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Patrick Spillina continues his fleet diarv So this is war. Today, as dawn broke over sea-swept decks of the British armada I can sti!! hear faint echoes of celebrations of victory.

Yesterday ships rocked to exultant cheering of thousands of soldiers and sailors lining every corner of deck.

Not a day for fainthearted doubters, for pinko pacifists or for niggardly negotiators. A day for real men, for Englishmen, for English heroes.

Victory will go down in annals of naval history with Trafalgar, Battle of River Plate, Agincourt. This was day British fighting machine showed itself best in world.

Argies nil, England 1. That scoreline will be remembered when Wembley '66 has faded into distant memory.

Now in private diary away from prying eyes of millions I can reveal exciusively the identity of the person who made this dream come true. It was me.

It was last Sunday over dinner Admiral of Fleet told us of his plan to storm South Georgia. We sat spellbound as he negotiated the salt cellar within range of his bread roll and sent a broadside crashing into her. Ketchup went everywhere.

That was war, said the Admiral, "a damn bloody business. " He took another swig of whisky.

Outside ice crystals forming on beard of captain of watch. Marines on deck in force 9 gale playing football with handgrenade. Visibility downato zero. It was night.

Back in Blighty, treacherous coward Benn made another yellow-bellied antiwar speech. I filed an exclusive on how he changed his name from icecream salesman Antonio Benoni. Night Editor asks me for my source. I said I didn't think that was the sort of question a patriot would ask. He went very quiet and said over and out.

Next day marines on deck limbering up. Naval equivalent of SAS diving from bridge, landing head first on deck below. Good neck-strengthening exercises. Must remember to suggest to editor series on Keep Fit in Falklands. With line drawings of marines keeping in trim.

As boats are got ready 1 approach the Admiral. "Any