1955 Revolution: The Final Clashes

The Final Clashes
1955 Guerra Civil. La Revolucion Libertadora y la caída de Perón





Buenos Aires, early morning of September 21, 1955: Army tanks destroy the headquarters of the Nationalist Liberation Alliance

By the evening of September 20, 1955, it was evident that the Peronist regime was on the verge of collapse. However, concerns remained about potential retaliation, not so much from the Armed Forces but from loyalist unions and party militias. Anticipating such a response, the Ministry of the Navy was heavily fortified around 8:00 PM due to rumors of an imminent attack by Peronist militias. Rebel forces prepared for a potential evacuation via naval routes, deploying the Ushuaia transport, the Mandubí tug, and a towed infantry landing craft.

Rebel forces consolidated their positions, arming troops with light weapons, machine guns, and grenades to repel any attack. Troops took defensive positions near the Naval Workshop and the Hotel of Immigrants, awaiting orders to board, while maintaining a heightened state of alert.

Meanwhile, the Nationalist Liberation Alliance, a steadfast Peronist stronghold, was mobilizing for combat. Despite the political chaos, the Alliance, led by Guillermo Patricio Kelly, demonstrated unwavering loyalty. Their headquarters was converted into a makeshift fortress, with the ground floor serving as a field hospital and the upper floors used to destroy compromising documents. Kelly, having secured weapons directly from Perón’s aides, was resolute in fulfilling the battle cry: “La vida por Perón” (Life for Perón).

Rumors of unions distributing arms to workers prompted the Military Junta to summon union leader Hugo Di Pietro for clarification. Di Pietro denied the allegations and invited inspections to confirm the union’s neutrality. In response, the Junta issued appeals to union, party, and religious leaders to prevent violence and restore order.

Simultaneously, military leaders moved decisively. General Raúl Tassi took control of the Ministry of Communications, ensuring the resumption of national telecommunications and confiscating weapons allegedly intended for distribution among workers.

As the day ended, reports reached Tassi that the Nationalist Alliance had rejected ceasefire terms and was preparing for battle. General Audelino Bergallo, in command of Buenos Aires, issued an unambiguous order: “Destroy them with cannon fire!” Preparations began for a full assault on the Alliance’s headquarters.

A military detachment, led by Captain Guillermo Genta and Cadet Heriberto Justo Auel, equipped a truck with machine guns and advanced towards the Alliance’s stronghold. Amid torrential rain and deserted streets, they arrived at the location, supported by tanks poised to fire. Meanwhile, Kelly, heavily armed, left the building to negotiate directly with military officials at the Ministry of the Army.

Despite calls for surrender to avoid bloodshed, the defiant Alliance remained entrenched, ready to fight to the bitter end for Perón. These tense moments underscored the depth of division within Argentina as the regime crumbled.

In the early hours of September 21, 1955, tensions reached their breaking point in Buenos Aires. Guillermo Patricio Kelly, the fiery leader of the Nationalist Liberation Alliance, stormed out into the rain-soaked streets of Reconquista, ignoring the tanks and cavalry company positioned for an imminent attack. Consumed by fury after being told by Major Renner that Perón was leaving to avoid bloodshed, Kelly fumed: “What do I tell my men when they see their leader escape?” His defiance was evident, but fate had other plans.

As Kelly marched back toward the Alliance headquarters, he was stopped in his tracks by armed soldiers who ordered him to surrender. Disarmed and detained, Kelly was sent to police custody. Meanwhile, the situation at the Alliance’s stronghold deteriorated rapidly.

At precisely 1:14 AM, the 600 militants inside the building—who had vowed to die for Perón—opened fire on Army forces from windows and rooftops. The Army responded with machine-gun fire and tear gas, but the militants held their ground, displaying extraordinary fanaticism and resolve. The Army escalated the assault, with tanks unleashing a barrage of shells that shook the concrete structure and echoed through the city.

By 2:00 AM, the building was engulfed in flames. A devastating tank shell struck the munitions depot inside, triggering explosions that further destabilized the structure. The surviving militants evacuated, dragging their wounded comrades as the battle raged on. By 2:30 AM, the Alliance headquarters lay in ruins, its collapse symbolizing the fall of a regime marked by violence and repression.

Amid the chaos, two fire brigades arrived to prevent the flames from spreading to nearby buildings, while curious onlookers were kept at bay by law enforcement. The fiery destruction cast a sinister glow over Buenos Aires, marking the end of the Alliance’s defiant stand.

Elsewhere, confusion reigned within the naval forces loyal to the rebels. Believing a counterattack was imminent, Admiral Domingo Aramburu disbanded the Naval Operations Command, allowing his men to act independently. Most boarded the Ushuaia and Manduví, leaving others scattered throughout the city or holding their positions. In the disarray, the ships departed prematurely, abandoning some personnel and failing to secure critical equipment.

The dramatic fall of the Nationalist Liberation Alliance headquarters and the disorganized retreat of naval forces underscored the unraveling of Perón’s remaining loyalist factions. It was a night of fire, defiance, and collapse, sealing the fate of a regime that once dominated Argentina’s political landscape.

ALN Rally During Peronism’s Heyday

A Glimpse of Glory: ALN Rally During Peronism’s Heyday

In the height of Peronism’s reign, the Nationalist Liberation Alliance (ALN) hosted grandiose rallies that epitomized their unwavering loyalty to the regime. The atmosphere buzzed with fervor as flags waved and voices roared in unison, chanting praises for Perón and vows of eternal allegiance. These gatherings showcased not just political solidarity, but a deep-rooted ideological commitment that blended nationalism, populism, and militant resolve.

The ALN, renowned for its fierce rhetoric and combative stance, drew crowds with theatrical displays of patriotism, fiery speeches, and the ever-present symbolism of the Peronist movement. Leaders like Guillermo Patricio Kelly stood at the forefront, rallying supporters with impassioned calls for unity and defiance against perceived enemies of the state. It was a spectacle of both political power and popular devotion, a reflection of the strong grip Perón held over his followers during his golden era.

These moments, rich with enthusiasm and idealism, painted a stark contrast to the chaos and disintegration that would later consume the Alliance. In those days, the ALN stood tall as a pillar of Peronist militancy, confident in its cause and unwavering in its mission to defend the regime at all costs.

On September 21, clashes also broke out in Mar del Plata. That morning, the population spontaneously gathered in the city center, forming large groups of men and women who, despite the rain, marched to the Casa del Pueblo, headquarters of the Socialist Party, to listen to fiery speeches by several opposition representatives, including Roberto Crocitto and Aurelio Principi.

By midday, a naval patrol traveling in a military truck spotted five suspicious individuals walking along the street. When ordered to stop, they ran toward the building at Av. Luro 3137, barricaded themselves inside, and began firing from the third floor.

An intense shootout ensued, with additional troops patrolling the area joining the fray. The confrontation ended when the Peronist militants fled the scene.

In the afternoon, several people arrived to inspect the bullet marks on the building's third and fourth floors and verify rumors of multiple casualties. However, the new authorities provided no official information, and after a couple of hours, the crowd dispersed.

Later that night, around 10:00 PM, another shootout occurred. Groups of Peronist workers, taking cover behind freight wagons at the train station and the dense vegetation of nearby forests, attacked Navy forces guarding the radio stations in the Municipal Sports Park. The exchange of fire lasted until 5:00 AM on September 22 and ended when the unionist groups withdrew, taking several injured comrades with them.

As with the previous day, the Friends of the Local Workers' Union Movement issued a new statement reaffirming their earlier proclamation, urging workers to cooperate with the occupying forces and peacefully continue their daily occupations.

Attendance and dedication to work, despite any attempts to disrupt it, are today our greatest weapon. Ensuring that the city’s economy remains unaffected is our best contribution to maintaining normalcy. At this moment, there are no union leaders in charge, and no one can claim direct representation. However, there must be, in every workplace, a steadfast commitment to work conscientiously.

The Revolution has given true meaning to the slogan “Produce – Produce”, as production now benefits everyone—serving the normal life of the people and the goals of the Liberating Revolution [3].

The final military action of the Liberating Revolution occurred at 5:00 AM, following General Lonardi's decision to break the ceasefire in Córdoba. By that time, Lonardi had been chosen as the future president of the nation, and preparations for forming a new cabinet were underway. However, during the night, suspicious troop movements were observed both in the southern provinces and Córdoba, violating the imposed ceasefire. Perceived as a potential threat to the rebel forces, these maneuvers prompted a demonstration of force to signal the provisional junta of generals that the revolutionaries were prepared for any escalation.

As historian Ruiz Moreno explains, the rebels targeted the Las Higueras airfield in Río Cuarto. The airfield posed a strategic risk, as it could serve as a launch point for loyalist aircraft capable of striking the Aviation School and the provincial capital. Responding to the threat, Commodore Krausse contacted Base Comandante Espora to request an airstrike. The Revolutionary Air Command approved the mission, and Captain Arturo Rial dispatched two Avro Lincoln bombers piloted by Captains Ricardo Rossi and Orlando Jesús Cappellini.

In the early hours of the morning, the bomber crews loaded their aircraft with 200-kilogram bombs and ammunition, performed pre-flight checks, and taxied to the runway. At 2:15 AM, Cappellini's aircraft took off first, followed closely by Rossi's, embarking on a perilous night mission under torrential rain and poor visibility. Years later, Cappellini recalled the challenging conditions: “We took off after 2:00 AM in torrential rain. They provided us with excellent 200-kilogram bombs, which we didn’t have in Córdoba, but they lacked safety fuses.”

By 4:00 AM, the bombers reached their target. However, Cappellini's aircraft faced a critical issue: one of its turbines had detached during acceleration, compromising its stability. Communicating with the control tower at the Aviation School, he reported the malfunction. In response, Captain Hilario Maldonado instructed Cappellini to maintain a circular holding pattern over the target and delay the attack until 6:00 AM.

This marked the Revolution's final offensive—a calculated display of power in the face of lingering resistance, ensuring the success of their cause and the imminent transition of power.

September 21, 1955, 06:00: Captains Cappellini and Rossi Strike Río Cuarto Airfield (Photo: Juan Carlos Cicalesi)

At 6:00 AM, Captain Cappellini received the go-ahead to proceed with the bombing of Río Cuarto Air Base. Reviewing the coordinates on his flight chart, he noted the target was to be struck from an altitude no lower than 700 meters to avoid being hit by their own bomb shrapnel. Concerned about the risk of detection at dawn, Cappellini voiced his objections, but Commodore Krausse responded curtly and decisively: “Proceed with the order.”

Flying in circles until the designated time, the bombers waited for a break in the clouds. As dawn broke, the crossed runways of Las Higueras Airfield became visible through a gap, signaling the moment to strike. The two Avro Lincolns initiated their attack runs, releasing a total of eighteen bombs—ten from Rossi's aircraft and eight from Cappellini’s, though two bombs from the latter failed to release and remained stuck.

The mission complete, the aircraft sharply banked away from the target, enduring violent turbulence caused by the explosions below. Thankfully, none of the shrapnel struck the planes, allowing them to return safely to Base Comandante Espora. Cappellini’s aircraft, however, required a manual release of the jammed bombs, which the onboard mechanic jettisoned into the sea during the return flight. Both bombers landed safely at 8:00 AM, concluding the last aerial operation of the conflict.

The attack caused no casualties, as the airfield had been evacuated prior to the raid. However, it achieved its intended objective: intimidating loyalist forces. Shortly after the strike, General Falconnier called from Villa Reynolds, requesting the suspension of a planned bombing of the Río Cuarto rail station, where two trains carrying tanks had just arrived. He assured the rebels that no troops would be mobilized from that location, signaling the diminishing resistance to the revolution’s advance.

“"The day perfectly matches the occasion—a beautiful sun warms our chilled bodies. How wonderful is the sun's warmth after a freezing night!

Around midday, Alférez C. gathers all group leaders to remind us to keep personnel closer at hand. He, too, notices the gradual relaxation of discipline. Following his instructions, I assemble the group and address them. Fortunately, I find the right words to restore order without resorting to disciplinary measures. They’re all good men.

Finally, good news arrives! We’re informed that a military government has been formed to temporarily lead the Republic. General Lonardi has been named President, Vice Admiral Rojas is the Vice President, and our own Commodore Krausse will serve as Minister of Foreign Affairs.

Although we cannot fully grasp the significance of this moment, the truth is that we have helped change the course of our nation's history. The fall of this regime reaffirms that our people will never accept anything that tarnishes their most cherished legacy: their freedom.

First Lieutenant F. went to confirm the news and returned with happiness written all over his face. He gathered us in a clearing, shared the situation, and congratulated us on our efforts. Within our chests, we felt something I can only describe as the manifestation of that abstract entity we call the Fatherland.

The traditional ‘Subordination and Valor’ was never answered with more emotion.

We then received orders to prepare our gear and begin retreating as soon as possible. Alférez C. shakes our hands and toasts with us to celebrate the success of the movement.

Well, it seems I’m destined to savor every last drop of this Revolution. The entire company is heading back to the school, except for the groups led by ‘Turco,’ ‘Cabezón,’ and myself, tasked with guarding the northern sector of the airstrip. I’m tired—exhausted, really—but I try to lift the spirits of the troops. If I don’t, I don’t know where they’ll find the strength to continue. We are under the orders of First Lieutenant F., who seems deeply troubled by having to stay behind. It’s understandable; he has a wife and children waiting for him.

And so here we are, waiting for the tents to arrive so we can spend the night. When they finally arrive, we set them up, and then dinner is served—a plate of polenta with sauce, which soothes not just our hunger but the gnawing ache of exhaustion.

After posting guards at a nearby crossroads, I lay down. Thankfully, someone left me a cot, which is far more comfortable than the trench. My weary bones couldn’t be happier."

This vivid recounting captures the mix of relief, pride, and fatigue experienced by the soldiers in the final days of the Liberating Revolution, as they reflect on their role in shaping the nation’s future.[6].

Another View of the Destroyed Nationalist Liberation Alliance Building (Photo: Isidoro Ruiz Moreno, The Revolution of '55', Volume II)

 


The press publishes the attack to the ALN headquarters


Guillermo Patricio Kelly, ALN CEO several years after the attack


Brig. Orlando Jesús Cappellini, several years after the revolution. Jointly to Captain Ricardo Rossi led the last combat mission.

Notes

1. Isidoro Ruiz Moreno, op. Cit, T. II, p. 362.
2. Ídem, pp. 366-366.
3. Nieto, Agustín; op. Cit.
4. Ídem, p. 344.
5. Las bombas el piloto carecían de seguros y eso le impedía aterrizar.
6. “…del Diario de un Cadete”, revista “Cielo”, Buenos Aires.

Revolución Libertadora: Doubts and Fears Seal the Dictator's Fate

Perón Hesitates



Perón, Surrounded by His Ministers, Listens to the Report from General Arnaldo Sosa Molina (Ilustración: Isidoro Ruiz Moreno, La Revolución del 55, Tomo I)

A striking aspect throughout the conflict was Perón's peculiar behavior. His reticence and silence puzzled many, as he delegated full command to General Lucero. “Both supporters and opponents were baffled by his passivity, while battles that would determine the Nation's future—and his own—raged fiercely by air, sea, and land,” remarked one historian.

The man who once led Latin America’s most transformative social revolution, challenged the United States and the Allied powers after World War II, and attempted to create a "Fourth Reich" in Argentina by bringing Axis scientists and war criminals to the country, now seemed hesitant and devoid of initiative. His fiery rhetoric of the past still resonated, chilling citizens with its violent tone: "You ask me to fight? Why don’t you start yourselves?" (May 1, 1953), "The day hanging begins, I’ll stand with those doing the hanging!" (August 2, 1946), "They’ll have to kill me fighting!" (August 13, 1946), "We’ll raise gallows across the nation to hang the opposition!" (September 11, 1947), "We’ll distribute baling wire to hang our enemies!" (August 31, 1947), and his infamous declaration, "For every one of us, five of them will fall!" Yet, now, the man who had once uttered these words with conviction appeared paralyzed.

This mysterious inaction, paired with his silence since the hostilities began, began to irritate even his closest allies. Major Carlos Aloé, Governor of Buenos Aires Province, could not understand why Perón remained in his heavily guarded residence, avoiding both military command and leveraging his powerful influence over the Armed Forces and the public.

General Raúl Tassi, head of the National Defense School, observed Perón’s behavior during a meeting at the underground bunker of the Ministry of the Army, where the Communications Center of the Repression Command was based. The meeting, convened by General Lucero, brought together senior military leaders to monitor the ongoing conflict. Perón arrived accompanied by generals and colonels, visibly distressed and, by all accounts, frightened. His demeanor worsened upon learning that the Cuyo Army had also joined the uprising. At that moment, whatever composure he had left completely absent.

At the headquarters of the 1st Army Division in Palermo, General Ernesto Fatigatti requested authorization from Perón to lead the 1st and 2nd Infantry Regiments (then in reserve) in a march on Córdoba to crush the revolution by midday on September 21. However, Perón—once renowned for his oratory skills, his ability to captivate and inflame the masses—offered no response. Instead, he nervously smoked, drank coffee, and remained silent.

Years later, Perón’s nephew and aide-de-camp, Major Ignacio Cialcetta, revealed that the dictator “did nothing.” He left all decisions to Lucero and, while not entirely defeated in spirit, seemed detached. Perón reportedly spent two nights hiding in a house in Belgrano and, according to other accounts, in the nuclear bunker he had built beneath the Alas building—a claim without concrete evidence, though rumors also suggested he used it during the June 16 bombings.

Despite having capable and loyal generals—Lucero, Fatigatti, Iñíguez, and Sosa Molina—Perón failed to act. His attitude infuriated Interior Minister Dr. Oscar Albrieu, who met with him at the Government House in the early hours of September 19. Albrieu urged Perón to take charge of the repression, arguing that the situation was deteriorating. Yet, the president remained inert. Ruiz Moreno captures their exchange in his work, highlighting Perón’s indecision at a critical juncture:

-"General, don’t lose focus. Let’s return to the Ministry of the Army. Things there are not being handled properly."

-"And what do you want me to do?" Perón replied.

-"General, I believe you should assume command of the Repression Forces and announce on the radio that you will personally take command in Córdoba. I’m certain that would put an end to all of this.".

These words displeased Perón, who responded badly.

-You don't know the generals. I think they are handling things well. Besides, I don't like the fact that they kill the little soldiers. I prefer things to stay that way.

So it was Albrieu who expressed his annoyance.

-General, we are at war! I would even be justified in saying that the non-commissioned officer who kills a rebellious officer will take his place in the ranks...! I will take any measure to defend a constitutional government!

Despite the gravity in Albrieu’s tone, Perón did not react, effectively ending the conversation on the spot.

Meanwhile, General Lucero worked tirelessly, determined to crush the uprising as swiftly as possible. On the 18th, one of his first actions was to reinforce the units engaged in repression by calling up the 1931, 1932, and 1933 conscript classes in the First and Second Military Regions under the command of Lieutenant General Emilio Forcher. This measure bolstered key units, including the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Infantry Regiments, the 2nd Artillery Regiment, the Regiment of Mounted Grenadiers, and the Motorized Regiment "Buenos Aires." Together with the security companies tasked with guarding arsenals, military factories, and depots, these reinforcements brought troop numbers to 18,000, not counting an additional 1,200 volunteers.

By Monday, the 19th, Perón arrived at the Ministry of the Army before 6:00 AM, accompanied by Governor Aloé. In Lucero’s office, Generals José Domingo Molina, Commander-in-Chief of the Army, and Carlos Wirth, Chief of Staff, informed him that the situation on the front was favorable and that the rebellion’s suppression was only a matter of hours. However, the leaders of the repression failed to recognize a critical error: by not ordering a final offensive with the requisite force, they allowed the revolutionaries to regroup. Hoping to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, they opted instead to pressure the rebel forces with sheer numbers, aiming to convince them of the futility of resistance. This half-measure was a serious misstep, as the revolutionary forces were resolute and prepared to fight with unrelenting ferocity, as demonstrated by General Lonardi’s fiery speech on September 16.

Perón had every advantage. His forces surrounded Córdoba and Bahía Blanca, the Cuyo troops were wavering, and no other garrison had declared against him. The Fleet posed the only significant threat, but the Air Force and Naval Aviation were expected to neutralize it.

Given these circumstances, the Peronist high command began to feel confident, even euphoric. However, in the middle of the meeting, Perón abruptly called for silence and requested to be left alone with Lucero and Aloé.

Confused but compliant, the senior officers exited the room, waiting in the antechamber in a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. As the door closed behind them, they had no idea that the final chapter of the crisis was about to unfold.

Once alone, Perón announced that he had decided to resign.

-We already know that these barbarians will have no scruples about doing so (he was referring to bombing the cities of La Plata and Buenos Aires). It is necessary to avoid massacre and destruction. I do not wish to be a factor in such savagery being unleashed on the innocent city, and on the works that we have worked so hard to build. To feel this, it is necessary to know how to build. Parasites hardly love the work of others.

Lucero and Aloe were speechless, astonished and confused. They remained like that for a few moments until Lucero broke the silence to express that he was in solidarity with his boss and that, consequently, he would also resign. However, he immediately seemed to react and, trying to convince Perón, he expressed his opinion, proposing the creation of an operations force under the direct orders of the president based on the First Army Division, declaring at the same time Buenos Aires an open city, defended by elements of the General Maritime Prefecture, the National Gendarmerie, the Federal Police and the Armed Forces (the latter in small numbers), all of them supported by Peronist militiamen. However, his words were of no use. Under the pretext of avoiding a useless shedding of blood and the destruction of what he considered his “masterpiece”: the oil installations in La Plata, Perón repeated that he had decided to leave power. Lucero insisted again, explaining that the rebellion was practically under control and that it was only a matter of hours before both Córdoba and Bahía Blanca fell (he knew perfectly well that the Army of Cuyo did not constitute any threat). But even so, Perón maintained his position and withdrew, ordering a meeting of generals for that same afternoon.



Two hours later, the still-President of the Nation sent Lucero a handwritten note addressed to the Army and the People. In it, he announced his resignation and declared that he was leaving everything in the hands of the Army, the only entity he deemed capable of taking control of the situation and achieving the much-desired pacification of the country.

With the note in hand, Lucero summoned Vice President Rear Admiral Alberto Teissaire, Minister of the Interior Dr. Carlos Albrieu, and CGT Secretary General Héctor Di Pietro to his office. After informing them of its contents, he opened the floor for their comments. Di Pietro stated that if this was the general's will, the workers would comply, as they had always followed Perón's wishes. Expressing solidarity with his leader, Lucero immediately drafted his irrevocable resignation and then summoned General José Domingo Molina, entrusting him with organizing a Junta of Generals to take charge of governance and peace negotiations.

At 12:55 PM, Radio del Estado, broadcasting nationwide, issued a message that shocked both the revolutionary leaders and the broader population. General Lucero invited the rebel commanders to the Ministry of the Army to begin discussions aimed at pacifying the country and finding a resolution.

This announcement stunned General José María Sosa Molina, commander of repression in Córdoba, who could hardly believe what he was hearing. His astonishment was so great that he initially thought it was a tactic to confuse loyalist forces. “With victory practically in his grasp, Perón walked away,” Sosa Molina would later recall. “...With the battle nearly won, my commanders informed me they had heard the ceasefire order on the radio. I couldn’t believe it. We had everything in our hands, and now we were being told to hold our positions.” It wasn’t until he heard the resignations confirmed on the radio later in the afternoon that he accepted the situation.

A similar reaction came from the resolute General Iñíguez, who was leading his forces in a rapid advance toward central Córdoba. As his troops pressed forward, a messenger rushed to his position with an order to halt the attack and news that a junta of generals had assumed control. When Iñíguez learned that government forces were to cease all hostilities, hold their positions, and await further instructions, he was left dumbfounded.

At 2:27 PM, General Lucero's message, broadcast on Radio del Estado, was answered by Admiral Rojas aboard the La Argentina. Rojas announced that military operations would be suspended until midnight on September 19 and that the requested meeting would take place aboard his ship, anchored at the mouth of the Río de la Plata, rather than at the Ministry of the Army, as Lucero had suggested. Meanwhile, from Córdoba, Lonardi issued a statement signed as the leader of the "Revolución Libertadora," demanding the immediate resignation of the President and his entire cabinet. Distrustful of Perón, Lonardi took precautionary measures to ensure the revolution's success.

Notes

1. Isidoro Ruiz Moreno, op. cit, Cap. 9, Tomo II.
2. Ídem, p. 315, Tomo II.
3. It was the first time ever to use this designation.

1955 Guerra Civil. La Revolución Libertadora y la Caída de Perón

Paraguayan War: Chronology on Google Earth

Argentine Navy: Naval Traditions

Naval and Maritime Traditions: The Names of Argentine Warships

The names of Argentine warships are a naval tradition in their own right. The names San Martín and Brown have been used twelve times each to christen our ships, as many times as our national date: 25 de Mayo. Similarly, Libertad and Independencia have adorned sterns nine times each; 9 de Julio, eight times; and General Belgrano, six times.

This maintained tradition reflects the Argentine naval ethos, embodying its ideals, historic milestones, and heroes. The continuity in preserving and repeating these names ensures that the traditions they represent endure within the naval sphere and through time, transitioning from noble wood to sturdy steel with almost no interruption.

The old shipboard bulkhead clocks, once used to chime the hours in line with this system, are now valuable antiques cherished by collectors.

The general regulations currently governing the naming of Navy units were established by Permanent Order No. 1/81 of the Argentine Navy General Staff. This directive specifies the following categories of designations to be applied to ships inducted into the Argentine Navy:

[Include subsequent details from the original source, if applicable.]

Classification of Argentine Naval Ships

• Major Warships: Named after national heroes or dates of great national significance.

• Destroyers, Frigates, and Corvettes: Named after distinguished naval figures or traditional denominations of historically significant ships.

• Submarines: Named after provinces and territories, preferably those beginning with "S" or located along the maritime coastline.

• Minesweepers, Minehunters, Minelayers, and Mine Countermeasure Units: Named after provinces not covered in the submarine category.

• Tenders, Salvage Ships, and Ocean Tugs: Named after sailors or civilians who have rendered valuable services to the Navy.

• Training Ships: Reflect national ideals, names of former training vessels, or historic naval battles.

• Scientific Research, Hydrographic, Oceanographic, and Buoy Tending Vessels: Named after cities with maritime ports.

• Transport Ships, Assault Transports, Landing Ships, and Tankers: Named after geographic features such as channels or straits in Argentine waters, excluding Antarctic regions.

• Workshop Ships, Dry Dock Ships, Hospital Ships, and Logistic Ships: Named after sailors or civilians distinguished for their scientific or related services, or those who died in service.

• Icebreakers, Polar Ships, and Antarctic Stations: Named after geographical features in Argentine Antarctic waters or names historically linked to Argentine Antarctica.

• Fast Attack Craft, Patrol Boats, and Torpedo Boats over 200 Tons: Given descriptive adjectives that represent a combative spirit or names of past units with significant historical relevance.

• Fast Boats, Patrol Boats, and Torpedo Boats under 200 Tons: Named after riverfront cities or indigenous names from their operational zones.

• Hydrographic Vessels: Named after seabirds native to Argentine maritime fauna.

• Harbor Tugs and Dredges: Named after indigenous tribes, chieftains who supported national organization, or fish native to Argentine waters.

• Yachts: Named after visible stars and constellations in the Southern Hemisphere or former notable yachts in Navy service.

• Key Marine Infantry or Naval Aviation Units: Named after pioneers or prominent figures in their respective fields.

• Naval Bases, Air Stations, Marine Infantry Bases, and Naval Arsenals: Named after geographical or historical sites, or distinguished naval figures who contributed to the Navy’s prestige and advancement, or naval battles.

• Naval Schools and Academies: Named after distinguished figures within or associated with the Navy who promoted or brought prestige to it through intellectual or professional excellence.

The names of historic flagships, such as frigates or brigs now equipped with missiles, not only revive past glories but keep the spirit of these ships alive. This rich naval tradition is embodied in every exercise, task, or mission requiring competition or emulation, and in combat, when supreme sacrifice is demanded, they inspire the courage shown by their namesakes in history.

Every ship, no matter how small or modest its mission, carries its own unique set of naval traditions. These traditions are cherished by successive commanding officers and crews, who take pride in maintaining and expanding them. Interestingly, such traditions often begin even before a ship officially joins the Navy, as illustrated by the following examples:

Coins at the Base of Masts or Keels

The custom of placing coins beneath the base of sailing ship masts during construction dates back to antiquity. While its exact origins are unclear, it is often attributed to the Vikings, who extended the terrestrial tradition of embedding silver coins in the foundations of new homes—particularly in hearths or chimneys—to ensure the happiness of the inhabitants. Another interpretation ties the practice to the Roman custom of placing a coin in the mouths of the deceased to pay Charon, the ferryman of the underworld, thereby symbolically settling the crew's fare should the ship sink.

In the Argentine Navy, this tradition has continued, although its exact starting point is unknown. Recent ships, such as Meko 360 and 140 destroyers and corvettes, had Argentine silver pesos (patacones) from the 1880s placed under the first keel plate laid in the shipyard. For Type 1700 submarines, a similar coin is used, but it is recovered after launch. As part of the ceremony, the youngest worker involved in the ship's construction presents the coin to the ship's sponsor, who then entrusts it to the ship’s commanding officer.

The Anchor

The term "anchor" originates from the Greek word for hook or grappling iron. Chinese scholars claim that anchors, known as Ting, were used as early as 2000 BCE, with the character for “stone” representing them in writing. Early anchors consisted of bags of sand or stone, later evolving into carved stone versions made by skilled stonemasons. The ancient Egyptian city of Ancyra is said to have derived its name from anchor manufacturing in local quarries.

For the Romans, the anchor symbolized wealth and commerce, while for the Greeks, it represented trust and security—a meaning that persists in heraldry today. Early Christians adopted the Greek symbolism, associating the anchor with steadfastness, hope, and salvation. This is reflected in ancient catacomb paintings featuring anchors resembling those in use today.

The Boatswain’s Pipe

This quintessential naval tool has been used aboard ships since the era of galleys and has served as a symbol of command. By the 18th century, it became emblematic of the British Admiralty. Made from noble metals such as silver or gold, the boatswain’s pipe was essential for issuing commands. Its sharp, piercing sound could be heard even during fierce storms, making it indispensable for coordinating maneuvers.

In Argentine training ships, this tradition persists, with all orders for maneuvers transmitted using the boatswain’s pipe. Admiral Guillermo Brown introduced its use in March 1814, formalizing the honors rendered with the instrument. Skilled boatswains often tune their pipes to produce harmonious tones.

One notable symbol of this tradition in the Argentine Navy is the gold boatswain’s pipe belonging to Boatswain Liorca. He famously rendered honors to President Julio A. Roca when the president boarded the corvette A.R.A. La Argentina. In gratitude, President Roca gifted him the pipe, which Liorca’s son, Subofficer Serapio Liorca, later donated to the National Naval Museum, where it is preserved today.

Gun Salute Tradition

The tradition of firing gun salutes as a sign of courtesy is an ancient international naval custom. Historically, firing salvos demonstrated peaceful intentions, often accompanied by additional gestures that left the ship temporarily defenseless, such as lowering sails, bracing yards, or shipping oars.

In the Argentine Navy, Admiral Guillermo Brown adhered to this tradition as early as 1814, honoring the international custom of gun salutes. The number of salvos fired has always been an odd number, reflecting an old superstition associating odd numbers with good fortune. In earlier times, the extended reloading time for cannons led stronger navies, such as the British, to demand that weaker nations fire the first salute. By the 20th century, this was replaced by the principle of state equality, with salutes being returned shot-for-shot.

The tradition of 21-gun salutes dates back to the early days, when the British Navy established seven cannon shots as their national salute, answered from shore with three shots for every one fired from the ship—21 in total. At the time, maintaining gunpowder quality aboard ships was more challenging than on land. As gunpowder and ship magazines improved, the number of shots exchanged between ships and shore became equal.

In the Argentine Navy, 21-gun salutes are reserved for the President of the Republic, as Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces. They are also fired upon arriving or departing foreign ports designated as "saluting stations," when affirming a ship’s flag, or during a vessel’s first arrival at an Argentine port. It is standard protocol to perform this salute only when the national flag is raised, with personnel rendering a military salute while the salvos are fired. At sea, if possible, the honors detail assumes its role during the salute.

The Ship’s Bell

The ship’s bell has been in use aboard vessels since the early 13th century, traditionally mounted on the quarterdeck. Its chimes were regulated by half-hour sandglasses until the mid-19th century, with the bell rung each time the glass was turned.

During each watch, the bell is rung at half-hour intervals, with an additional chime for every half-hour, culminating in eight bells at the end of the watch. The sequence then resets at the start of the next watch. The distinctive method of ringing the bell involves paired chimes rung quickly, followed by a pause before the next set, as illustrated:

• Three bells: rat-tata (pause) tat.
• Four bells: rat-tata (pause) rat-tat.

This unique cadence is an integral part of shipboard tradition, reflecting the long-standing maritime heritage shared across navies.

The Cap Emblem

The anchor in the emblem on our caps symbolizes the naval profession to which we dedicate our lives. The rope encircling and embracing it, firmly secured in its ring, represents our existence, signifying that all our thoughts and actions are fully subordinated to our vocation. Gold, the purest and most precious metal, signifies that purity in thought and deed must guide our actions.

The laurel, a timeless symbol of strength and the character of the victor, in this emblem signifies that our spirit, dedicated to the profession we have chosen, must triumph over the material temptations of indulgence and neglect. The Sun, the King of Stars crowning the emblem, represents the lofty vision, thought, and action that a Naval Officer must possess.

Thus, the emblem is the symbol of the high ideals to which we devote our lives. It is the crest of Naval Officers, the "Knights of the Sea," which must remain proud, upright, and triumphant in the battles fought within our consciences. In these contests, the reward for the victor is none other than the satisfaction of duty fulfilled with loyalty, honesty, sincerity, and selflessness.

OSVALDO REPETTO

Malvinas: Battle Chronology

Maps, Dates and Battle Places

Naval Aviation: The Captain Castro Fox Accident

Castro Fox's Accident

Memoirs of Captain (Ret.) VGM Rodolfo Castro Fox, Commander of EA33.

Sunday, August 9, 1981

That afternoon, under calm skies, I was catapulted from the deck in my A-4Q, 3-A-303. I was undergoing requalification, having already completed two arrestments in the 3-A-307 earlier that morning.

“Stable deck, wind at 28/30 knots.” The signal officer's voice came through the radio, relaying the conditions for my landing on the aircraft carrier 25 de Mayo.

“03, ball, three five,” I responded, acknowledging the yellow light indicator projected by the stabilized glide slope system on the port side of the ship. At the same time, I confirmed my fuel in hundreds of pounds.

Completing my turn into the final leg at 500 feet, I caught sight of the ship's white wake below and to my left, contrasting against a nearly calm, greenish-blue sea. Ahead, a thick yellow inverted “T” marked the start of the angled deck, positioned eight degrees off the carrier’s centerline. To the right, the “island,” crowded with platforms, antennas, and the ship’s smokestack, released a column of smoke aligned with the relative wind, running parallel to the deck’s axis.

My focus was split: keeping the “ball” centered with the green reference line flanked by guide lights, ensuring the angle-of-attack indicator in “Donna” showed a yellow light, and aligning with the deck’s axis, which slightly shifted to the right as the ship moved.

Gentle adjustments on the throttle and flight controls kept everything aligned, maintaining engine thrust between 80 and 90 percent of its 8,200 pounds of power. The ship's high stern swayed slowly as the sharp turbine whine was interrupted by instructions from the Landing Signal Officer on the radio.

Though I had over 250 arrestments, the concentration and tension remained the same. There’s no room for distraction; only after the flight can one relax, reliving and savoring this demanding and cherished activity of naval aviators.

The carrier rapidly grew larger; I crossed over the stern at 130 knots, with the “ball” centered, reaching the zone of the six arrestor cables. Just as I touched down, my left hand automatically pushed the throttle to 100 percent while my thumb engaged the dive brake switch, ready to take off again if the hook missed the cable.

The deceleration began immediately. I had caught the third cable, right on centerline, and my body was held back by the harness straps across my torso, while my head moved freely forward.

The Precise Moment When the 3-A-303 Breaks the Arresting Cable and Heads Toward the Sea

In that critical instant, the 3-A-303, having engaged the arresting cable, suddenly broke free. The snap was abrupt, and instead of decelerating as expected, the aircraft continued forward. The deck rushed past beneath me, and in those split seconds, I knew the plane was headed off the edge and toward the open sea.

With no time to lose, my reflexes kicked in. My hand was already at the throttle, pushing it to full power in an attempt to regain altitude. The aircraft barely cleared the edge of the flight deck, plummeting toward the water before the engine’s thrust began to pull it back up. That brief but intense moment, where I was suspended between sky and sea, brought every skill and ounce of training to the fore.

The nose of the aircraft, now lowered, shook with oscillating lateral movements due to the immense deceleration it was experiencing as the 14,500-pound plane came to a halt at a relative speed of 100 knots within less than 60 meters. Just in front of me lay the ocean, separated only by a few meters of deck.

Suddenly, at very low speed and reducing the throttle to minimum, my body pressed against the seatback, and my head jerked back into the headrest. The plane had freed itself from the arresting cable as it snapped, and it surged forward. Instinctively, I pushed the throttle to 100 percent—a habit from touch-and-go landings or "bolters" on the deck—believing I was gaining speed.

But this time, I didn’t have enough speed to take off again, as I had once done four years earlier in the same plane. I quickly reduced the throttle and applied right rudder to guide the plane toward the axial runway centerline, aiming to maximize the space to try to brake. There, I would have an additional 50 meters of deck, but the speed was too high, and the plane skidded leftward.

Over the radio, I heard the signal officer shouting, "Eject—Eject!" Instinctively, I pulled the lower ejection seat handle with my right hand. I felt a muffled explosion behind me as the canopy, propelled by the fired cartridge, detached and slid backward. I expected the seat’s rocket to fire next and propel me out—but the seat didn’t eject.

The plane continued its path toward the angled deck’s end; the nose wheel dipped into the edge, and the plane crossed over a 40 mm anti-aircraft mount, sharply turning left as the left wheel was the first to lose contact with the deck. The carrier’s deck disappeared from view; I was plummeting toward the sea from a height of 13 meters, inverted, strapped tightly to the ejection seat by upper and lower harnesses. Less than five seconds had passed since the cable snapped, and I was losing consciousness as we struck the water.

Every action and image from recognizing the emergency as the cable snapped is vivid to me, with time seeming to slow as if in slow motion, until the aircraft hit the sea at dusk.

It was only later that I regained consciousness, being airlifted in a Sea King helicopter to the Puerto Belgrano Naval Hospital, some 100 miles away. Tied to the stretcher, I wondered about my slim chances of surviving a water landing in the dead of night.

I only learned what happened after the crash from the accounts of those involved, as I have no memory of those moments. When the plane hit the water, nose down and inverted, the ejection seat fired, likely launching me like a torpedo toward the seabed, propelled by the rocket that ignited at that moment. Otherwise, I would have gone down with the plane to the ocean floor.

The condition of my left arm evidenced the force with which the seat left the aircraft. My left hand had been on the throttle—a critical mistake during ejection—and my forearm was crushed in the narrow space between the cockpit’s interior side and the side of the ejection seat. As a result, I suffered fractures to the ulna, radius, and humeral tuberosity, as well as a scapulohumeral dislocation.

The seat continued its sequence through the various explosive cartridges, releasing the harness around my torso, inflating the bladders to separate me from the seat, and deploying the pilot chute to extract the parachute. Had this sequence failed, I would have remained strapped to the seat and descended to the seabed.

Dressed as I was in an anti-exposure suit that trapped air between my body and the fabric, along with the rest of my flight gear—torso harness, survival vest, and dry anti-g suit—my body began a slow ascent to the surface due to positive buoyancy. Those who saw me surface after almost two minutes reported that I was paddling with my right arm. Immediately, an Alouette helicopter stationed for rescue, commanded by then-Lieutenant Commander Carlos Espilondo, approached my position. Two rescue swimmers dove into the sea, detached my parachute, and slipped the rescue sling under my shoulders.

They hoisted me up with the helicopter winch and began to transport me; however, I didn’t stay aloft for long. Unconscious and with a dislocated shoulder, my arms rose, causing the sling to slip, and I fell back into the sea. This time, the rescue swimmers had to reach my new position and pull me from beneath the surface, as my now-soaked gear no longer provided positive buoyancy and they hadn’t inflated my life vest.

They attached the sling to the carabiner on my flight suit, designed for such cases, and this time successfully lifted me into the Alouette.

When they placed me on the flight deck, their first move was to remove the water from my lungs. I was quickly transported on a stretcher via the forward elevator on the flight deck to the onboard surgical room.

On the way to the infirmary, I suffered my first cardiorespiratory arrest, from which they successfully revived me.

For a long time, I didn’t respond to external stimuli, and in the operating room, I experienced a second arrest, but again, the medical team managed to bring me back. Days later, the doctors asked if I remembered how they had revived me from these arrests; my denial brought them a sense of relief.

The diagnosis read like a list of battle wounds: multiple trauma, drowning-induced asphyxia, lung shock, cardiorespiratory arrest, cranial trauma with loss of consciousness, bilateral orbital trauma, radial and ulnar fractures, left rib fracture, anterior shoulder dislocation, submental, supra-auricular, and left eyelid wounds, bipalpebral hematoma, conjunctival hemorrhage, and multiple abrasions. This grim report was signed by Lieutenant Commander and Medical Officer Edgar Coria, who, along with the Naval Air Group’s medical team, treated me.

That night, I was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital, where I remained for four days.

Around midnight, Commander Jorge Philippi and his wife Graciela called our apartment in Bahía Blanca to inform Stella of my accident and hospitalization. Months later, I would be the one to inform Graciela of her husband’s disappearance during the Malvinas conflict.

My appearance must have been quite unsettling, with swelling, bruises, stitches, and more. I realized this when visitors who weren’t medical staff would turn pale and quickly leave the ICU. The nurses, using various excuses, refused to provide me with a mirror despite my repeated requests.

Even days later, when I had been moved to a regular room, my children were visibly shaken upon seeing me. If any of them had thought about studying medicine, I likely discouraged that notion. According to specialists, factors that helped prevent neurological sequelae included the cold water and the fact that I had been breathing 100 percent oxygen during the flight. The A-4 lacks a demand system that mixes oxygen with cabin air; instead, it uses a liquid oxygen system with a converter and regulator that delivers pure oxygen.

Perhaps, “Tata Dios” hadn’t planned on calling my number that day—or St. Peter simply made a mistake with the list.

After overcoming the major risk of pulmonary or renal complications, the ordeal of recovering my left arm began. Pins were placed in both bones of my forearm, and I was fitted with a cast that I wore for over three months, constantly adjusted in posture and size.

Declared unfit for flight, I attended medical evaluations every two months, where they noted my recovery from various traumas, abrasions, and interstitial pneumonia, yet my left arm remained restricted in movement. I continued my duties as Deputy Commander at the squadron, but with envy as I watched my fellow pilots take to the skies.

Toward the end of the year, the awards for the 1980 weapons exercises were presented in a ceremony held at the Puerto Belgrano Naval Base Auditorium. I was called up to receive the La Capital of Rosario award for the highest annual individual score in air-to-air shooting among all attack squadron pilots. Seeing me with my arm in a cast, someone joked, “Imagine if he had both arms!”

Argentine Navy: ARA 25 de Mayo in the 1980s

Argentine Navy aircraft carrier ARA 25 de Mayo in operation in the 1980s

Poder Naval




Argentine Navy A-4Q fighters operating on the aircraft carrier ARA 25 de Mayo, circa 1980. At that time, the Argentine Navy had a more powerful GAE (Embarked Air Group) than the one on the aircraft carrier Minas Gerais. da Armada de Brasil, which operated only anti-submarine aircraft.

Originally built for the Royal Navy during World War II as HMS Venerable, this Colossus Class aircraft carrier was transferred to Argentina in 1969, where it was renamed in honor of the May Revolution of 1810, which marked the beginning of Argentina's independence process from Spain.



The main characteristics of the ARA 25 de Mayo were a displacement of approximately 19,900 tons at full load, a length of approximately 192 meters and a beam of 24.4 meters. With a top speed of about 24 knots (about 44 km/h), it was powered by 4 boilers with 40,000 hp (30,000 kW) steam turbines driving 2 shafts.

During the Malvinas War in 1982, the ARA 25 de Mayo's S-2 Tracker aircraft detected the main body of the British Task Force in the early hours of 2 May at about 200 miles away, but the ship was unable to launch its attack aircraft against British ships due to a lull.



Near the time of catapulting the aircraft for the morning attack, when a wind speed of 30 knots was needed, this was almost zero, so each A-4Q aircraft could take off with a single bomb or with fuel for a range of only 100 miles.



The ARA 25 de Mayo, at that time, could only reach 20 knots, an insufficient speed to produce the relative wind in the flight deck necessary to launch the aircraft with four Mk.82 bombs. The probability of impact would be insignificant, not justifying the attack. The mission was aborted.

SOURCE : @MarianoSciaroni, in X