Fearless.

Fearless……..she had a sister, Intrepid. Both were Landing Platform Docks, in the parlance of the MOD.
Fearless was capable of carrying war to other people. There was room onboard for a whole Commando Unit, the Mortar team, the anti-tank team and our artillery support, six 105 howitzers, plus a flight of Gazelle or Scout helicopters. At the rear is a gridded gate, when this flat bottomed sow of a seagoing nightmare, was ready the rear portion of the docking area behind the gate would be flooded, then, like a bunch of mad cygnets, four Landing Craft Tanks, would emerge. From the port and starboard sides four Landing Craft Vehicles and Personnel would be lowered seawards, full of Marines acting like sheep, many were the “BaaaBaaaa” calls between the LCVps as we waited to go ashore. That would often bring a stern (did you see what I did there) rebuke. 
The larger LCTs could take a tank, but we didn’t own any and the tankies prefer the open plains of Germany or Iraq for their fun. The LCTs would bring our heavy beach recovery vehicles and transport. Meanwhile the usual chaos ensued on the flight deck. Once the Gazelles had gone there was ample room for three larger Wessex to land and pick up 8 - 10 fully kitted Marines. 
Believe it or not there was plenty of deck space but the Navy insisted on placing their toy boats and the gangway in the corner, plus any containers of food and ammunition we needed. The only real unpleasantness was the fumes coming from the funnels. You could get a good choking of diesel fumes as you came over the deck. 
There’s a big half-open door at the front of the deck, behind which is a sloping ramp which goes all the way down three levels to the boat dock. This was our play area while trying to keep fit en-route to our holidays in the sun. We also lived on the unused tank decks, using camp beds, which was quite comfortable compared to where we were going to or had just been. Fresh air, the scent of the sea and four hundred slumbering souls. The food was OK, the showers were OK, it was never dark as we tramped to the heads in towel and flip flops. During a nasty Mediterranean storm during December 1972 we watched the old Ark Royal shipping waves (Greenies) over her flight deck. We felt no pity, our tub, being flat bottomed was performing her own Olympic grade performance. An Army Gunner attached to the Artillery group was a pitiful sight. On land he was a huge 6’ 3” and black as the night. Clinging to a missile launcher he hurled his own internal projectiles everywhere and turned a muted shade of green. Poor man suffered. 
I was already long gone when Argentina made their mistake in 1982. Fearless and Intrepid were integral to getting Royal Marines and their gear ashore, quickly, whilst being bombed. When her landing craft went to collect the Paras from Canberra all went well until they got to the beachhead at San Carlos. When Marines get to the beach the Coxswain yells “Down ramp, out troops,” and we would either wade ashore or skip merrily onto dry sand. When he yelled the same thing to the Paras they were puzzled; being a Marine he did a quick rethink and yelled, “Red on Green on - Go Go Go….” Off they went. The Royal Marines, the thinking man’s Para. 

Sadly both the girls have been razor blades for many years.