the 1976 mission to assess the economic potential of the British colonial territory of the Malvinas/Falkland Islands — which led to the incident between the Argentine destroyer ARA Almirante Storni and the British scientific research vessel RRS Shackleton on 4 February of that year — was, at the time, Vice-Chairman of the Falkland Islands Company (FIC). As such, he was a key stakeholder in maintaining the existing status quo. It is therefore highly likely that the favourable report he produced — supporting continued British control of the Malvinas/Falklands — was influenced by Lord Shackleton’s own economic, financial, and commercial interests, along with those of British oil companies. These same companies had previously encouraged the UK government to fund the Griffiths Report, presented in March 1975.

A significant event that must be taken into account was when, upon assuming the presidency for the first time, then still Colonel Juan Domingo Perón decided to settle the impressive war debt owed by the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland to Argentina during the course of the Second World War. Despite the fact that Argentine political authorities sympathised with the Axis powers, in essence they maintained their support for the Allied side and supplied it throughout the conflict, especially the United Kingdom, through extensive credit that proved indispensable for the British war effort. However, President Juan Domingo Perón, an unconditional ally of the British Crown and the conservative administration of Winston Spencer Churchill, accepted the imposition of the known Freemason of Blenheim regarding the inconvertibility of the Pound (£) to gold, and the Peronist government settled for the repayment of the debt in exchange for manufactured goods and British property. This was essentially made up mostly of abundant surplus war armament (it was Churchill who equipped the Argentine Armed Forces during Peronism!), plus some newly manufactured aircraft which almost immediately, in a few years, became obsolete (Meteor fighters and Lincoln bombers), the Argentine railways (which had to be almost entirely rebuilt over the next 20 years), and the meat-packing plants (to repay the union favour of the 17 October 1945 march to release Perón, who was imprisoned for his “arrangements” with unions, a march that began with full backing from British-owned meatpacking plants in the southern Greater Buenos Aires area). However, the latter fell into the hands of slave-driving businessmen friendly with the Peronist regime, and labour exploitation and conflicts persisted. But the most striking fact is that during that moment, and throughout both of Perón’s presidencies, at no point did President Perón demand the British withdrawal from the South Atlantic and the immediate decolonisation of Malvinas/Falkland, South Georgia and South Sandwich Islands, despite Britain’s economic and political weakness and the fact that at that moment Britain was a debtor to Argentina, and at a time when the British colonial empire was collapsing across the planet.

Lord Shackleton visiting his father’s grave in Grytviken, South Georgia, during the controversial 1986 mission to assess the economic development potential of the British colonial territory of the Falkland Islands.

Edward Arthur Alexander Shackleton, Lord Shackleton, was the son of the famed Irish Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874–1922), who led the renowned Discovery, Nimrod, and Imperial Trans-Antarctic expeditions to the White Continent in the early 20th century. Sir Ernest was knighted and regarded as a national hero in the United Kingdom for his exploits during these expeditions.

His son, however, who headed the economic survey mission to the Falkland Islands in January and February 1976—which culminated in the incident between the Argentine destroyer ARA Almirante Storni and the British scientific research vessel RRS Shackleton on 4 February of that year—was at the time Vice-Chairman of the Falkland Islands Company (FIC). In that capacity, he was directly invested in maintaining the prevailing status quo.

Given this context, it is highly probable that the favourable report he produced—advocating for the continued British possession of the Falklands—was shaped by Lord Shackleton’s own economic, financial, and commercial interests, along with those of British oil companies, which had already lobbied the UK government to fund the Griffiths Report presented in March 1975.

Despite Argentina’s political inaction at such a favourable moment for the country, British colonial intransigence suffered its first setback on 14 December 1960, when the UN General Assembly issued Resolution 1514, also known as the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples, which became the cornerstone of the decolonisation movement and ended up including the Malvinas/Falkland Islands as a territory to be decolonised, having already been included since 1946 as a non-British territory, i.e. as a colony. For in Chapter XI of the United Nations Charter, Non-Self-Governing Territories are defined as “territories whose peoples have not yet attained a full measure of self-government.” In this sense, the General Assembly, in its Resolution 66 (I) of 14 December 1946, included a list of 72 territories to which Chapter XI of the Charter applied. In 1963, the Special Committee on the Situation with Regard to the Implementation of the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples (also known as the Special Committee on Decolonisation or C-24) approved the preliminary list of Territories to which the Declaration applied (A/5446/Rev.1, annex I), and which currently still appear on the C-24 programme, including 17 Non-Self-Governing Territories among which appear the Malvinas/Falkland Islands and the South Atlantic Islands attached to the colonial administration of Malvinas (South Georgia and South Sandwich Islands). The Member States that have or assume the responsibility to administer these territories are called administering powers, which means they do not exercise sovereign territorial rights of any kind over those territories, but merely administrative authority.

However, Argentina’s protests and claims had not achieved any significant favourable results beyond those indirectly referred to. But on 16 December 1965, perhaps the most valuable diplomatic triumph was achieved when UN General Assembly Resolution 2065 (XX) was adopted, recognising a sovereignty dispute concerning the Malvinas/Falkland archipelago and urging both countries to start negotiations to resolve the issue, safeguarding the “interests” of the inhabitants. Thus, not due to a voluntary British initiative—which for 133 years had dismissed every peaceful Argentine claim—but because the London authorities found themselves politically and diplomatically forced to react to the UN’s insistent Resolutions condemning Britain’s unsustainable colonial position, in January 1966 negotiations began between the British and Argentine delegations. But almost immediately, pressure from the British press, and the intervention of some lobbies—starting with the small Falkland Islands Company, followed by British oil companies, and internal British political matters—caused those negotiations (which had resulted in a Memorandum of Understanding signed in August 1968 suggesting the possibility of a sovereignty transfer based on recognition of Article 73 of the UN Charter) to falter. That article states that “Members of the United Nations which have or assume responsibilities for the administration of territories whose peoples have not yet attained a full measure of self-government recognise the principle that the interests of the inhabitants of these territories are paramount,” and further outlines the obligation to promote their well-being.

The Argentine authorities were very satisfied with this, as it aligned with Resolution 2065 (XX), which demands consideration of the interests of the islands’ population. However, the document was inherently contradictory, as the British government asserted the consent of the settlers as essential for any transfer of sovereignty—thus introducing the concept of self-determination for settlers on colonial territory, something unacceptable. In this sense, the British government created a dilemma: it had initiated sovereignty negotiations with Argentina while simultaneously promising the islanders that sovereignty would not be transferred—therefore the negotiations failed from the outset, as the UK violated UN resolutions regarding settler self-determination.

From 1968 onwards, essentially, the British placed themselves outside the law and all UN provisions for continuing negotiations, showing no genuine will to move forward but instead endlessly delaying their illegitimate colonial presence in Argentine South Atlantic territory. Around this time, the few advances achieved by Argentine authorities in the supposed negotiations with the British Labour government—if any real opportunity ever existed—were soon eclipsed when the Conservative Party came to power.

But that was not all.


The destroyer DD-547 USS Cowell of the US Navy, as previously noted, was refitted under the SCB 74A project (Ship Characteristics Board) in the late 1950s and early 1960s.

This Fletcher-class vessel, launched at the Bethlehem Steel Shipyard on 18 May 1943, was later commissioned into the Argentine Navy as D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (nicknamed "the Greyhound"), part of the 2nd Destroyer Division of the Argentine Sea Fleet. It formed part of the Almirante Brown class, alongside four other ships of the same type, and operated within the 2nd Division together with D-22 ARA Rosales and D-23 ARA Almirante Domecq García, during the final operational years of the Fletcher class in Argentine service.

Measuring 114.7 metres in length, 11.9 metres in beam, and with a draught of 4 metres, it had a displacement of 3,500 tonnes. Powered by two General Electric turbines and four Babcock & Wilcox boilers delivering 600,000 HP, it could reach a top speed of 35 knots, with an operational range of 11,112 kilometres at 15 knots. Its armament was formidable: four Mk-30 127/38 mm mounts, three twin 76.2 mm anti-aircraft mounts, and a complement of approximately 230 personnel.

The vessel was transferred to the Argentine Navy and formally received the Argentine national ensign on 10 December 1971. It served until 21 August 1979 and was sold for scrapping on 29 December 1981. Dismantling took place in 1982 in the town of Campana, Buenos Aires Province.

The single 127/38 mm Mk-30 gun mounts were controlled by an Mk-37 fire control director, originally equipped with an Mk-12 fire control radar and an Mk-22 height finder (replaced in the SCB 74A post-war variants used by Argentina with the Mk-25 circular radar), linked to a Mark-1A fire control computer and stabilised by an Mk-6 gyroscope operating at 8,500 rpm. These guns—mounted in five turrets on the original Fletcher-class destroyers but reduced to four following SCB 74A modernisation—had an elevation range of +85°/-15° and fired 127×680 mmR shells weighing 24 to 25 kg at a rate of 15 rounds per minute. Muzzle velocity was 790 m/s, with a maximum range of 16,000 metres in surface fire and 11,300 metres in anti-aircraft fire. The shells could penetrate up to 127 mm of belt armour at 3,700 metres, or 25 mm of deck armour at 12,600 metres. Barrel life averaged around 4,600 full-charge rounds.

At one point, the 2nd Destroyer Division was composed of the five SCB 74A-modernised Fletcher-class destroyers that served in the Argentine Navy as the Almirante Brown class:

  • D-20 ARA Almirante Brown (ex-DD-532 USS Heermann), in service 1962–1979

  • D-21 ARA Espora (ex-DD-670 USS Dortch), in service 1962–1979

  • D-22 ARA Rosales (ex-DD-644 USS Stembel), in service 1962–1981

  • D-23 ARA Almirante Domecq García (ex-DD-630 USS Braine), in service 1971–1982

  • D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (ex-DD-547 USS Cowell), in service 1971–1979

These imposing vessels were eventually decommissioned to be replaced by six next-generation MEKO-140A16 corvettes under the naval plan designed by Admiral Massera. These represented the most advanced class of warship in the Argentine Navy during the 1970s and 1980s and were built at the Argentine AFNE shipyard. They remain, to this day, the primary component of the Argentine Sea Fleet. However, due to the complete lack of modernisation throughout their service lives—and the failure to replace them with more advanced warships—resulting from the controversial process of unilateral disarmament and dismantling of Argentina’s Armed Forces and Defence structure, initiated in 1983 and deepened in 2003, they have now lost nearly all combat capability. Without modernisation, they have effectively become simple offshore patrol vessels in the ongoing transformation of the Argentine Navy into a Naval National Guard or Coast Guard-style force, a process that is effectively leading to its eradication.

From Argentina, it was decided to adopt a posture that years later would be incredibly repeated to a great extent during the Menem administration, consisting of the inert “seduction” policy—something like taking the kelpers (as the British call the Malvinas/Falkland settlers, due to the kelp seaweed along the coasts of the archipelago—although today the settlers call themselves Falklanders, from Falkland Islands inhabitants) for fools—assuming they were idiots, which they obviously were not. Thus, and childishly seeking to soften the British position, Argentina opted for the curious strategy of freezing the sovereignty issue, in order to establish a communications agreement that would allow for a bond of trust and dialogue with the kelpers, always with the intention of reintroducing the sovereignty issue in the future.

Two single closed-base ring mounts Mk-30 of 127/38 mm (5-inch) calibre aboard the Fletcher-class destroyer DD-551 USS David W. Taylor, of the same type as those used to harass the RRS Shackleton on 4 February 1976 by the Fletcher-class Argentine Navy destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni.

The single Mk-30 127/38 mm gun mounts were controlled by an Mk-37 fire control director, originally equipped with an Mk-12 fire control radar and an Mk-22 height finder (replaced in the post-war SCB 74A variants used by Argentina with the Mk-25 circular radar). The system was connected to a Mark-1A fire control computer and stabilised by an Mk-6 gyroscope operating at 8,500 rpm.

On Fletcher-class destroyers, these guns were originally fitted in five turrets, reduced to four after SCB 74A modernisation. With an elevation range of +85°/-15°, they fired 127×680 mmR shells weighing 24 to 25 kg at a rate of 15 rounds per minute. Muzzle velocity was 790 m/s, with a maximum surface range of 16,000 metres and an anti-aircraft range of 11,300 metres. The shells could penetrate belt armour up to 127 mm thick at a distance of 3,700 metres, or deck armour up to 25 mm thick at 12,600 metres. The average barrel life was approximately 4,600 rounds at full charge.


In that way, in July 1971, the “Buenos Aires Joint Declaration” took place, establishing the framework of the agreement whereby Argentina committed to establish air and sea communications with the islands, provide health and educational assistance to the islanders, supply fuel at a differential price, offer postal, telephone, and telegraph services, and build an airstrip for commercial aircraft near Port Stanley.

Two sailors pose in front of the single Mk-30 127/38 mm gun mounts on the destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni. These guns were controlled by an Mk-37 fire control director, originally equipped with an Mk-12 fire control radar and an Mk-22 height finder (replaced in the post-war SCB 74A variants used by Argentina with the Mk-25 circular radar), linked to a Mark-1A fire control computer and stabilised by an Mk-6 gyroscope operating at 8,500 rpm.

On Fletcher-class destroyers, these guns were originally mounted in five turrets, reduced to four following SCB 74A modernisation. With an elevation range of +85°/-15°, they fired 127×680 mmR shells weighing between 24 and 25 kg at a rate of 15 rounds per minute. Muzzle velocity was 790 m/s, with a maximum range of 16,000 metres in surface fire and 11,300 metres in anti-aircraft fire. These shells could penetrate belt armour up to 127 mm thick at 3,700 metres, or deck armour up to 25 mm thick at 12,600 metres. The average barrel life was approximately 4,600 full-charge rounds.


The initiative benefited the settlers and represented no cost or concession on the British side, so there was no British objection to its signing or implementation. However, when in the following years Argentina attempted to bring up again the issue of sovereignty, including the claim over South Georgia and South Sandwich Islands, which the British had unilaterally and arbitrarily taken in the early 20th century—even though they were under Argentine possession (idem links)—and then linked them administratively and colonially as dependencies of the Falkland Islands, despite not being part of the Malvinas/Falkland group, Argentina initiated claims some years after Britain took possession, having only realised the takeover belatedly.

The British government then showed inflexibility, evading or delaying negotiations as much as possible, and flatly refusing to discuss the Argentine claim, considering it a completely separate matter about which there was nothing to negotiate.

Given the British intransigence and their own contradictions, which generated irreconcilable positions on the Malvinas/Falkland and other South Atlantic islands, it was no surprise that talks reached a deadlock by 1973.

Destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni photographed through the periscope of an Argentine submarine during a naval exercise in the 1970s.

The destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (nicknamed "the Greyhound") was part of the 2nd Destroyer Division of the Argentine Navy’s Sea Fleet. Formerly the US Navy's DD-547 USS Cowell, a Fletcher-class destroyer launched at the Bethlehem Steel Shipyard on 18 May 1943, it was later modernised under the SCB 74A programme (Ship Characteristics Board) in the late 1950s and early 1960s.

The ship measured 114.7 metres in length, 11.9 metres in beam, and had a draught of 4 metres, displacing 3,500 tonnes. It was capable of a maximum speed of 35 knots, powered by two General Electric turbines and four Babcock & Wilcox boilers delivering a total of 600,000 HP. It had a cruising range of 11,112 kilometres at 15 knots. Its armament included four Mk-30 127/38 mm mounts, three twin 76.2 mm anti-aircraft mounts, and a crew complement of approximately 230 personnel.

Transferred to the Argentine Navy, it was formally commissioned under the Argentine flag on 10 December 1971, serving until 21 August 1979. It was sold for scrapping on 29 December 1981, which took place in 1982 in the town of Campana, Buenos Aires Province.

The single 127/38 mm Mk-30 gun mounts were controlled by an Mk-37 fire control director, originally equipped with an Mk-12 fire control radar and an Mk-22 height finder—replaced in the SCB 74A post-war variants operated by Argentina with the Mk-25 circular radar. The system was linked to a Mark-1A fire control computer and stabilised by an Mk-6 gyroscope operating at 8,500 rpm.

Originally, Fletcher-class destroyers carried five such turrets, though this was reduced to four following SCB 74A modernisation. The guns had an elevation range of +85°/-15°, firing 127×680 mmR shells weighing 24 to 25 kg at a rate of 15 rounds per minute, with a muzzle velocity of 790 m/s. They had a maximum surface range of 16,000 metres and an anti-aircraft range of 11,300 metres. The shells could penetrate up to 127 mm of belt armour at 3,700 metres or 25 mm of deck armour at 12,600 metres. The average barrel life was approximately 4,600 rounds at full charge.

At one time, the 2nd Destroyer Division was composed of the five SCB 74A-modernised Fletcher-class destroyers that served in the Argentine Navy as the Almirante Brown class:

  • D-20 ARA Almirante Brown (ex-DD-532 USS Heermann), in service 1962–1979

  • D-21 ARA Espora (ex-DD-670 USS Dortch), in service 1962–1979

  • D-22 ARA Rosales (ex-DD-644 USS Stembel), in service 1962–1981

  • D-23 ARA Almirante Domecq García (ex-DD-630 USS Braine), in service 1971–1982

  • D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (ex-DD-547 USS Cowell), in service 1971–1979

These formidable vessels were ultimately decommissioned and replaced by six new-generation MEKO-140A16 corvettes, part of the naval plan developed by Admiral Massera. These corvettes were the most advanced warships in the Argentine fleet during the 1970s and 1980s and were built at the AFNE shipyard in Argentina. They remain the core of the Argentine Navy’s Sea Fleet to this day.

However, due to a complete lack of modernisation throughout their operational lives, and the absence of more advanced replacements—as part of the controversial process of unilateral disarmament and dismantling of the Armed Forces and Defence infrastructure initiated in 1983 and deepened in 2003—these ships have now lost almost all of their combat capability. Without any updates, they have effectively been reduced to simple offshore patrol vessels, reflecting the transformation of the Argentine Navy into a Naval National Guard or Coast Guard-type force, a process that is effectively dismantling it.

But in early June 1974, Britain presented to the Argentine Government—then once again led by Lieutenant General Juan Domingo Perón, a long-standing and undisputed British ally—a proposal for joint administration of the islands through a “non-paper” (an unofficial document) aiming to put an end to the sovereignty dispute, proposing the madness of a “condominium”, a two-flag system for something that had never been British, seized by force, and which—unbelievably and unacceptably—was well received in Peronist circles.

Perón himself assured his Foreign Minister Alberto Vignes:

“It’s very convenient. We must accept it. Once we set foot in the Malvinas/Falkland, no one will remove us, and eventually we’ll have full sovereignty.”

But the plan dissolved with Perón’s sudden death on 1 July 1974, exposing just how convenient Perón had been for British interests—so much so that on the day of his death, in Port Stanley, the kelpers and British colonial authorities held a mass in his honour at the Catholic church in Port Stanley, attended by locals, British colonial officials, and some Argentine state employees stationed on the islands.

Thus, the apparent loss of trustworthy interlocutors for the British marked the end of the absurd condominium idea, since his successor, the new constitutional president María Estela Martínez de Perón (“Isabelita”), was an ultranationalist patriot, who—unlike her late husband—did not trust nor like the British (historical and notorious serial violators of treaties) and was not willing to share Argentina’s non-negotiable sovereignty.

From that moment on, Anglo-Argentine relations deteriorated, and tensions increased, stirred by provocations planned by the British political authorities, which in turn generated a social reaction in Argentina that was reflected in the media, with even some outlets suggesting an invasion.

Surprisingly, despite there never being any official hostile position from Argentina, Britain in early 1975 threatened Buenos Aires, stating that any Argentine military act would trigger a British military response.


The 1976 reaction

At the beginning of 1976, as a furious reaction to Argentina’s peaceful and just claims and the lack of Argentine reaction to the provocations stemming from British intransigence and hostility, a comprehensive study of the economy of the Malvinas/Falkland Islands was undertaken by Lord Shackleton, who visited more than 30 islands of the archipelago and even travelled to South Georgia and South Sandwich Islands aboard the Royal Navy polar ship HMS Endurance. This triggered the conflict by obtaining the armed response from Argentina that the British had long desired.

In March 1975, a new factor of strong interest emerged for the British Crown: the potential oil resources of the islands and their surrounding waters. Exploration had begun in 1969, culminating in a report titled “Geology of the Region around the Falkland Islands”, known as the Griffiths Report, commissioned by British oil companies and presented by a team from the University of Birmingham on behalf of the British government.

Coat of arms of the Fletcher-class destroyer, modernised to SCB-74A standard, known as the Almirante Brown class in the Argentine Navy — D-24 ARA Almirante Storni.
 

Ironically, the report contradicted the advice of the Foreign Office, which had recommended that the British government do nothing so as not to provoke Argentina. But as we shall see, London’s true intention was precisely the opposite: to provoke Argentina.

Thus, echoing these developments, on 19 March 1975, the Argentine government warned that it would not recognise the exploitation of natural resources in a territory under dispute, which it considered its own.

In July, the United Kingdom proposed that Argentina discuss the joint development of the South-west Atlantic. The Argentine Foreign Minister accepted the idea, but linked it to the transfer of sovereignty through a fixed-term lease, which included the immediate occupation of South Georgia and South Sandwich Islands with British acquiescence. Britain rejected the proposal, while Argentina refused any talks on economic cooperation that did not include the sovereignty issue.

On 16 October of that year, the British government announced the sending of an economic mission to the islands, headed by Lord Shackleton, and on 22 October, Argentina’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs declared that no official authorisation was granted to the mission. Days earlier, the Ministry had warned that such a mission would "introduce an unpleasant disturbance" in relations between both countries and jeopardise the peaceful resolution of the conflict.

Rescue and boarding launch of the Argentine Navy destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni. This craft was intended to be used to board the British vessel RRS Shackleton on 4 February 1976, after it was intercepted by the Argentine destroyer approximately 125.5 km south of Cape Pembroke, off the coast of the Falkland Islands. However, the British vessel chose to flee towards Port Stanley.

At no point did the commander of the Argentine destroyer intend to damage or sink the intruding vessel. Instead, the Storni limited its response to several warning shots and proceeded to escort—rather than pursue—the Shackleton, following it to within approximately 11 km of the entrance to the British colonial port located on territory unlawfully taken from Argentina.


On 8 November 1975, Argentina’s representative at the UN declared that negotiations were broken off due to the United Kingdom’s unilateral actions, and stated that Argentina would not cease to assert its rights over the islands. The UK, in turn, arbitrarily and grossly considered this statement a unilateral Argentine action.

Later, Argentine Foreign Minister Ángel Federico Robledo invited the United Kingdom to discuss the sovereignty issue, receiving a non-paper in response, informing him that Lord Shackleton would visit the islands on the basis of an invitation—to which Argentina responded with legislation regarding navigation authorisations in Argentine territorial waters.

Thus, despite the protests and warnings from Argentina, the British authorities confirmed the dispatch to the islands of a mission to gather information about the economic potential for the development of the colonial territory, headed by Edward Arthur Alexander Shackleton, Lord Shackleton, son of the renowned Irish Antarctic explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton (1874–1922)—famous for the Discovery, Nimrod, and Imperial Trans-Antarctic expeditions. He had been knighted and was considered a hero in the United Kingdom for his feats during Antarctic explorations.

Lord Edward Shackleton was also vice-president of the FIC (Falkland Islands Company), and as such, one of the main stakeholders in maintaining the status quo.

The constitutional President of the Argentine Nation — María Estela Martínez de Perón — was the first woman in world history to serve as President of a country. She is pictured here alongside the Commander-in-Chief of the Argentine Navy, Admiral Emilio Eduardo Massera, who had been appointed to the position by then-President of Argentina, Lieutenant General Juan Domingo Perón, despite the fact that Massera had been among the naval officers involved in the Revolución Libertadora of 1955, which brought an end to the Peronist regime.

Unlike Perón, María Estela Martínez was firmly anti-British, an ultranationalist with strong patriotic convictions. Although she lacked political finesse in many aspects of governance, in others she proved more assertive than Perón — particularly in the fight against anti-Peronist communist guerrilla groups inspired by Castro and Guevara. She held an uncompromising stance on Argentina’s sovereign claims over the Malvinas (Falkland Islands) and South Atlantic territories, firmly opposing the United Kingdom’s intransigence on the matter.

Admiral Massera, for his part, was a highly capable naval officer and an outstanding commander — arguably one of the most prominent figures in the Argentine Navy since the 19th-century Generation of the 1880s. He played a key role in the defeat of the armed insurgency and was the architect of the most ambitious naval modernisation plan in Argentina’s history. His efforts brought the Argentine Navy to a high standard of naval warfare capability, including advancements in the country’s naval industrial base. Although the rearmament programme was never fully completed due to the shifting political climate after 1983, Massera’s strategic vision left a legacy that, in part, endures despite the progressive decline in the Navy’s combat capacity.

The naval operations carried out in early 1976 amid rising diplomatic tensions with the United Kingdom — culminating in the incident between ARA Almirante Storni and the British research vessel RRS Shackleton — were shaped largely by the willingness of these two Argentine figures to defend the national interest from the positions of authority they held. It was a time of national assertiveness and military resolve, the likes of which few political or military leaders in present-day Argentina would dare to repeat, even within an updated geopolitical context.


He arrived in Port Stanley aboard the Royal Navy polar vessel HMS Endurance on 3 January 1976—a politically inappropriate date and an obvious British provocation, as it marked the 143rd anniversary of the British invasion of the islands and the expulsion of Argentine authorities.

Argentina’s protest reached the OAS (Organisation of American States), which ruled against the British mission for “unilateral innovation”, thus obstructing bilateral negotiations, and in favour of Argentina’s sovereignty over the islands. Britain responded by rejecting the regional statement at the UN Decolonisation Committee, and continued the work of the so-called Shackleton Mission in the archipelago, clearly defying the OAS.

Meanwhile, the British scientific research ship RRS Shackleton (Royal Research Ship), weighing 1,082 tons, serving under the British Antarctic Survey, with 65.78 m length, 11.08 m beam, and 4.66 m draught, powered by a 6-cylinder MAN diesel engine producing 785 BHP at 275 RPM, with a reversible Kamena propeller, allowing it to reach a maximum speed of 9.7 knots, and a cruise speed of 7.8 knots, with an autonomy of 28 days, and accommodation for 31 crew members, had been launched on 11 November 1954 by Solvesborgs Varv A/B shipyard in Sölvesborg, Sweden, as MV Arendal (III) for operations in the Baltic Sea.

It was acquired by the Falkland Islands Dependency Survey (later BAS) in 1955 and named “Shackleton”. In 1968, it was renamed RRS Shackleton and modernised in 1971, serving in Antarctica and the South Atlantic from 1955 to 1992.

At 09:30 a.m. on Wednesday, 4 February 1976, it was sailing approximately 125.5 km south of Cape Pembroke, Port Stanley, capital of the Malvinas/Falkland Islands, returning from geological prospecting in the surrounding waters—part of the Shackleton Mission’s activities—when it was intercepted by the destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni (nicknamed “the Greyhound”), of the 2nd Destroyer Division of the Sea Fleet of the Argentine Navy.

The ship was a former US Navy DD-547 USS Cowell of the Fletcher class, upgraded to SCB 74A standard (Ship Characteristics Board) in the late 1950s and early 1960s, with 114.7 m length, 11.9 m beam, 4 m draught, displacing 3,500 tons, with a top speed of 35 knots, powered by two General Electric turbines and four Babcock & Wilcox boilers, delivering 60,000 HP, and equipped with formidable weaponry centred on four Mk-30 127/38 mm gun mounts. It had been transferred to the Argentine Navy and on 10 December 1971, received the Argentine national flag.


Frigate Captain Ramón Arosa was the commanding officer of the destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni during the incident with the British scientific research vessel RRS Shackleton on 4 February 1976. He is seen here in a photograph from the 1980s, during the presidency of Raúl Ricardo Alfonsín, a left-wing Freemason affiliated with the Socialist International, who initiated a political and ideological vendetta against the Armed Forces and began the unilateral disarmament of the Armed and Security Forces, along with the dismantling of the national Defence and Security apparatus. By then, Arosa held the rank of Vice Admiral and was serving as Commander-in-Chief of the Argentine Navy.

Frigate Captain Ramón A. Arosa, commander of the Argentine destroyer, ordered the British vessel RRS Shackleton to stop its engines, with the intention of boarding and inspecting it, arguing that it was within the 200-nautical-mile limit corresponding to Argentine jurisdiction as per internationally recognised maritime law.

The captain of the British vessel requested instructions from the authorities of the archipelago, and thus, following orders from Neville French, then the colonial English governor of the Malvinas/Falkland Islands, ignored the Argentine orders and continued sailing, as the governor had instructed him in a firm tone to disregard the directives issued by the Argentine destroyer and proceed with his navigation course toward the capital of the Malvinas/Falkland.

Upon seeing that the RRS Shackleton did not stop its engines, disobeying the order to halt, Frigate Captain Arosa ordered—following the **protocol of action for such cases—to fire warning shots across the bow of the British vessel, to compel it to desist from its disobedient conduct.

At the same time, from the air, a SP-2E/H Neptune reconnaissance aircraft of the Naval Exploration Squadron of the Naval Aviation Command of the Argentine Navy, which in previous days had been monitoring the British ship’s activities from long range, took visual contact with the Argentine destroyer's actions, conducting an overflight over both vessels en route to Port Stanley.

Despite the fact that the RRS Shackleton continued on its course in clear disobedience, and although the Argentine destroyer had sufficient speed to intercept the evading vessel and block its course to Port Stanley—and even had the firepower necessary to neutralise it with a single salvo from its Mk-30 127/38 mm guns—Captain Arosa decided not to fire further artillery rounds at the fleeing vessel.

However, a symbolic pursuit was initiated, which only ended at 11 kilometres (about 6 nautical miles) from Port Stanley.

At that point, sadly the ARA Almirante Storni turned back toward the continent.

The clear decision not to fire directly at the RRS Shackleton despite its disobedience, not to block its path to Port Stanley, or even not to enter Port Stanley's harbour, showed that Argentina had no intention whatsoever of causing any damage to the British vessel, nor escalating the incident, but rather to deliver a symbolic display of resolve and firmness, making it clear that the Argentine Republic would not accept British arbitrariness, nor remain passive in the face of a United Kingdom seeking to exploit natural resources in the Malvinas/Falkland area

In this way, a new climate of bilateral tension over the sovereignty issue emerged, which would remain constant in the years to follow—but always with an Argentine position as firm as it was also open to dialogue and negotiation, within the rules established by International Law, and under the framework of the international resolutions issued by the UN—in other words, doing legally everything that the British political authorities repeatedly violated.



The Aftermath

Protests and accusations from both sides followed quickly.

While the British submitted a formal complaint to the Argentine Foreign Ministry and to the UN Security Council, Argentina accused the United Kingdom of violating national maritime jurisdiction and of breaching the agreement not to “innovate” without mutual consent concerning the islands.

The British government sought to play the victim, portraying the incident as a dangerous aggression by an Argentine military vessel against a peaceful ship on a scientific survey mission, omitting any reference to the unilateral nature of its unconsulted actions, despite the agreements in place.

On the next day, 5 February 1976, in the House of Commons (the lower house of the British Parliament), during the 904th session, the incident was addressed among other urgent matters.

At the request of the Conservative MP Mr. Christopher Samuel Tugendhat, Baron Tugendhat, the then Minister of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, Labour’s Mr. Edward Rowlands, Baron Rowlands CBE, stated—with very little sincerity:

“At 12.30 GMT on 4 February, an Argentine destroyer, the Almirante Storni, fired shots across the bow of the Royal Research Ship Shackleton. The Argentine destroyer threatened to fire at the Shackleton's hull if it did not comply. Subsequently, the destroyer ordered the Shackleton to proceed to the port of Ushuaia, near Cape Horn. The Governor of the Falkland Islands instructed the captain to continue sailing to Port Stanley, which he did, arriving at 20:45 GMT.
The incident took place 78 miles south of Cape Pembroke as the Shackleton was returning from a period of scientific work in the South-west Atlantic as part of an international programme.”

But in truth, the RRS Shackleton was returning from a geological prospecting mission in search of oil, within the disputed area, thus violating all the UN Security Council resolutions and the Memorandum of Understanding signed with Argentina, even ignoring the logical, legal, and sovereign Argentine warnings urging the British to refrain from engaging in such unilateral actions, which endangered any chance of agreement.

The commander of the RRS Shackleton resisted the boarding by the Argentine Navy inspection team, and even more so, refused to proceed to the port of Ushuaia, as demanded by the Argentine naval authority—because doing so would have exposed the illegal activities carried out by the British Antarctic Survey mission prior to being intercepted by the Argentine destroyer.

The Argentine Navy's response to Soviet and Bulgarian intrusions on 21 September 1977 was just as forceful as its actions against the British on 4 February 1976. For the political authorities of the time, the defence of national sovereignty made no distinction between capitalist or Marxist aggressors, whether from the right or the left — the foremost priority was defending the Homeland.

On that occasion, seven Soviet vessels and two Bulgarian ships were seized by Argentine warships — a firm response that would have been unthinkable to allow what has been tolerated by Argentine political leadership over the past 15 years: fleets of 300 to 400 predatory fishing vessels plundering Argentine maritime resources and devastating the ecological balance of the South Atlantic.

In the case of the British vessel RRS Shackleton, due to ongoing diplomatic negotiations aimed at resolving the sovereignty dispute over the Falkland Islands, a degree of restraint was exercised — reflecting Argentina’s long-standing commitment to dialogue and peaceful resolution, consistently upheld since the 1833 British occupation. However, the warning issued on 4 February 1976 made clear — as history would show six years later — that Argentina’s patience was not unlimited.

(Photo: La Razón newspaper, Buenos Aires, 22 September 1977)


Although the level of conflict gradually diminished in the days that followed, it became clear that there were two clearly opposing positions, difficult to reconcile in order to achieve an atmosphere of understanding and regional calm.

Thus, the British discourse began to incorporate the problematic and illegal notion of "respecting the wishes of the islanders", in contrast to the Argentine position, backed by UN Resolution 2065 (XX), which refers to safeguarding the interests of the islanders. This difference would later become crucial in blocking any possibility of agreement in future negotiations.

From Argentina’s side, and in respect not only of its own claims but also of the UN provisions, the United Kingdom would not be recognised as having the authority to carry out economic development in the archipelago.

The British scientific oceanographic research vessel RRS (Royal Research Ship) Shackleton, a 1,082-ton ship operated by the British Antarctic Survey (BAS), measured 65.78 metres in length, 11.08 metres in beam, and had a draught of 4.66 metres. It was powered by a 6-cylinder MAN diesel engine producing a maximum of 785 BHP at 275 RPM, driving a Kamena controllable-pitch propeller that enabled a top speed of 9.7 knots and an average cruising speed of 7.8 knots. The vessel had an endurance of 28 days, with accommodation for a crew of 31 berths.

It was launched on 11 November 1954 by the Solvesborgs Varv A/B shipyard in Sölvesborg, Sweden, as MV Arendal (III) for operations in the Baltic Sea. It was acquired in 1955 by the Falkland Islands Dependency Survey (later the British Antarctic Survey), renamed Shackleton, and re-designated RRS Shackleton in 1968 following modernisation in 1971. It served extensively in the Antarctic and South Atlantic regions between 1955 and 1992.

On 4 February 1976, the vessel was sailing approximately 125.5 kilometres south of Cape Pembroke, Port Stanley — capital of the Falkland Islands — returning from survey work in surrounding waters as part of the "Shackleton Mission", when it was intercepted by the Argentine Navy destroyer D-24 ARA Almirante Storni of the 2nd Destroyer Division. The destroyer attempted to close in, but after the British vessel began to flee, the Storni fired several warning shots. It ultimately allowed the Shackleton to escape, escorting it nearly to the entrance of Port Stanley.

After its service with the British Antarctic Survey, the Shackleton was transferred to the Natural Environment Research Council (NERC) as an oceanographic research vessel, visiting Antarctica five more times before being retired from NERC service in 1983. That same year, it was renamed Geotek Beta, and in 1984, Profiler. It left South Atlantic operations in 1989 and was reconfigured as a high-resolution seismic and seabed survey vessel, operated by Gardline Shipping Limited. It was renamed Sea Profiler in 1992 and continued in service for many years. The vessel was scrapped in New Holland, on the Humber Estuary, in 2011.



At that moment, the United Kingdom was already engaged in the Third Cod War with Iceland, and tried to cool down the conflict with Argentina, although without changing its traditional resistance to addressing the core issue.

The foreign ministries of both countries pledged to restart dialogue, although the Foreign Office informed Argentine authorities that its government was prepared to defend the islands in the event of a hypothetical Argentine reoccupation.

Argentina insisted on addressing the heart of the matter. In the words of the new Argentine Foreign Minister Raúl Quijano:

“... the centre of our discussion is sovereignty...
We cannot move forward, and if the United Kingdom does not want to discuss this issue, then we cannot deal with the other matters. Of course, we are very interested in economic cooperation and communications, but without sovereignty, these are much more peripheral issues.”

The United Kingdom responded by sending to Port Stanley the frigate HMS Chichester, a Type 61 Salisbury-class vessel, launched in 1955, with a displacement of 2,400 tons and a length of 100 metres. Although it was more modern than the Brown-class destroyers like the ARA Almirante Storni, it was less powerful, with only a twin 114/45 mm Mk-6 turret, some light anti-aircraft weapons, and only a slight advantage in electronics.

Later, at the end of 1976, the Argentine Navy secretly landed a military party for scientific tasks on Southern Thule, in the South Sandwich Islands. This Argentine presence was detected by the Royal Navy’s polar vessel HMS Endurance, but considering the British stance towards these islands—which they knew did not belong to them either—the event was kept secret in London until May 1978, in order to avoid negative reactions from the press and political opposition.

Britain merely sent a quiet protest to Buenos Aires, although in fact it expected a stronger Argentine reaction, since the Argentine Armed Forces were already involved in contingency planning in case of British retaliation, including the possibility of invading the islands, though such actions did not occur at the time.

Despite these events, negotiations resumed openly in 1977 (after secret preparatory talks). However, the situation continued to deteriorate.

On 21 September 1977, Argentine FRAM-type destroyers seized 7 Soviet and 2 Bulgarian fishing vessels in disputed waters near the Malvinas/Falkland Islands. During the operation, one of the Bulgarian vessels was fired upon, and a crew member was injured. The seized ships were taken to Puerto Madryn, because at that time, no one dared to operate with fishing fleets of 300 vessels in Argentine waters, plundering resources without facing consequences—thereby showing that the intention with the RRS Shackleton was clearly never even to scratch its paint.

In addition, Argentina’s other major territorial claim, against Chile over the Beagle Channel, saw the failure of British arbitration, as by then it had become clear that Britain’s stance was biased, and it was no longer seen as a neutral party—despite having originally been accepted by both South American countries as arbitrator.

Thus, while Argentina was only just beginning to emerge from its long struggle against terrorism—which had begun when subversive groups, serving foreign powers (USSR, Czechoslovakia, and Cuba), began to attack Argentina irregularly and brutally from 1959 onwards—the nation now focused its attention on Chile.


The Type 61 Salisbury-class frigate F-59 HMS Chichester of the Royal Navy was deployed as the station ship at Port Stanley following the incident between the British research vessel RRS Shackleton and the Argentine destroyer ARA Almirante Storni on 4 February 1976.

This frigate was a Type 61 vessel of the Salisbury class, launched in 1955, with a displacement of 2,400 tonnes and a length of 100 metres. It was powered by eight ASR1 diesel engines delivering 12,400 shp to two shafts, allowing a maximum speed of 24 knots and an operational range of 13,900 kilometres at 16 knots. Although more modern than the Almirante Brown-class destroyers such as ARA Almirante Storni, it was less heavily armed, equipped with only a single twin Mk-6 114/45 mm gun mount, two twin Bofors Mk-2/5 40/60 mm light anti-aircraft mounts, and a single Squid anti-submarine mortar. It had only a slight edge in electronics but still required a large crew complement of 235 — excessive for its size and armament.

Nevertheless, and at the risk of escalating the situation, in response to the incident, British authorities in London also covertly deployed a nuclear-powered attack submarine to patrol the waters around the Falkland Islands. In addition, two more frigates were dispatched to support HMS Chichester, although they remained at sea some 1,600 kilometres from the islands. Officially, it is not known whether the Argentine Navy detected or tracked their presence — just as, on other occasions, British naval authorities did not register Argentine naval or naval air activity.

Nevertheless, and at the risk of triggering a dangerous situation, the United Kingdom also responded by secretly deploying a nuclear attack submarine to the waters near the Malvinas/Falkland Islands, and also sending two additional frigates to reinforce the HMS Chichester, although these remained stationed approximately 1,600 kilometres from the islands.

Rules of engagement were drafted, but Buenos Aires was not informed, and to this day, there is no official information confirming whether the Argentine Navy ever detected or recorded these British deployments.

What happened afterwards is well known. But by February 1976, it had already become clear that those who had done everything possible to prevent any negotiation to resolve the Malvinas/Falkland conflict from reaching a positive outcome were the British.

They did so by violating every international resolution, breaking all signed agreements, taking arbitrary and unilateral actions, provoking Argentina, disregarding international law, and all the while, without ever having been sovereign over the Malvinas/Falkland or the South Atlantic, they had already spent 143 years as invaders on the islands.




Monday, February 2, 2026

Malvinas: Argentine Pumas in Action

The Argentine Pumas At War

By Staff Sergeant (Ret.) and Malvinas War Veteran Carlos Andrés Verón



 

During the conflict, I served in the 601st Combat Aviation Battalion as a helicopter mechanic for Assault Helicopter Company “A”.

It was 27 March 1982 when I arrived at the gates of the 601 Army Aviation Battalion and was told to hurry to the hangar, as there was a mission heading south — El Calafate. At the hangar, First Lieutenants Obregón and Orozco, and Corporal First Class Alfredo Romero, were waiting. We gathered the essential equipment for the journey. Our first stop was Comandante Espora Naval Air Base, in Bahía Blanca.

We arrived around midday. The pilots went to the control tower, while we remained with the aircraft to refuel. At that moment, some Navy non-commissioned officers approached and asked if our helicopter — a SA 330L PUMA (AE-502) — was the one embarking on the icebreaker Almirante Irízar. I responded that it wasn’t, as we were heading to Santa Cruz, and had actually disembarked from the Irízar in February following the 1981/82 Summer Antarctic Campaign. I also pointed out that the Coast Guard’s PUMA, stationed next to us, might be the one assigned to the vessel.

Hours went by with no sign of the pilots. Eventually, they returned and took us to a room — we were put under strict communication blackout. Then Lt. Obregón informed us that he had requested the blade folding kit from our base, as we would in fact be embarking on the ARA Almirante Irízar, bound for the Malvinas. That cleared up the confusion. The Navy issued us a survival vest, typically worn by A-4Q pilots, and a .45 calibre pistol.

By late morning on 28 March, the blade folding kit arrived. We didn’t even get the chance to greet the personnel who delivered it. We collected it and boarded the Irízar. Once on board, Romero and I realised we were missing two shock absorber locking pins, but thought that reinforcing the tie-downs with extra chains would compensate.

At dawn on 29 March, we departed with the fleet as part of Operation Rosario.

Alongside our PUMA in the hangar was a Navy Sea King. The weather was poor; the ship pitched significantly as we sailed under radio silence. We checked on the helicopter sporadically — it seemed stable.

In the early hours of 2 April, we were asleep in a cabin on the red deck when I was suddenly thrown into the air, hitting my head against the bathroom. Romero rolled across the cabin floor. We couldn’t stand because of the heavy rolling. Once we managed to get up, we got dressed and joined the damage control team heading to the hangar. Upon opening the door, we were stunned: JP-1 fuel (used by turbine engines) had flooded the hangar floor, reaching the 40cm-high bulkhead ledges. The main landing gear had collapsed, puncturing the fuel tanks beneath the helicopter’s floor.

The scene was catastrophic. The main rotor blades had broken loose and struck the hangar’s support columns. The drainage system couldn’t handle the 1,500 litres of fuel on board. I put on boots and carefully walked through the spill, as the ship was still rolling. The helicopter rested on its rear struts but was tilted backwards — as mentioned, the gear had snapped and pierced the fuel tanks. Of the twenty tie-down chains, only ten remained — the others had snapped off their anchor points. Using the ship’s blue lifting jacks, typically used for moving cargo, we stabilised the helicopter as best we could and re-secured it.

Fortunately, the Sea King had suffered only minor damage — its right nose had been pierced by a hydraulic test lance, which was easily repaired. Ours, however, was grounded and unable to support the landing operation — the very reason for our presence.

In the early hours, the Navy launched its amphibious assault, together with Marines and the 25th Regiment of the Army. Meanwhile, Corporal Romero and I began a race against time to dismantle the PUMA — salvaging all serviceable components to be used as spares for the other helicopters participating.

We first secured the aircraft, opened the engine bays, removed the main rotor blades, then the tail rotor blades, and then both engines. That was the bulk of the work. After that, we carefully dismantled and packed all radio and navigation systems, and anything else of value. Rumours were circulating that AE-502 would be jettisoned into the sea to make space for other helicopters without returning to port.

I had taken part in the previous Antarctic summer campaign, and I knew the ship’s captain, Navy Captain Barquín. Since our pilots had returned to the mainland on the first C-130, and I was the senior mechanic, I went to speak to him. I explained that the helicopter had only 20% structural damage and was recoverable. At first, he didn’t want to know about it, but he eventually agreed to unload it in Punta Quilla.

From then on, we devised the safest and fastest way to move the aircraft to the flight deck. Keep in mind: the PUMA stands four metres tall, and we only had the nose gear — no rear struts. No manoeuvre could be attempted until we were in calm waters, so all our plans were theoretical.

On 8 April, as we entered port, we began the operation using ropes, chains, and the ship’s jacks. We removed the tail cone, and the critical step was rolling the aircraft past the hangar threshold up to the main rotor mast, where the starboard crane would lift it — the PUMA weighed about 3,500 kg. After a hard struggle, we succeeded. The aircraft was loaded onto a barge, hauled by a tractor through the city, and taken to a Navy helicopter hangar, where it remained under custody until it was recovered by personnel from Campo de Mayo.

The transit through the city was another story altogether. The PUMA, heavily damaged, looked as if it had been shot down. As you can imagine, onlookers had plenty to say as we moved through the streets.

At the hangar, we parked it to the side to keep it out of the way. Then came the question of our return — we didn’t know how or when.

Around 6 p.m., we were told that an Army Aviation aircraft would collect us from Trelew. We were driven there by Unimog, boarded a G222 FIAT, and flew to Campo de Mayo, landing at the airfield and going to the NCOs’ mess. At around 4 a.m., we were dismissed. It was Holy Week, so we were granted leave until Monday, 12 April.

Let me say clearly: the recovery effort of the SA 330 B PUMA AE-502 was not in vain. It was sent to its original manufacturer — Aérospatiale in France — for repairs the following year, returned to service in 1986, and sadly met its end in a tragic crash in Azul in November 1993.

I was left with a bitter taste — so close to operating in the Malvinas, yet unable due to circumstances. But fate gave me another opportunity. On 22 April, I departed Campo de Mayo to embark on the hospital ship Bahía Paraíso, this time with PUMA AE-506. The aircraft commander was Captain Ezequiel Honorio Luzuriaga, co-pilot 1st Lt. Eduardo López Leguizamón, and the mechanics were Sgt. 1st Class Horacio Luna and myself. (Both officers sadly passed away years later in separate post-war accidents.)

Our mission was to operate under the International Red Cross, using the ship as a base for aerial ambulance missions. Our first assignment was responding to the sinking of the ARA General Belgrano. When we arrived, the Navy vessels Bouchard and Piedrabuena were overloaded with survivors — even on deck. The South Atlantic Ocean, especially in that region, is notoriously rough. Visibility was poor, but time was running out. Hours had passed since the sinking — survival chances were fading.

We began flying, identifying the position of various life rafts, guiding the ships to recover the living — or the dead. I remember one raft had its flashlight still lit. As mentioned, the weather prevented us from flying far from the ship. The urgency to locate rafts made us chase after colourful objects in the sea — but often, they turned out to be nothing.

After this bitter beginning, we sailed to Ushuaia, where survivors and the deceased were disembarked. Sgt. Luna left the ship, and Sgt. 1st Class Oscar Mella joined the crew.

After restocking medicine and provisions, we set course for the Malvinas.

During the crossing, we were intercepted by a British helicopter, which requested to land and inspect the hospital ship to ensure it carried no weapons. Our PUMA bore red crosses on both side doors, the nose, belly, and upper cowling. Before departing, the British pilot told us:

“A Harrier flying at 800 km/h won’t see the red crosses — it’ll just see a green spot. You’ll be shot down, and they won’t know it was an ambulance helicopter.”

That night, with the help of the ship’s crew, we painted the helicopter white, using synthetic paint. It was a wartime necessity. We worked all night — painting and maintaining.

At dawn, we launched our first aeromedical evacuation mission. We flew to the HMS Uganda, the British hospital ship, to retrieve wounded Argentines. The PUMA could carry six stretchers, and we configured it based on the number of patients. Two Navy medics accompanied us — Subofficer Panagiotas and Chief Petty Officer Quiroga.

Upon landing on the Uganda, I entered the wards to prioritise the wounded for boarding based on condition. Most had shrapnel wounds, dressed in flight suits, their belongings in plastic bags.
As an anecdote, one patient began shouting aboard the Bahía Paraíso, complaining that the British hadn’t returned his personal effects. Shortly after, a British helicopter landed and returned his belongings.

After several days working with the Uganda, we proceeded to the Malvinas.

Once there, we conducted casualty evacuations, primarily from Puerto Argentino, and flew across the islands collecting injured personnel. At night, we could hear the Royal Navy frigates firing indiscriminately.

From 16 to 18 June, we remained off Puerto Argentino, evacuating as many Argentine soldiers as possible. The PUMA could carry 20 troops, but given the urgency, we kept loading more. As we ran low on fuel, with the 20-minute warning light flashing, we managed three flights. On the final one, we transported 42 soldiers plus 4 crew — 46 people in total.

This was our side of the war — not a face-to-face combat experience, not a single shot fired. But we flew Army Aviation helicopters over our Malvinas. Pilots, mechanics, medics, and nurses — all united by one goal: to fulfil our mission.

On 25 June 1982, after an emotional farewell with those we had shared 65 days aboard the Bahía Paraíso, we lifted off and headed for Campo de Mayo. We landed around 6 p.m., hangared the aircraft, saluted one another, and went home — to our families — with the satisfaction of having done our duty.


Friday, January 30, 2026

Conscript Falcón, A Leader at Mount Longdon



Miguel Ángel Falcón – A Leader at Mount Longdon




He was born on 6 October 1962 in Barranqueras, Chaco Province. His family recalls that Miguel was always a rebellious child. He didn’t follow rules—neither at home nor at school. In fact, he was known for skipping school at least one day every week. He served in the 7th Infantry Regiment “Colonel Conde”. He was killed in action during the battle of Mount Longdon, and among his belongings a deck of Spanish playing cards was found.

That youthful rebelliousness would lead him to star in a memorable story on the night of his final battle. The event was recounted in a letter by a fellow veteran:

"On the night of 12 June, when the British attacked us—in a true hell, with hundreds of shells and tracer rounds lighting up the sky—I saw the first section of our company getting ready to support Company 'B'. Among them were Lieutenant Castañeda, a corporal, and 44 conscripts like myself. I saw them preparing in the dark, all in single file, silent, trembling. Suddenly, from the line, a very skinny soldier jumped out—a humble lad who barely spoke because he was shy. It was Private Falcón.

He started rallying the men, clapping his hands, doing squats, with his FAL rifle slung over his back, shouting: ‘Come on, dammit! Bloody Brits, we’re going to smash you! We are the 7th, the 7th Regiment, let’s go, dammit!’

Out of nowhere, a leader emerged—someone who, in the most extreme circumstances, lifted the spirits of the rest."

This section’s actions were later recorded in British books as among the most heroic feats of the land battles in the Falklands. Out of the 46 men who went forward, 25 returned. Falcón was among those who stayed behind.




The Passage to Eternity – Conscript Soldier Miguel Ángel Falcón

As recounted by then-Lieutenant Castañeda:

We were ordered to launch a counterattack, flanked by an infantry section and an engineering unit that had already attempted to advance and had only made it halfway up the ridge due to the intense British fire. It was the night of 11 to 12 June.

We were guided by a message-runner, a conscript serving Major Carrizo. This soldier knew a sheep trail across Mount Longdon, as he crossed it daily carrying messages and knew all its nooks and crannies.

Once in position, we faced an enemy that seemed to grow in number as the hours passed. Without hesitation, I sent the runner back and we launched the assault, regaining a large portion of the lost ground.

Castañeda’s men tried to match the British rate of fire to prevent them from gaining confidence. At the same time, they shouted and hurled insults. The British responded in kind. Some conscripts used ammunition and weapons taken from dead or retreating enemy soldiers, driven back by the momentum of the Argentine attack.

Returning to Lieutenant Castañeda’s account:

A few metres from me, Private Miguel Ángel Falcón’s rifle was spitting fire nonstop, showing the same drive he had when we first moved out. Suddenly, something extraordinary happened. Falcón became enraged. He left his position, stood defiantly in front of the British, and kept firing from the hip while screaming insults at them.

The noise was deafening—gunfire, grenades, rockets, artillery. The air was unbreathable. The explosions shook our bodies. I shouted at him, 'Don’t be a fool, get down!' But perhaps he didn’t hear me—or didn’t want to.

He fired everything he had, threw grenades. Eventually, a machine-gun burst hit him. Falcón dropped to his knees, and as he fell forward, the barrel of his rifle drove into the ground, his chest resting on the buttstock. He looked as if he were kneeling in prayer.

Braving enemy fire, Private Gustavo Luzardo ran to him, laid him gently on the ground, looked at me, and with a gesture made it clear that Falcón was gone."

Why did he act that way? “Only he knows,” said Lieutenant Castañeda. “I believe he no longer cared—he was doing what he truly felt. God had called him, and he went happily, knowing he had fulfilled his duty.”

The Battle of Mount Longdon lasted over twelve hours, despite the vast imbalance in forces. That night, Argentine soldiers endured more than 6,000 rounds of gunfire, mortar shells, grenades, and artillery barrages. It was a brutal fight that displayed the extraordinary courage of our combatants.

Private Falcón was posthumously awarded the Medal of the Argentine Nation for the Fallen in Combat, and was officially declared a National Hero of the 7th Infantry Regiment.


 

Tuesday, January 27, 2026

JAR: The Funeral of Colonel Artemio Gramajo

Roca, Heartbroken, Bids Farewell to Gramajo





Photograph depicting General Julio Argentino Roca, visibly moved and holding a handkerchief in his right hand, at the Recoleta Cemetery on the day of the funeral of his aide-de-camp and friend, Colonel Artemio Gramajo, on 12 January 1914.

That day, many were surprised when Roca asked to say a few words in farewell to his friend, as he was not a gifted speaker and disliked public speaking. Never before had the general been seen crying in public as he did that day. With a trembling voice, Roca said: “For me, carrying the mortal remains of Colonel Artemio Gramajo is like bringing forward my own funeral.” Only nine months later, Roca himself would die, and since then, they have lain buried in nearby mausoleums within Recoleta Cemetery.




Roca and Gramajo first met in 1869, when the Tucumán-born Roca was appointed commander of the 7th Regiment, stationed in the province of Tucumán, while Gramajo served as his aide. From that moment on, Roca and Gramajo were together in every military campaign and significant event in the following years: the battles of Ñaembé and Santa Rosa; Gramajo served as Roca’s aide-de-camp when the latter became Minister of War in 1878 and accompanied him throughout the Conquest of the Desert. Gramajo would continue in the same role during Roca’s first presidency and travelled with him on all his international visits.

Gramajo’s death deepened the melancholic emotional state that engulfed the former president during his final year, as reflected in letters he sent to his friend Eduardo Wilde in mid-1913, where Roca wrote: “What has become of my life? I do, my dear doctor, what you do: live among the ashes of our dead things, without the aid of an absorbing passion or that intense vanity that drives some old men, who live and die content with themselves and whom death surprises in that unconscious state of beatitude. Such mystery! To you, who are a profound analyst of the human soul and a great philosopher, I can pose the question that mankind has been asking since the dawn of humanity: What is life?” He concluded the letter by writing: “It is hard to guess what tomorrow may bring. Whatever it is, it will be. Tonight, I am going to ‘La Larga’, to sink into the silence and solitude of the pampas. Lucky you, who can create a pampa at your desk.”

In another letter to Wilde from the same year, Roca wrote: “The years go by, destroying everything in their path. Fortunately, they haven’t completely worn me down. For better or worse, I am still managing to stay on my feet. For how long? Only God knows.”


Saturday, January 24, 2026

COAN: The Night of the Banzai

 

The Night of the Banzai

Brief Account of a Frustrated Attack on the British Fleet

On 25 April, the British recaptured South Georgia. From that moment, a tense calm settled over the Falkland Islands, as the Argentinians awaited the enemy's arrival. At that time, the Argentine Fleet at Sea was attempting to interdict the movements of the British Fleet. To this end, two Task Groups were deployed: one to the north of the Falklands, the other to the southeast.

The northern group centred around the aircraft carrier A.R.A. 25 de Mayo, from which Tracker aircraft were conducting reconnaissance missions to detect the enemy. By the end of April, authorisation had been given to open fire on enemy forces. On 29 April, with the carrier located approximately 150–200 nautical miles north of San Carlos Strait, long-range reconnaissance flights began. On the night of 30 April, signals intelligence detected British radar emissions to the N-NE of Port Stanley.

In the early hours of 1 May, a British Vulcan bomber carried out an airstrike on Stanley Airport, followed hours later by naval bombardment — the vigil in the Falklands was over. That same morning, a reconnaissance flight from the carrier returned with no radar contacts. However, at 1513 hours, a second flight detected radar contacts with six medium-sized vessels and one large ship — a British task force. The Argentine fleet now knew the enemy’s location. The British, however, were still unaware of Argentina’s position. The tactical advantage was clearly with Argentina.

However, the A-4Q Skyhawks lacked night-time operational and attack capability, preventing immediate offensive action. Reconnaissance efforts continued from the carrier to maintain contact with the British fleet and plan for an attack in the early hours of 2 May, involving six A-4Q aircraft, each carrying four MK82 bombs. The last known position of the enemy was obtained at 2300 hours on 1 May from a Tracker reconnaissance flight.

  1. The British commander was aware he had been detected, but did not know the position of the Argentine naval force. His priority was to locate it, and he ordered Harrier reconnaissance flights. One such Harrier intercepted the Tracker mentioned earlier, which managed to evade it by flying low over the sea at night. Nonetheless, the Harrier had likely acquired a reasonably accurate estimate of the Argentine fleet’s location.

This prompted Argentine battle stations to be manned, and the destroyer Santísima Trinidad was authorised to launch missiles at the Harrier, though it never came within range.

During that night, the Argentine Battle Group went to combat alert at least three times, each time Harrier flights approached. Few slept. These incidents gave the British commander a clearer picture of the Argentine fleet’s position and combat capability.

After the conflict, the commander of HMS Invincible would remark:

“The Trackers were a real headache throughout the 45 days of combat. Knowing I had been detected, I launched my Harriers seventeen times to shoot them down, but I never succeeded.”

The tactical situation required maintaining contact with the British fleet. At 0528 on 2 May, a Tracker was launched to confirm enemy presence. Later that morning, a second Tracker would follow the location data of the first and continue surveillance to guide the attack of six A-4Qs.

  1. The mission briefing was conducted by the ship’s Operations Department, attended by the Tracker crew and officers of the Third Naval Air Attack Squadron, where all operational details were decided. One unexpected issue delayed the mission: lack of wind, an uncommon condition in those latitudes.

In simple terms, bomb tables determine the number and type of bombs required to hit a target. In this tactical scenario, four bombs per aircraft were necessary. The actual wind was nearly calm, so even at full speed, the ship could only generate enough wind over the flight deck to allow the launch of aircraft carrying just one bomb each.

Although the mission briefing was complete, it was decided to wait for stronger winds to enable a proper launch with full bomb load.

Analysing the British air and anti-air capabilities, it was assessed that of the six A-4Qs to be launched, four could reach the target and drop their bombs, and two could return to the carrier. Of sixteen bombs, about 25% (four) might hit a ship — enough to neutralise an aircraft carrier if struck.

Launching with only one bomb per aircraft would likely cause insignificant damage, while risking loss of life and half of the carrier’s embarked strike and interception force.

  1. The Tracker launched at 0528 failed to locate the British fleet, which had turned east, moving away from the Argentine battle group. However, throughout that morning, Harriers repeatedly approached, attempting to pinpoint the Argentine fleet, triggering frequent combat alerts aboard Argentine ships.

It is important to note that the Argentine naval group remained under the constant threat of air attack. This required a pair of A-4Qs to remain on deck, ready to launch within five minutes as interceptors. Each combat alert saw the aircraft launched on time, and in at least one or two instances, a second reserve section was also launched.

During a combat lull, the carrier’s commander spoke with the co-pilot of the lead Tracker aircraft and shared his tactical assessment: both fleets had comparable anti-air and anti-ship missile capabilities. The number of Harriers was assumed to be similar to that of the A-4Qs, and the latter were believed capable of engaging them successfully. When he mentioned the submarine threat, however, he added, "better not to think about it."

Committing six A-4Qs to an attack mission would have reduced the carrier’s interception capacity to zero. The remaining pair of aircraft onboard was intended to support the attack — one in reserve, the other as a tanker for mid-air refuelling of returning aircraft if needed.

  1. The delayed reconnaissance flight took off at 1435 hours and conducted a maximum-range mission. It picked up both radar and electronic contacts and landed at 1900 hours. Upon returning, the crew noticed a change in the crew’s expressions on board — the A.R.A. General Belgrano cruiser had been sunk. The submarine threat had now become a grim reality.

In the days and nights that followed, combat stations were manned continuously.

Had the attack on the British fleet been carried out on 2 May 1982, it might be remembered today as the Day of Naval Aviation. But that was not to be. However, just two days later, a section of Super Étendard aircraft, guided by a Neptune patrol plane, sank HMS Sheffield — a clear demonstration of Argentina’s determination to fight.

That day, marking the baptism of fire of Argentine Naval Aviation, was later commemorated as the “Day of Argentine Naval Aviation”.

The night of 1–2 May has remained etched in the memory of its participants as the so-called:
“Night of the Banzai.”

Text: by CL VGM (RE) Rafael L. Sgüeglia
Painting 🖼: Illustrative, by Carlos Adrian Garcia
@aviationart_argentina 🎨

Wednesday, January 21, 2026

Argentine Naval Aviation: Remembering a Great Pilot

Remembering a Great Figure of Naval Aviation


By Malvinas War Veteran (VGM) René Augusto Gómez

  

Early one afternoon in 1980, I left Comandante Espora Naval Air Base to enjoy a spell of leave in Bahía Blanca. Once outside the gate, I decided to walk along the road for a bit—just to breathe in a little freedom—until the bus that took me into town came by. After only a short distance, a car horn startled me. I turned, and at once I knew who it was. If you can picture one of those cars from the old black-and-white series The Untouchables, you’ll have a fair idea of the one I mean. The officer had been my boss in the First Attack Squadron at Punta Indio; and now, promoted, he was training on the A-4Q. When he recognised me, he pulled over.

“Off to Bahía, Gómez? Get in!” he said with a grin.

Pleased by the invitation, I sat down beside him and we set off. Almost immediately I felt a certain embarrassment, because I hadn’t the faintest idea what a mere Cabo Segundo could possibly talk about with an officer I respected deeply. They were two worlds—distant, and very different. Even so, I answered his questions about where I was going and the like, and before long we were having a genuinely pleasant conversation.

At some unknown junction on the outskirts of Bahía, a red light brought us to a halt. I looked left and right, and when I saw how deserted it was, I glanced at the officer in genuine puzzlement. Inside my head the question was: “If there’s no one coming, why doesn’t he go? Who would dare stop him for it?”

“The rules are there to be obeyed,” he said, barely looking at me.

I was astonished. It was as though he’d read my mind. And the strange thing is I didn’t think, “Blimey, what an upright chap.” Instead, his behaviour made me feel like a petty corrupter of traffic laws. Then, out of nowhere, a little boy—poor as the day is long—came up to his window.

“Got a coin for me, sir?” he asked, hand out, without any gesture or flourish.

The light had already changed ahead of us. I assumed the officer would give him one of the coins lying in plain sight and we’d carry on. But the car didn’t move.

“What’s your name, lad?” the officer asked.

“Rodrigo, sir,” the boy replied.

The officer reached into one of the many pockets of his green flight overalls, pulled out his wallet, and without hesitation took out what today would be the equivalent of a modest ten-peso note.

“Here you go, Rodrigo,” he said. “And behave yourself, all right?” At last he smiled.

The boy took the money and vanished with the same skill with which he’d arrived. My inner shame—having dismissed him in my mind—made me look away. “If I don’t learn something valuable for my future from this trip to Bahía, I’m an idiot,” I told myself. And another thing struck me too: it was uncommon for an officer to offer a lift to someone like me, who—apart from the odd sailor—ranked about as low as you could be in the pecking order. It confirmed what I’d already suspected: his manner (that exotic car, and the ease with which he moved among both the “top” and the “bottom”, among other things) wasn’t snobbery. It was simply the way he lived.

Once in Bahía, I sat on a bench in the square and thought about what I had just experienced. I’ve always been the sort of person who notices good conduct. And as for that officer, above all he seemed to me an excellent human being—someone worth taking as an example in a world where you’re often made to believe that “being better than others” means running red lights, or cleverly ignoring the needs of those who have least.

And that is why he deserves this tribute I’m paying him today, in 2006—so many years later. Because that Gentleman Lieutenant, with a capital G and a capital L, whom I’m speaking about, was never killed by the British. I kept him alive all these years. And I haven’t said his name yet—deliberately.

Among my notes from those days there are two other anecdotes that show his philosophy and unusual character even more clearly. One happened in 1978. As a pilot in the First Attack Squadron, he agreed to take one of my mates up with him on an acrobatic training flight. “Big-Nosed Reynoso” was flying in an Aermacchi for the first time. To make the story clear, I need to explain what an anti-G suit is. It’s not a full-body garment; you strap it over your flight overalls using Velcro fastenings. A hose protrudes from it and connects to the side of the seat in the aircraft. Through that hose it receives air from the engine automatically, but only when the aircraft is manoeuvring with or against the force of gravity. As it inflates, it compresses the main arteries and prevents sudden shifts of blood from causing physical effects—grey-outs, blackouts, and the like. And you should know this: the longer and more sustained the aerobatic manoeuvre, the stronger the pressure the suit exerts on the body.

The anecdote is that, during the flight, while they were holding a fairly steep and sustained inverted turn, Big-Nosed Reynoso couldn’t take the pressure any longer and over the intercom he blurted out:

“Sir, sir! It’s squeezinnng me!”

To which the Lieutenant replied, laughing, imitating Reynoso’s suffering voice:

“Me toooo!”

The other anecdote is from 1979. We were at Río Grande Naval Air Base, about to return to Punta Indio in a B-200 after a tasking down there. A Vice Admiral was travelling with us, so we had to form up at the foot of the aircraft like an honour guard—four Cabos Segundos travelling with him. The problem was I’d mislaid my white cap, and I was in a state about it.

Soon the officers arrived: the pilots, my mates’ chiefs, my chief, and the very senior flag officer. They stopped in front of us; the three Cabos saluted—except me, because I had no cap. The Vice Admiral looked at me and, in a foul mood, snapped at the officers:

“Whose man is this?”

My Lieutenant answered immediately: “He’s with me, sir.”

“Why are you without your cap, Cabo?” the Vice Admiral demanded.

“No excuse, sir!” I shouted, feeling the second-hand embarrassment of my comrades.

“When we get to Buenos Aires, I want an exemplary punishment for this man, Lieutenant!”

“Understood, sir,” my chief replied.

We boarded the aircraft. Naturally, the Cabos took the rear seats. At one point my chief turned round and, very quietly, said to me: “What are you playing at, Gómez?” I didn’t know what to say. One advantage of being dark-skinned is that you can go bright red and nobody notices.

The next day, at Punta Indio, Captain Espina called me in. He was a particular character too, and he always made me feel that, in some way, he rather liked me. He didn’t call me by surname or rank; on top of that, he addressed me informally. Once we were alone, he said:

“RRRéné!”—he always rolled the R when he said my name—“You absolute fool. How on earth do you show up without your cap, of all times, right in front of a Vice Admiral?”

“I lost it, sir! I don’t know what came over me!”

“As if there aren’t more important things… and that bloke gets worked up about a Cabo without a cap!” Then, lowering his voice, he added: “Honestly, I think it’s utter nonsense that he demanded we give you thirty days in the nick for that stupidity. Your chief asked me not to punish you, because he says your performance in the squadron is good. But you do realise, RRRené, I’m sticking my neck out here.”

In the end, Captain Espina decided I’d get five days’ confinement.

For all of this, today I feel like shouting at them—from this humble corner, as an apprentice to life that I still am:

“Gentlemen of England: in that cold autumn of 1982, near the San Carlos Strait, you shot down and sent to the icy waters of the ocean an old A-4Q combat aircraft of the Third Naval Air Squadron of Fighter and Attack. But do you know what? Although the records say that aircraft was flown by Lieutenant (JG) Marcelo ‘LORO’ Márquez, it’s NOT TRUE. What you brought down that day was only an empty old aeroplane. Those of us who knew Lieutenant Márquez up close are convinced he wasn’t there. He surely lives on in the memory of a humble lad from the outskirts of Bahía—the very boy to whom he gave a note that probably lasted him no time at all, while what he gave me that day was an example that lasted me my whole life. Some green light must have let him pass so that his decency could continue beating inside the philosophy of life of this humble servant. Because the laws of God that govern those men who leave indelible traces will always be there to be obeyed. I am sure his anti-G suit will never squeeze him again. And when the troops formed up on the seabed shout ‘Preseeeent!’ each time the god Neptune speaks his name—me toooo!”

“No, gentlemen. You did not manage to bring down Lieutenant (JG) Marcelo Márquez. However much it pains you, he is still alive—just like that old cap, now yellowing, which he ordered me to buy back in ’79 and which I still treasure, with the greatest honour, in my sock drawer.”