The Start of the Adventure for the Gendarmes
By the Principal Commander of Communications (R) VGM Carlos S Vega
Malvinas Historias de Coraje
Everything began, after the pertinent orders, in the Logistics Squadron of the National Gendarmerie, beside the “Centinela” Building. There we were provided with winter clothing, new weaponry, helmet, and other equipment that we would later use in the Islands. I also met who would be my superior, my companions and my subordinates – not all of them, but a considerable number gathered there. The Chief of the Squadron, Commander José Ricardo Spadaro, the 2nd Commander San Emeterio, the 2nd Commander Santo, the 1st Alférez Sánchez (whom I already knew from the “Atucha” Security Squadron), Sergeant 1st Class Ramón Acosta, Sergeant 1st Class Figueredo, Sergeant 1st Class Pepe, etc.
The waiting increased the anxiety, the men were nervous, all leaving their families, not knowing if they would return; nevertheless the enthusiasm overflowed, it was the opportunity of our lives, it could be the last. A question: would we be capable?... We were not just any men, we had been chosen to be the first gendarmes to depart for the Islands. The mere thought of it made our chest swell – it was truly a great honour to represent the National Gendarmerie in an event that would remain engraved in the great history of the Homeland. Truly, the commitment was very great.
One must feel and be supermen to attempt to emulate the feats of the gendarmes who had preceded us and taught the way. To recall the courage and moral integrity of the comrades who would remain on the continent, whose capacity was in no way less than ours; the weight of responsibility was truly overwhelming.
The men gave each other advice, all listened attentively to the Commandos specialists, on whose guidance our survival would depend; the wait thus became long and monotonous. Always checking the equipment, always the last glance, seeing how to carry so many things without discomfort: the weight of the helmet, the FAL, the kit bag, in my case the photographic camera, the nerves, etc.
The departure was postponed until the following day – dismay, the wait wore us out. Personnel were offered the possibility to return to their homes, to come back the next day at 07.00 hrs. Only one accepted; the rest did not wish to, or had nowhere to go. We slept on the floor; we had to begin to get used to the harsh conditions that surely awaited us.
At last, at 14.20 hrs on 27 May, we would embark on an Air Force plane bound for Comodoro Rivadavia. In the Logistics Squadron, the hours became eternal. The 2nd Chief of the Logistics Squadron, Commander Jorge Sachitela, offered us castor oil to soak our new TAM (high mountain troop) boots in order to make them waterproof – later we would confirm that it was a very wise measure. Sachitela saved us much work and did all he could for the good care of those who had to depart. A genuine man from Corrientes.
The comrades with Commando training reminded us of how important it was to have neckerchiefs long enough to be truly useful and not merely decorative. For example, they could serve to filter water, tie presumed prisoners, make an improvised stretcher with several of them, immobilise a broken limb, make a tourniquet, place it under the helmet to warm the ears – and so on, a series of useful ideas. For this reason, people were sent to buy green cloth for that purpose. Several metres were obtained, cut and sewn into neckerchiefs by the Squadron’s seamstresses. They proved to be really useful, if only to keep our necks warm and protect our ears. On our return we decided to adopt them and included them as necessary in a report drafted to assimilate the experiences gathered during the war, recommending very especially that the National Directorate order their use throughout the Gendarmerie, as indeed happened.
Before leaving there was time for everything, especially for thinking. There was an idea that gripped us, not spoken aloud but present in all: most probably we would not return alive, and we accepted our responsibility. Despite the overly optimistic news from broadcasters and journalists, we did not deceive ourselves. The fact that the enemy had managed to establish a beachhead at San Carlos, and that our troops had been unable to prevent it, represented a great vulnerability. Of course, it had cost them dearly, but as in truco, what costs is worth it, and we knew that too. However, there was something of which we were certain: as long as we were together, our blood would not come easily to the gringos.
Slowly we were growing accustomed to the idea of death – not in a fatalistic sense, but in being prepared for a possibility. Before departure we had each drawn up our individual will, we left authorisations for our families to collect our salaries; despite the rush, matters were resolved. Within the possible, everything necessary had been foreseen.
The time arrived to board the bus that would take us to the military airport of “El Palomar”. Prior to departure, we were bid farewell by Major General Ortiz, then National Director of the Gendarmerie; his words reminded us of the representation we bore and his certainty that we would play our part well.
As we left the Logistics Squadron, when traffic was cut on Avenida Antártida Argentina, the drivers from their cars greeted us with horns and handkerchiefs, arms raised, fingers in the “V” for victory. It was an emotional moment; despite the simplicity of the scene, for us it was the farewell of our people, those for whom we were going to lay down our lives.
Personally, I remember the farewell of my Director of Communications to me; he asked if I had warm clothing, I do not recall what I answered, but minutes before boarding the bus they brought me a parcel sent personally by Major Commander Emilio Faustino Rius. It contained a very warm pullover, a screwdriver, a pair of pliers, a roll of black insulating tape, and a handwritten note where he explained that the pullover was his and he hoped I would return it “without holes”. That garment proved most useful and, thank God, I was able to return it exactly as he had asked.
Shortly after the vehicle began moving, and as a way to lighten the moment, ideas were exchanged on the name that should be given to the Squadron, which had to have some relation to the mission we presumed awaited us. Several names were expressed, which I do not now recall, but ultimately someone mentioned “Scorpion” – I believe it was Commander Spadaro – because it is an insect that acts at night, is native, and sometimes its sting is lethal. In the end, this was the one adopted.
Minutes before boarding the Air Force “Fokker” that would take us to Comodoro Rivadavia, we saw arrive on the runway the Deputy National Director, General Commander Becich, together with all the members of the High Command of the National Directorate – that is, the General Commanders based in the “Centinela” building – who bid us farewell with heartfelt words, also greeting us each personally. It is curious, but in those moments, although it may seem futile, we all sincerely appreciated the gesture.
In column we boarded the plane that awaited us, which had already been loaded with our belongings as well as other cargo with the same destination. Here I must clarify: there were no stewardesses in sight, the seats (simple straps holding up the benches) were rather uncomfortable, there was no space to move, and the onboard service consisted only of some mate prepared by the mechanical NCO before landing. I managed to drink some accompanied by two sweet biscuits; undoubtedly it was not a commercial flight nor a journey of tourism.
At last we took off! The plane vibrated, the fresh air entered from all sides, a marvellous sunny afternoon. I sat alongside Commander Spadaro, 1st Alférez Sánchez and myself occupying the front of the aircraft.
During the flight some managed to sleep. Commander Spadaro, 1st Alférez Sánchez and 2nd Commander San Emeterio conceived an organisation for the Squadron which coincided with what was later adopted. The Operations Officer, 1st Alférez Sánchez, was ordered to draw up the “War Diary”.
Halfway through the flight I went to where the pilots were, speaking with the commander of the aircraft, who showed me how the onboard radar functioned, allowing me to observe the terrain and coastline to our left. I called our Chief, and the said commander, whose name I do not recall, told us what he knew about the situation in the Islands.
Truly, our previous assessments were not far from reality: the enemy continued its advance towards Darwin – Goose Green despite the attacks of our Air Force.
At that moment I remembered that we did not carry our own flag; I said so aloud, and we agreed to obtain one upon our arrival at Comodoro Rivadavia.
The flight from “El Palomar” to “Comodoro Rivadavia” lasted four hours and was quite heavy.
Arriving at the airport, we disembarked and went to the runway, where the wait would continue. While there, we saw some large devices with the appearance of bombs, about six metres long, without visible markings, slim and painted a greyish-brown colour. They were being loaded by soldiers from a flatbed to a lorry, and then onto an aircraft. Much later, in Port Stanley, we learned that these were the famous “Exocets”.
Thus ended the first stage of our mission, characterised by waiting, anxieties, and moving sensations. Then would come the baptism of fire, participation in the combats, the final outcome, and the return tinged with sadness and with fewer men. Some remained prisoners, and others as eternal sentinels of our irrenounceable sovereignty in the Archipelago.
