In January 1926, Spain gained a new national hero. Pilot Ramón Franco Bahamonde had just completed a daring transatlantic flight, while crowds at Plaza de Colón in Madrid chanted his name. No one could have guessed that just twelve years later, he would disappear under mysterious circumstances, fighting on the same side as his brother Francisco—even though throughout his life, he held completely different political views.
The Flight That Changed Everything
Ramón Franco was not born a pilot. He began his military career as an ordinary infantry officer, sent to Morocco in 1914. Only six years later did he move to the cockpit, joining the Spanish Air Force. This decision would change his fate and write his name in the annals of aviation history.
On January 22, 1926, the seaplane Plus Ultra took off from Palos de la Frontera in Huelva province. On board with Franco were Captain Julio Ruiz de Alda Miqueleiz, Navy Lieutenant Juan Manuel Duran, and mechanic Pablo Rada. Ahead of them lay more than ten thousand kilometers of ocean and the unknown.
The route ran through the Canary Islands, Cape Verde Islands, Pernambuco, Rio de Janeiro, and Montevideo. After 59 hours and 39 minutes of flight, Plus Ultra landed in Buenos Aires.
The Spanish-speaking world went wild with joy. Newspapers around the globe described the achievement of the Spanish aviators, and Ramón Franco instantly became a celebrity—even before the word itself existed.
A Rebel in Uniform
His fame did not make Franco a docile servant of the regime. On the contrary—during Miguel Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship, he frequently publicly criticized the authorities. The consequences were predictable: plots, prison, escape. Yet nothing could stop his political engagement.
In December 1930, Ramón Franco performed one of the most spectacular acts of political disobedience in Spanish history. Along with other republican pilots, he took control of planes at the Cuatro Vientos airfield and flew over Madrid, dropping leaflets. These leaflets proclaimed that a republican revolution had broken out across the country, calling citizens to rise up. It was a calculated lie, intended to cause chaos.
The plan failed. Franco fled to Portugal, returning only after the proclamation of the Second Spanish Republic. The new government appreciated his merits—in April 1931, he was appointed head of the aeronautics directorate. However, his bureaucratic career lasted only two months. An unclear affair in Tablada, suggesting his involvement in another revolutionary plot in Andalusia, led to his resignation.
The Civil War Paradox
When the Spanish Civil War broke out in July 1936, Ramón Franco was thousands of kilometers from his homeland, working as an air attaché at the Spanish embassy in Washington. What he did after returning to Europe surprised everyone who knew his republican convictions.
Franco joined the nationalists—the very same camp led by his brother Francisco. The man who once dropped leaflets calling for a republican revolution was now bombing republican cities. Promoted to lieutenant colonel, he took command of the airbase in Mallorca. His fellow aviators received this nomination with open hostility. They remembered that Franco had been a freemason expelled from the service—yet now he was promoted above officers with real combat credentials.
On October 28, 1938, the Italian seaplane CANT Z.506, piloted by Ramón Franco, crashed off the coast of Mallorca, near Pollença. Officially, the aircraft was en route to bomb Valencia, controlled by the republicans. The pilot’s body was recovered from the water, but the circumstances of the crash were never fully explained.
Conspiracy theories emerged immediately. Ramón’s sister claimed he had been murdered by freemasons, who allegedly loaded bricks and mortar onto his plane. The motive was said to be his planned publication of an anti-masonic book.
Regardless of the true cause of death, the most telling reaction came from his brother. Francisco Franco, who after the nationalists’ victory in 1939 took dictatorial control of Spain, broke almost all contact with Ramón’s widow and daughter. He ruled the country until his own death in 1975, but the memory of his rebellious brother was apparently too uncomfortable to cherish.
Autor
Marcus Renfell
Marcus Renfell is a historian driven by curiosity and passion. He refuses to accept the “safe,” polished versions of the past. Instead, he brings forgotten, overlooked, and distorted stories back to life. His work blends scholarly precision with the art of storytelling, turning historical narratives into vivid, page-turning experiences.
His mission is simple: to prove that history can be gripping, alive, and deeply personal.
His debut book: Women of Science. Stories You Were Never Told
In his first publication, Marcus Renfell shines a light on the remarkable women who shaped the world of science — both the pioneers whose names we know and the brilliant minds history forgot. It’s an inspiring journey through untold stories, groundbreaking achievements, and the resilience of women who changed our understanding of the world.
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