An Officer and his Dogs Part 7a: Night Warfare
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The Instant the Abyssal E-Boats had entered gun range of Squadron 3. The sea opened up into a hailstorm of fire. Streams of .50-caliber, 20mm, 37mm and 40mm gun and cannon fire from the guns of Squadron 3 ripped through the nighttime air in attempts to reach out and deal out crippling or mortal blows against their abyssal foes.
Soon after the PT Corgis had opened fired, so did their E-Boat counterparts. Muzzle flashes and tracers of the bright red and sickly bright-green variety scythed through what little cover of darkness the light of the nearly full moon provided. Revealing both shooter and target to one another as they in part attempted to gun down the other.
PT-41 was the very first PT Corgi of Squadron 3 to open fire on the enemy and she already tasted blood in her mouth as a burst of fire from one of the E-boats struck the upper portion of her nose and her rope locker.
For a split second she saw something leap from one of the hateful hounds as it plowed through a small wave while charging right at her. PT-41 barked out a warning to her squadron mates as she turned to port harder than she ever had done before to dodge the torpedo that had been fired at her.
She could feel the vile wake of the weapon as it passed by dangerously close to her hull. However one of the other E-boats saw the turn and directed the fire of some of its machine guns towards her as she was turning to set up a torpedo run.
PT-41 growled with pain and anger as streams of machine gun fire raked across the upper portion of her hull by the charthouse. Opening up tiny holes in her skin wherever the rounds had penetrated the two layers of double diagonal mahogany planking of her hull, she felt part of her awareness end abruptly as the gunfire damaged and shorted out her Radar mast.
Her gunners responded in kind with their own machine guns and while her 20mm 37mm and 40mm gun crews aimed at another E-boat. However the E-boats were tough in their own right. The monster shrugged off or simply didn't notice the streams of machine gun fire that peppered its hull from her and her squadron mates, though it did react to the smaller canons and it was certainly hurt by the 40mm canon fire.
In the chaos the battle had quickly devolved into. Another of the E-boats took aim at PT-41 with its 40mm cannon as it passed 600 yards off to her port side while laying fire from its other weapons into PT's 26 and 27. PT-41 didn't realize she had been targeted by a third of the monsters until she felt the impact of a burst of fire from its cannon rake her side and stern by the waterline.
PT-41 shirked out in pain as one of the explosive shells passed through her hull before burying itself into one of her three Packard engines and exploding. Destroying it and throwing shrapnel that damaged a second engine, as well as starting a fire in her engine compartment. The same burst of fire that had destroyed one of her engines had also ripped off one of her propellers and with it, one of her feet.
Perhaps smelling blood in the water, or just simply noticing a sudden drop in speed of one of the PT boats they were facing. The other E-boats shifted more of their fire to PT-41.
PT-41 shuddered and cried out in pain as numerous holes were punched into her hull above the water line as she came underneath concentrated fire. Her Crew fought back with all their might, knocking out a gun mount on one of the E-boats with 40mm fire from her stern mounted Bofors gun and setting another of the E-boats aflame at the stern with incendiary rounds from her Oerlikon and machine guns.
However the deluge of fire she came under was absolutely punishing. Part of her nose after having taken so many hits to the upper half of it; simply fell down into what was left of her rope locker and forward crew quarters as the deck no long had anything supporting it there. The partial collapse of the deck caused her bow mounted 37mm gun fall down into the forward crew quarters with it.
Having already been damaged by a glancing hit, one of PT-41's aft torpedoes was struck towards its tail by a 40mm round. The ensuring detonation of the round in the fuel flask of the torpedo a split second later not only created a sizable; if briefly-lived fireball that blistered her skin and singed her fur. It also tore open the pressurized air tank inside the torpedo.
The sudden failure of the air tank and subsequent prompt release of pressurized air blew the torpedo body apart in manner not too dissimilar to having a hot run occur with the older torpedoes in their old tube launchers.
However unlike with then, were the older torpedo tubes would have mitigated the damage to an extent, the failure of the torpedo body here tore off the lightweight roll rack that the torpedo had been in. Part of the deck and an 8 foot long horizontal part of her upper hull where the roll rack had been mounted on was also torn off.
Her right side was now partly ripped open and the almost extinguished fire in her engine compartment regained some of its vigor due to the sudden inrush of fresh air. She considered herself lucky that the hit hadn't set off the torpedo's warhead. Instead the warhead was sent tumbling off her side and into the water when the pressurized air tank blew apart.
However before she could really process her own damaged state further, another 40mm round struck her charthouse and blew a ragged chunk out of it. Destroying one of her eyes outright and stripping the area of her face around the destroyed eye it to the bone. It was hard for her to see out of her remaining eye due to the blood that seeped out of small cuts caused by the splinters thrown by the strike.
Most damningly though was that the hit had destroyed almost all semblance of direction she had and damage to the helm also meant a fair amount of her ability to control where she was going was gone as well.
Return fire from PT-41's guns ceased as part of her right flank burned from the renewed fire in her engine compartment. Most of her crew fought with the fire extinguishers she already had and whatever modern ones her crew had been able to 'procure' from parts of the base some months prior.
A decision she was thankful for since now they were being used to keep the fire in her engine compartment from growing any large and reaching any further than it had gone. A couple of her crew though scrambled around her deck and dumped her Torpedoes and unarmed depth charges into the water.
They were more of an explosion and fire liability now instead of an offensive tool to use. PT-41 slowly drifted to a stop as her crew now fully-committed to battling the raging fire that was threatening to engulf her engine room and consume her completely.
Her one intact eye could only watch on helplessly as one of the E-boats launched a torpedo that was carried up by a wave and struck the side of PT-42's bow, passing clean through it without arming and leaving a ragged bloody hole in 42's nose from its passing.
PT-42 retaliated with a near point-blank torpedo drop of her own. One of which struck the E-boat as the two fast attack craft passed each other. PT-41 figured that PT-42's torpedo must have smashed through the bow of the E-boat and buried itself a decent way inside of the ship before it had armed, for few seconds after the E-Boat and PT-42 had passed one another at flank speed the monster exploded from within.
PT-41 felt her vision tunnel, even as her crew bravely continued to fight the fire in her engine compartment. Trying their very best to keep the fire from consuming her fully, like it had in her first life. She didn't want to die like that again, burning was a most terribly painful death.
She was vaguely aware of the worst of the flames beginning to die down in her engine compartment before she passed out.
The other PT Corgis of Squadron 3 became more viscous in their attacks against the surviving E-Boats after they saw PT-41 catch fire and drift to a halt. One of the three surviving monsters was felled by a combined barrage of canon fire from PT's 33, 26, 27 and 29. Another E-boat had managed to heavily chew up PT-26 and PT-28's sterns with its quad mounted 20mm gun as it chased after them.
Completely unaware of the shallow-set depth charges the Corgis had dropped in their wakes until they blew up under it. Being caught between the twin depth charges when they went off broke the monster into several pieces that quickly slipped beneath the waves.
The final E-boat attempted to ram PT 35 amidships but a hard turn to port by PT-35 meant that the E-boat instead clipped and tore off part of her stern while destroying its own bow in the process. PT-35 took the closeness she had to the E-boat to open up with all her still functioning guns at the Abyssal's waterline. Tearing a ragged line into its port side and leaving it to flounder with a noticeable list.
PT-35 then circled around the stricken E-boat and pumped more fire into the side of it that was now exposed by its list while remaining mostly safe from its return fire. This final Abyssal fast attack boat then came under an absolutely withering barrage of fire from almost all of the PT Corgis that could still fight. The twisted vile craft simply came apart under the furious unrelenting barrage of canon and machine gun fire from 10 of the 12 PT Corgis of Squadron 3.
As they saw the last of the Abyssal fast attack boat slip under the waves, they knew they were victorious now that the battle was over.
However the price of their victory was high.
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PT-34 moved in a circle about 400 yards across around the rest of the PT Corgis of Squadron 3. She was acting as the unit's eyes as they tended to the wounded as best as their limited amount of Damage control supplies could provide.
She was lucky that she was one of two members of the Squadron to have escaped that confrontation with the E-Boats unscathed. The only other member of her squadron to have escaped unscathed was PT-32. Everyone else had some kind of damage.
Half of her Squadron mates though were far better off than others, having only suffered damage that was anywhere between losing only a single gun mount, to having their radar mast or their charthouse and rope locker moderately shot up. Four of her squadron mates however though had heavy damage; they either had no engines currently working.
Or they had only one propeller working and were more beaten up from the battle with damage mostly above the water line. But those sisters of hers weren't in any immediate danger of sinking.
Trusting her radar set to alert her to anything that could be coming. PT-34 looked out towards the PT Corgi that all the others were gathered around, PT-41 their squadron leader.
She was the most damaged amongst all of them by the time the battle was over. It had been almost 20 minutes now since the battle had ended and they had originally gathered around PT-41 to help her crew run damage control.
PT-34 did her best to suppress a worried whimper as she looked on. Her sister and Squadron leader was in very bad shape when she had originally pulled up next to her. PT-41 had been barely alive as it stood with so much of her body shot up as it was.
She figured the only reason why PT-41 hadn't sunk outright was because the majority of her battle damage was well above the waterline.
PT-34 had sent a good portion of her crew over to her stricken sister, along with all of her damage control supplies and tools. It was all she could do with what she had on hand to help keep her sister alive, her crew helping her sister's crew with plugging holes near 41's waterline with patches and bailing out water.
By the time the damage control supplies she had sent over were used up. The rest of the Squadron had gathered around them and began helping one another manage their damage. PT-34 had to pull her crew away as PT-42 took charge of the Squadron.
PT-42 had ordered her to circle the squadron as they helped the more wounded members and especially PT-41 treat the worst of their battle damage.
PT-34 was pulled away from her thoughts when she heard PT-42 bark while using her megaphone. It may have been loud but no enemies that would have been able to hear it were around, otherwise she would have detected them on her radar by now.
The tension and fear that had been gripping her heart lessened a small bit when PT-42 reported that their squadron leader wasn't in imminent danger of sinking anymore. She had briefly woken up and started talking to them, though PT-42 reported that PT-41's voice was barely audible.
PT-41 may have been barely talking but she was awake and talking. And that was what mattered to PT-34, her sister and squadron leader was still alive despite how shot up she was. Despite the fire that had ravaged a good part of her engine compartment and starboard side, PT-41 still lived.
A minute Later PT-34 heard PT-42's barks echo out across the water once more as she informed her of further developments. PT-41 had given 42 the order to break radio silence and call for help as well as warn New Orleans about a possible incoming abyssal attack.
Before she had passed out again, PT-42 said that PT-41's reasoning was that during their confrontation with the E-Boats, other Abyssal ships like Destroyers and Cruisers could have slipped past them at the edges of their radar's detection range.
PT-34 couldn't argue with that reasoning. After all, to her it would make tactical sense to intercept a patrol along their path with a small group of fast attack craft. So that a force further up on that patrol's route could slip past unnoticed while the patrol was tied up with the Fast Attack Boats.
At least, that's what Lieutenant Corgi had taught them long ago when they had answered the call of their beloved nation. She hung her head low and forced herself to look outwards; she needed to be vigilant for the sake of her more wounded sisters.
She may have had faith in her radar to cut through the night but it didn't hurt to use the mark 1 eyeball as well.
PT-42 at first attempted to Contact Atago and her two Destroyers to request back up. However she discovered that Atago and her two destroyers were about four hours out from her squadron's current location, even if they went to flank speed. Thinking for a minute to compose a message, PT-42 contacted New Orleans.
She was calling home, however she knew better than to continuously transmit. Least they make their location easily known to any other hostiles that could have picked up the signal. So she planned to wait four minutes between each repeat of her message, she would had preferred to wait longer between repeats but this was a situation where time was of the essence.
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Back in New Orleans PT-106 awoke to the sound of the radio in the main room receiving an incoming transmission. She was sleepy and confused at hearing the incoming transmission. Under their normal operating procedures. No contact was to be made with the main base by night patrols unless...they had made contact...with the enemy...
All the fur on PT-106's body stood up at once as she was jolted completely awake within a second by the realization. She jumped up from her comfy dog bed and sprinted across the main room of the barracks building at flank speed. She didn't care that some of her sisters were awoken by her passage, a situation had occurred and the Lieutenant needed to be woken up ASAP!
The nails of her paws left deep scratches on the wood floor as she came to a skidding but abrupt halt in front of the door to the Lieutenant's quarters. Standing up on her hind legs PT-106 scratched at the Lieutenant's door frantically, her nails pulling down wood shavings with each scratch she made.
A moment later one of her crew retrieved the on-board megaphone and she started frantically barking with all the volume she could muster from her little lungs. This naturally woke up everyone up in the PT Boat Barracks within a few moments. The volume at which she barked at would also have been able to be heard a fair distance from the PT Boat Barracks.
The seconds felt like hours as they slipped by. PT-106 stopped barking and got down back down on all four legs before she backed up from the door. Which now had a rather appreciable portion of it scratched thin by her frantic efforts to wake the Lieutenant up. PT-106 was about to charge into the door and break it down all together when she heard and saw the handle turn.
A moment later the door opened and revealed a rather groggy-looking Lieutenant Corgi and a very worried looking PT-247. She barked frantically at him, telling him that something had happened to make one of the night squadrons break radio silence.
William Corgi felt the tiredness and grogginess from barely having more than an hour of sleep flee him like animals before a forest fire as the meaning of PT-106's frantic barks finally registered in his mind. In a span of several seconds he went from standing at the door of his quarters to the radio set that was in the main room of the barracks. Just as Clayton and the other members of his staff emerged from their quarters to see what the commotion was.
The Lieutenant felt his stomach drop and a brief wave of vertigo washed over him as he heard PT-42 pained barks play out over the radio's speaker. He understood perfectly from her pained barks what it was she was reporting and it wasn't good news, not at all.
Knight 3 had made contact with and sunk four Abyssal E-boats. However their victory had exacted a heavy price. While two dogs were uninjured, five dogs were light-to-moderately wounded, four dogs were heavily wounded dogs, and finally one dog, the squadron leader was critically wounded. The news felt like a vice was slowly squeezing his heart as a hot knife was simultaneously being pushed through it.
Though what had made William's blood run well and truly cold however was when PT-42 suggested that this could be the opening move to an Abyssal assault on New Orleans. He waited for PT-42 to finish her message before he pushed and held down the transmit button on the Microphone. He heard the footsteps of his Staff coming up behind him as he took a breath to steady himself.
"Knight 3, Knight 3. This is Dog-Actual, Message received. I repeat message received. Make break for Kennel House under best possible speed. Friendly forces will be vectored from Kennel House to cover you …" There was a moment of dead air as he struggled to keep his voice calm and even.
"Hang on girls, Hang on. Help is on the way, Dog-Actual out." William's voice cracked ever so slightly before he released the transmit button and then turned to face his staff.
"What's going on William?" Gunnery Sergeant Clayton asked with a look of grim expectation on his face. William knew that Clayton had a solid idea on what was going on, but his XO had asked the question because the rest of his staff might not fully realize what was going on yet.
"Night Squadron 3 came under attack by Abyssal Fast attack boats a few minutes after midnight. Squadron 3 won the engagement but they're in a badly damaged state with four dogs heavily damaged and PT-41 critically damaged. PT-42 also reported that there is a strong possibility that this is the opening stage of an all-out assault on New Orleans. Ladies and Gentlemen, We need to act accordingly." William spoke with an even voice that had hints of anger rising up in it.
He didn't give anyone a chance to react to that information before he pointed to Ensign Crawford. He had orders to give, he had people to prepare and he had dogs to prepare. He couldn't waste time with unnecessary talk; they needed to prepare within whatever window of time they still had left. "Ensign Crawford!" he barked out with all the authority he had "Notify Admiral Raleigh of the situation if he doesn't know about it already. Go!"
His eyes shifted their intense focus to Ensign Jones even as Crawford sprinted out the door of the PT Boat Barracks still clad in shorts and a white T-shirt. "Ensign Jones, head towards the Ship Girl Dorms and run interception. If they ain't awake now. They sure as Hell will be very soon and they'll want answers. Tell them the situation if they don't already know it by the time you get to them. Go!" William commanded before he saw the Ensign sprint out of the building.
He couldn't blame her for being on the verge of panic. Not even a full two weeks out of the academy and she was being exposed to what potentially could become a very ugly fight. He suppressed a shudder as he remembered what the reports from Hawaii had recounted what an Abyssal invasion looked like.
William couldn't dwell on how well his two Ensigns were taking the situation at hand though. He still had too many orders to give, and too many things to prepare. "Ellen, Banks, Sandbar!" Barked William as he turned to face them "Gather medical supplies and two Ambulance Humvees from the base Motor pool. Prepare to receive wounded. Go!"
The three Marines saluted before departing. They ran but it wasn't the mad sprint like how the Ensigns had done when they had departed.
He faced the last four people other than himself in the room; his eyes individually met the eyes of three of them before he spoke. "Clayton, Lake, Sanderson. You three are with me. We've got dogs to prepare for sortie." His attention then turned to the PT Corgis of the Day Patrol who were more than wide awake now. He could see from the way they shook ever so slightly that they ready to leap into action.
"Squadron 5 and Squadron 7, prepare for immediate sortie. Squadron 5, you're to plug the hole in Squadron 3's patrol route. Report anything and everything you pick up on radar that isn't carrying an FFI device. Squadron 7, you are to escort the ship girls that will be vectored to cover Squadron 3's retreat. God knows there are gonna be mines out there. You're to keep those girls from hitting any of those things and act as their eyes with your radar sets. Am I understood?" William said with an icy cold voice.
The PT Corgis of Squadron 7 gave him a series of small barks in the affirmative.
William then turned his attention to the remaining dogs of the day patrol squadrons. "All other dogs are to be ready for sortie at a moment's notice." He said to the rest of the PT Corgis, who gave him a single resounding bark to confirm having understood their orders.
His eyes snapped over to Desmond with machine-like precision. "Desmond, set out however much food Squadrons 5 and 7 will need as of five minutes ago. Go! Go! Go!" He said with a raised but level voice to get everyone moving. He, his XO and the two other Navy Personnel that he had command over, bolted out the door of the Barracks building along with the PT Corgis of Squadrons 5 and 7. Their destination was the equipment building.
To William's surprise, it had taken just all of six minutes for Squadron 5 and 7 to be fitted out for sortie. Despite squadron 7 stocking up on extra damage control supplies and tools that were normally kept in the equipment building.
The Dogs of both squadrons then doubled back to building to eat. With Squadron 7 eating more than what was strictly necessary, no doubt to stock up on extra fuel to give to their stricken friends.
After that, the dogs sortied. There was none of the normal routine he had for sortieing PT Corgis this time around however, no seeing them off at the docks, no parting words or banter. The Corgis of Squadrons 5 and 7 had to get out there and get out there fast.
And so all he did was open the Barracks door for them after they had finished eating and nodded to them once. He watched as they sprinted out the door, raced down to and then across the floating docks at flank speed before allowing their built up momentum carry them off the edge and into the water.
The sound of 72 Packard 4M-2500 engines revving up to their maximum RPM almost at once as the dogs touched down on the water, created a wall of sound that roared out across the surface of Lake Pontchartrain and shattered the calm of the night. Before swiftly becoming a little more than a low rumble as the PT Corgis dashed away from the naval base on a heading out to the open waters of the Gulf.
Only squadron 7 briefly lingered as they got in touch with the ship girls they would be escorting through any potential minefields they could encounter. Then they sprinted off to meet their charges at some rendezvous point.
William could faintly hear the barks of Squadron 7 speaking with one another, as well as the ship girls they'd be escorting. Over the radio in the main room of the barracks as he helped Desmond and Clayton feed the other PT Corgi squadrons as they returned from the Equipment building with their rigging on.
William could not find it in himself to relax a single iota. He and his staff still had things to do and preparations to make for whatever may come next, but at the very least they could check preparing the PT Corgis off of that long list.
After the last of the remaining Daytime PT Corgi Squadrons had been fitted out in their rigging and fed. They had left the Barracks building to go to their standby positions at the floating docks and along the lake shore, patiently waiting for the command to sortie to be given to them from either himself or Admiral Raleigh.
After ordering Sanderson to go help Ellen, Banks and Sandbar with preparations to receive the wounded that would eventually arrive while Desmond manned the radio. William headed towards his Quarters to retrieve a very important set of items. As he left the main room, he saw Clayton and Lake as they went up to the second floor of the Barracks to retrieve armaments and other needed equipment.
If it did turn out that this was the worst possible scenario that was currently unfolding before them then they'd be ready for the fight. If it turned out that this wasn't the worst case scenario unfolding before them, then the weapons and equipment the two pulled out would be returned to storage.
However until it was known for certain what the situation was, he had been clear to his subordinates to be prepared for the worst. Which was something he was about to go do as well.
As William entered his quarters, he went straight to his closet to retrieve the one box whose contents he rarely removed outside of the necessary maintenance needed to keep it in serviceable condition. As he placed the Box labeled 'For if the worse was to come' on his dresser and opened it up. He fought with and subdued the feelings of fear and dread that were creeping up within him.
After he took a moment to draw in a deep breath before slowly letting it out to regain his focus, He reached into the medium-sized cardboard box and pulled out a custom-order Pelican Hard case that was nearly the same size as the cardboard box it had been in.
William opened the hard case and removed the gun it held inside. A Desert Eagle chambered in .50 Action Express. It was a gift he had received from his father at age 15 when he started hunting wild hogs with his old man. It was a very good backup weapon to have when being unexpectedly confronted by a charging six-hundred pound wild pig. A brief feeling of nostalgia along with a few happy hunting memories washed over William as he ran a thumb across the flat black colored body of the pistol and its integral muzzle break.
However that feeling and the happy memories that had come with it vanished as he remembered what was going on currently. The ghost of a smile William had on his face faded to a subtle frown as he pulled out the pistol's belt holster, four magazine pouches and five magazines. Before finally removing the two 20-round boxes of 350 grain Full Metal Jacketed Flat Nose ammunition that he kept inside the hard case, some might have thought using that particular ammunition was overkill.
But for him, the sidearm and its ammunition was an assurance. An Assurance that if he found himself facing the things Abyssals had as ground troops. That his first shot on them would be enough to put it down for good. However though, there was another purpose for him having gone through the trouble of filling out all the paperwork needed for him to be allowed to have the venerable hand cannon of a pistol on base.
Should things turn out such that he would have to carry out the 9th and final standing order he had for the unit. Whether if it was on himself or one of his subordinates, should they end up in position to be unable to carry it out themselves. He wanted to be certain without a doubt that no matter what, he'd be able to do the job with one trigger pull.
Unable to completely dispel those dark thoughts from his mind despite his best efforts. William opened the ammo boxes up and loaded seven rounds into each of the five magazines with machine-like efficiency before placing four of the mags into their magazine pouches.
After that he fastened the tactical holster and magazine pouches to the right-hand side of his belt. William picked up the semi-automatic pistol and loaded the fifth and final magazine into. Once he heard and felt that the magazine was firmly in its well. He pulled the slide back to chamber a round before he clicked the safety on and holstered the weapon.
When William stepped back out from his quarters and walked into the main room. He saw Clayton and Lake were busy inspecting a half dozen M4A1's at the main table. The BAR the PT Corgis had found and given to Clayton laid on a chair next to the XO.
The Lieutenant looked over to the other side of the room and saw that Desmond was on the radio with a Sergeant Stacker. Stanley was assisting the army Sergeant with coordinating the PT Corgis stationed in Port Fourchon.
William tried to find something to do but beyond bringing out plate carrier vests and helmets from one of the first floor storage rooms for Clayton's marines to put on. There was nothing else for him to do but sit, wait and pray.
There were quite a few things William knew he could pray for, that this wasn't the start of an all-out abyssal invasion of New Orleans. That Squadron 7 would successfully screen Nachi and her group against any possible mines and enemy vessels that may between them and Squadron 3. He could pray that the badly wounded PT Corgis would make it home alive, especially PT-41.
William Wallace Corgi knew he could pray for all of that and far more. So he silently did just that as he sat down on one of the stools by the Radio set. Waiting for whatever it was that may come next.
For better or for worse he would be prepared for whatever may come next.
For his own sake and for the sake of those he led, he had to be.
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