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In Buenos Aires, while the British fleet moved down the South Atlantic like the weight on a clock, Galtieri told me, "The Argentine government is willing to find an honorable solution that will save Mrs. Thatcher's government. But we cannot sacrifice our honor." Then he lowered his voice, looked around the table at his colleagues, and added, "You will understand that the Argentine government has to look good too."
He was caught in the difficult position of trying to save a situation he did not create. The Falklands adventure was a navy operation, conceived and urged upon the junta by that service. The air force, realizing it must bear the brunt of any battle with the British navy and air force, was unenthusiastic. So, to a lesser degree, was the army. On at least three occasions, Galtieri prevented offensive operations from taking place, and there is reason to speculate that when the invasion finally was put in train, in deepest secrecy and employing only naval forces, the air force, and perhaps the army, may not have known exactly what was happening until it was too late to stop it.
With heavy meaning, Galtieri then told me, "I cannot fail to express to you that I have received offers of aircraft, pilots and armaments from countries not of the West. Last night at midnight, a Cuban plane arrived in Buenos Aires carrying Emilio Aragones Navarro, the Cuban Ambassador to Argentina, who brought an urgent letter to me from Fidel Castro." That the Soviets, despite their preoccupations in Poland and Afghanistan, should have sent the Cubans to scout a target of opportunity as tempting as Argentina was hardly astonishing. At one point, Galtieri confided that the Russians had insinuated that they might be prepared to have one of their submarines sink the British carrier Invincible with Prince Andrew aboard and let Argentina take credit for the action. I was incredulous, but when imaginations begin to skid out of control, so do events.
Machismo appeared to be the style of the Argentine leadership. This would mix dangerously with the icy scorn and iron will of Mrs. Thatcher. Even when the determination of the British was pointed out in crystal-clear terms, Galtieri replied, "Why are you telling me this? The British won't fight." In this judgment, I believe, he had the agreement if not the tutelage of Nicanor Costa Méndez, the Foreign Minister, who was reportedly the main opponent of my advice. On a number of occasions after Galtieri had showed some movement in the negotiations, Costa Mendez met with me privately and amended what his President had said, hardening the Argentine position and making resolution impossible.
From Washington, I learned that the indiscipline that had vexed other diplomatic efforts was intensified. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was describing the progress and the meaning of the talks, about which she knew little, in a variety of public forums. She was acting out of a deep loyalty to her own principles and very intelligent opinions. The populist instincts of the White House staff, quick to adjust appearances to shifts in public mood and opinion, were the real cause of the problem.
On my return to Argentina, I found its leaders still incredulous at Britain's resolve. "I am truly surprised," said Costa Méndez, "that the British will go to war for