When the first attack came in, the after seacat launchers, on the hangar roof were damaged together with 3 casualties caused by cannon fire.The Gunners became the heroes of the day. When you think of it, 260 on the ship, but only a couple of dozen actually firing weapons & missiles. One of the killick Gunners was firing a GPMG and followed the aircraft as it passed-overhead. He managed to shoot away one of our whip aerials in his enthusiasm, but hey, most of the bullets were heading in the right direction.Argonaut claimed a shared hit on a Dagger with HMS Plymouth, and claimed to have downed a mirage and an aermacchi with seacat unaided on day one alone. That said, with literally hundreds of people pointing weapons in the same direction, it's without a doubt that many claimed hits were at least duplicated. The tally on the first day of the landings (21 May) over San Carlos, I remember hearing at the time, was 17 aircraft shot down.One incident I remember hearing was that the flight-deck crew got rather jumpy after the first raid - completely understandable in my book. What didn't help however was the gunners tap-dancing on the deck of the hangar roof to simulate cannon-fire each time an aircraft passed close-by. Much to their mirth, the flight deck crew could be seen diving for cover...until they "clicked", after which a short, sharp "altercation" ensued.One evening I had a walk around the upperdeck and was surprised how close we were to land. I thought the islands would just be a blip on each horizon - but there they were - within easy swimming distance. You could even see the Royal Marines on the headlands digging-in and establishing defensive positions, should they be required.As we walked around the decks there were dozens and dozens of spent green-painted metal cartridge cases scattered about the decks. At first we thought they were left by our Gunners, but they were too big to be from hand-held firearms such as GPMGs and too small to be 40/60mm bofor cartridges. It then dawned on us - they were actually 20mm canon cartridge cases that poured out of the wings of Argentine aircraft as they overflew us, shooting at other targets ahead of them.When the big hit came-in, later that day, just as the casevac helicopter came to the hover, we had just passed a brew down to the lads in the Seacat Mag & dropped the hatch, settling back for a cup of tea. Listening to the Command Loop, huddled outside the Exocet Power Room, we could hear the Captain calling "Check" on the weapons systems and the Gunners screaming "They're Argies, they're Argies". The Captain came back - "I repeat: Check, Check..." boom!The Captain got a DSO.At the moment of the hit, my plastic mug of tea (two sugars) catapulted upwards as the deck whipped, so everyone got some. At the same time - we had isolated salt water to the heads, a galvanised steel bucket, brim-full of pee landed squarely on the head of one of the stokers. Unlucky.Ever since that day, 21st May 1982, I've never drunk tea as my preferred hot beverage. Superstition? Maybe... But, I've not been bombed by an Argentine A4 skyhawk since.After the hit, there was a total steam failure & the diesel generators could not be started as the High Pressure air system was ruptured. We were in total darkness, two guys entered 3Ea Messdeck & extinguished a small fire. The first earned a mention in despatches.Simultaneously two of us leaped into the pitch-black 3Ez messdeck, immediately aft, above the magazine, landing knee-deep in diesel fuel. The magazine test plug in the magazine hatch (presumably blocked by debris) indicated no difference in pressure. There was virtually zero visibility - thick white smoke, but no visible fire. We knocked the clips back off the hatch & a solid column of fuel and water spewed about 4 foot upwards. At the time we didn't realise the compartment was open to the sea & as the ship rolled & dipped in the sea the water level inside was equalising with that outside. Try as we might, working with just miners headlamps to help us see, we couldn't get into the magazine to rescue the guys in there. Later we found out they were pretty much killed the instant the bomb came through. We thought we were sinking & four of us stood on the hatch to close it & shore it up with 4"x 4" timber The water/diesel in the messdecks increased the ships loll, the force of the liquid actually ripping out bunk & locker fittings, making it lethal as they surged across the half-flooded compartment whilst we plugged splinter holes on the ships sideThe bomb, underneath us, struck the full magazine, only four or five yards beneath our action station. The hydraulic pressure peeling the deck back, exploding a Seacat missile warhead in the hoist, killing the two sailors in the weapons handling team. The magazine was flooded by the dieso in the adjacent ruptured fuel tank, miraculously extinguishing the blaze. The bomb bounced off the starboard side of the magazine, exploding a case of 40/60 Bofor shells, then smashed through a row of Seacat missiles, shearing the warheads off, before coming to rest embedded in the side of the last missile in the row.At the moment of the hit, a young Sub Lieutenant Morgan, ran from the bridge to the foc'sle as the ship ploughed full ahead toward Fanning Head, out of control because the engine & boiler room were evacuated. He slipped the anchor bringing us to a juddering halt. The same guy later dived in the flooded magazine to check whether the bomb had passed clean through – it hadn’t, it was lodged in the magazine. He also sighted the bodies. A very brave chap: he actually had to take off his diving set and pass it through the bomb entry holes first so he could swim after it The next 24 hours were spent trying to strip-out the messdecks whilst we were towed further into San Carlos Bay by a couple of Fearless's landing craft.HMS Plymouth, our heroes of the hour amidst the action, that evening tied-up alongside us as we anchored, providing us with food and passing air lines to try and get a generator going. Immediately after the hit, Plymouth put herself between the aircraft & ourselves, throwing up a barrage of 4.5" shells, effectively stopping a coup de grâce.Argonaut was silent, no power, no ventilation noise, battery lighting & you could hear each footfall echoing around the ship. Very eerie. Earlier, the damage repair patrol reported back to the section base, laughingly recounting catching an MEM(L) 'Spider' (name changed to protect the guilty), wearing a miners headlamp in the Switchboard, “reading an adult magazine”.Several hours later, there was a "click" on the main broadcast, followed by a pause. To a man, we waited expectantly - was it going to be a "Sitrep?". Presumably internal comms had switched it onto battery back-up. A whispered, quizzical deep voice boomed around the ship in a stage whisper: "Spider?" *long pause*..."Spider... we're watching you" came the ominous mystery voice, echoing and hanging in the air. Muffled pockets of laughter could be heard throughout the ship.