Omake: Doggos!
Admiral_Corgi
The Admiral of the PT Boats
- Location
- The Strange land of Florida
Well folks, after seeing how many of ya'll liked the preview. Though I did have to make a slight change to the things seen in the preview to make thing flow better here in the full omake, but it isn't anything major. Anyways here's the full omake. I hope ya'll enjoy this. And don't worry, I'm 93% certain that the next one of these I write won't be anywhere near as long as this first one was! I promise!
So enjoy this look at a full day with a Overworked and badly Understaffed Navy Lieutenant who handles the PT Corgis. Enjoy.
Omake: An Officer and his Dogs
[=]
William jolted awake in his bed, his breathing was labored and his heart thundered against his ribcage, sweat was beaded all over his face and pooled on around his back before soaking into the sheets. He blinked several times and rubbed his face with his hands to clear away the vestigial remnants of the nightmare he had. A few seconds later he felt a small but heavier than expected and warm paw lightly scratched at his chest, which further pulled his thoughts away from the nightmare he had awoken from.
Pulling his hands from his face, A glance down revealed the Corgi that was sleeping at the foot of his bed was now awake and pawing at him, even with his darkness adjusted eyes it was almost impossible to see the dog's features in the near complete darkness.
"Its okay boy, it was just a bad dream, that's all." He said to dog in the dark as he rubbed the top of its head with one hand and scratched its ear with the other. The Corgi leaned into the touch and William could feel it wag its tail, the dog seemingly satisfied with his answer and the affection; jumped off the bed and waited by the door.
William glanced over to his alarm clock and noted the time was 0315. He groaned slightly as he realized he woke a full hour before his alarm was set to wake him, again and only managed to get 4 and a half hours of sleep, again. However he couldn't go back to bed, even if he wanted to, now that he was up. It was time to start the day.
"I know, just make sure everyone else is up by the time I get outta the shower dressed alright?" William said to the dog as he opened the door to his quarters and allowed the Corgi out of his room, the dog gave him a short cheerful bark before trotting out the open door. William closed it again and then made his way to his quarters personal shower.
A few minutes and one hot shower later, he was dressing into his NWU's, though before he pulled his pants up, he looked at the scar on his right thigh. A ragged, jagged line of angry pink that stretched from near the top of his knee to a few inches shy of the bottom of his hip. One of the constant reminders to him of that week, that first god awful week and what he went through back then.
Shaking his head to dispel the memories that threatened to bubble up, he pulled up and buttoned his trousers before he finished getting dress. Once he was presentable, he strode out of his quarters and down the hall that opened up to the rest of the building, past the doors quartered the other members of his group. Quiet shuffles of pawed feet clued him in that the PT boats were waking up and climbing out of their beds. The fact that the lights were on in the Kitchen area and he could smell the coffee even from the other end of the building meant only one thing. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was already up and about.
As he strolled across the open room that served as the PT Corgi sleeping area to the open kitchen, William was already thinking about the day ahead. The reports he'd have to write up and send to his superiors, the post-patrol reports the returning night rotation would give him. The more immediate issue of feeding the 48 PT Corgis of the Day rotation before they headed out for their 12 hour shift. And much much more, however all of that was to the wayside for the time being. He couldn't do much of anything without coffee, and he needed a damn cup of coffee right now.
"Thanks Jim." William said to Gunnery Sergeant Clayton as the Marine handed him a mug of black coffee. A single sip sent the last lingering vestiges of his sleepiness fleeing like the morning fog before the hot summer sun. "Extra strength?" He asked inquisitively to the Gunny. Who only nodded before he walked over to the stove and began preparing something.
"Yep, Figured you needed it Wallace because you kinda look like shit man." Clayton said as he cracked some eggs into a pan and began frying them. William didn't bristle or get angry at Clayton's behavior or the casual usage of his middle name, partly because the two of em had been friends for years even before they both had entered the Armed Forces. Partly because he had told his friend to drop the formalities either when nobody else was around or when he needed Clayton to tell him exactly how things were without sugar coating it. The later, Clayton was particularly good at. Letting a soft sigh pass his lips, William took another hearty sip of the black elixir.
"I guess you're right Jim, didn't get much sleep again." William said with a measure of resignation to his voice, life hasn't been easy in the area around New Orleans since Pearl fell, even though he had heard that Pearl was just recently liberated. It'd still probably be a few days at best, or a week or more at worst before the shipgirls that were normally stationed in the Gulf returned. In the meantime, his PT boats would have to try to fill in the gaps as best as possible. Or least, take some of the burden off of the ship girls still stationed here in the Gulf Region.
His PT boats were roaming as far west as Galveston, Texas and as far east as Panama City, Florida; from their home station of Port Fourchon. Admittedly only having two squadrons going east and two going west meant the day and night Rotations were rather thinly spread out themselves when they sortied. But it did mean that some of the pressure on the remaining Destroyers and Cruisers stationed in the Gulf was eased ever so slightly. William was pretty sure all the Dogs understood that clearly. They often showed themselves far smarter and more resourceful than one would expect from a dog. William always figured it was because of the nature of PT boat operations during WWII that gave them those traits.
After he finished his mug of Coffee and the fried eggs Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was kind enough to make for the both of em. The two heard the sounds of the other five members of their rag-tag crew waking up and walking out of their rooms. "Jeez don't ya two ever sleep?" Came the disbelieving voice of Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake. "Early risers get the best pickings Petty Officer Lake." William said with just a tad bit of sarcasm to his voice.
The petty officer grumbled something about sleep as he and other four dog handlers made themselves a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat. As they did, William and Gunnery Sergeant Clayton when about feeding the PT Corgis, it wasn't a full meal because the dogs fuel reserves weren't depleted, but it was a top off before they went to go on their 12 hour patrol shift.
William didn't mind handling the bags of dog food and helping out with filling the bowls. He'd do the same thing that the men under him would, unless it was something he couldn't do himself, the men and it also seemed like the dogs themselves respected him for that. Though he did admit that life for him and his men would be easier if they had a few more people on hand to handle the work load.
After the last of the dogs were fed and the other members of his unit had a quick bite to eat, it was few minutes to 0445. Which now meant he needed to get moving, by the time the dogs were fitted into their rigging and assembled at the landing, the night rotation would be coming in. William looked at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, who only gave him a nod before gathering his marines to help set out food for the returning night rotation.
William headed towards the equipment shed with Petty Officer Lake and Warrant Officer Sanderson, the 48 PT dogs of the day rotation followed hot on their heels. As the three Navy men entered the shed and flipped the lights on, they started pulling riggings off their racks and stacked them on carts according to who was fitting out which PT boat. The PT Corgis for their part where coming through the dog door in a neat ordered line arranged by squadron and waited for the Navy men to affix their rigging to them.
William had seen twice before in the past how involved putting on a ship girl's rigging could be when he was in New Orleans. He was thankful that the process of helping the Corgis put their rigging on wasn't any nearly as involved. Actually the process itself was far more like putting a doggy life vest on the PT boats than assembling a mysterious piece of equipment on the dogs. The procedure was simply enough on paper, he and Petty Officer Lake would take a vest and buckle it onto a PT Corgi before letting the dog go to Warrant Officer Sanderson, who'd do the final check to make sure everything was on snugly before letting the dog walk out of the shed's exit door.
Even though the process was simply on paper, and in practice, the sheer number of PT Corgis meant the three of them had to be very swift in their motions to get everything done on time. Almost fifteen minutes of Organized Chaos later saw the three men exit the equipment shed, Warrant Officer Sanderson and Petty Officer Lake jogged back to the PT boat Barracks to give Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's Marines extra help with setting up the meal the returning night rotation would utterly demolish.
As for William himself, he looked at the assembled PT boats to make sure all were present and then he started down towards the concrete landing of the floating dock. The PT dogs silently followed him in formation. It wasn't terribly far of a walk from the equipment shed to the dock landing, and the morning coolness certainly made the trek more bearable. But it still was a roughly 200 feet of walkway to cross. Recently built walkway. Just about everything military related here was built within the last year and a half. All of it a response to Abyssal threat posed against the Gulf region.
William knew this place wouldn't ever become a proper Navy Port, at least not anytime soon. The current setup and layout of the oil facilities present here precluded that, and they were too critically important to the war-effort to dismantle and move further inland. So the Military compromised and turned the wetlands area around and to the west of the port into a ad-hoc Naval base. Most of the Major Facilities were located just to the west of the port itself, though his section of the base was practically right in front of the oil and pipeline facilities.
There were a few more shore batteries and AA guns in his area of the base than the others to better protect the oil and pipeline facilities but William knew that it probably wouldn't be enough to repel a determined abyssal force that managed to get past the Maritime air patrols, the conventional ships that patrolled the waters around the base, and the PT Corgis stationed here. Really speaking, this base was just the advance warning for the Main Gulf Theater operations base in New Orleans in the event of a Major Abyssal assault. In a cynical sense, they were meant to buy as much time as possible for New Orleans to muster up a proper defense.
He shook his head slightly to dispel those thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to dwell on thoughts like that, especially now since he could just see silhouetted by the early morning sun, the PT Dogs of the night rotation coming in. A quick look at his watch read 0525, pretty much right on time. William walked forwards from the dock landing out onto the floating dock itself, he walked the entire 150 foot length of the floating dock and waited at its edge for the night rotation to come in.
He didn't have to wait much longer, as the dogs came up the edge of the dock in three neat ordered lines of sixteen. "Patrol boats, permission to come ashore granted. Fall in and get some chow, Squadron leaders, make sure patrol reports are in my office by 0745." He said to them before they climbed up onto the docks and hurried along up the dock to the landing to form up in their groups before dashing off to the PT Barracks.
He watched them for a short bit as he came back to the dock landing with the last trio of PT boats from the night rotation. He always tried to catch sight of the moment where their rigging vanished into thin air, but alas he's never once yet seen it happen. This morning wouldn't be different from all the others in that regard.
Turning his attention away from the retreating forms of the night rotation and towards the day rotation, he started walking down the length of the floating dock once again, the PT boats of the Day rotation following close behind him, and as he reached the end of the dock he turned to his side to allow the dogs to Pass by.
"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 1700. Watch yourselves out there, and come back safe." William said to the Corgis before they stepped off the dock and onto the water. As they formed up into their squadrons they departed with headings towards their designated patrol areas. William himself remained on the dock for a couple minutes after the last of the PT dogs had formed up and departed with their squadron before he started his way back to the PT Boat barracks.
He'd see if there was anything he could do to help Clayton and the others with feeding the night rotation. Unlike the day rotation who had just half a scoop more dog food than what'd one normally expect to feed a Corgi for the day to top off their fuel reserves. The Night Rotation was running on close to empty.
Individually, a hungry PT Corgi couldn't even eat as much as a Destroyer ship girl could, unless the rumors he'd heard on the grape vine about the Akizuki-class were true. However a pack of 48 Hungry PT Corgis could probably make more than a handful of battleships balk at just how much food they could utterly demolish.
As He reached the PT Boat Barracks, William was greeted by the tail end of the controlled chaos that was feeding a returned patrol rotation. There wasn't much for him to do besides help Pfc Ellen and Sergeant Banks carry out the two dozen or so empty 55 pound bags of dry dog food to the dumpster. As well as move about three and half dozen more bags from the Storehouse to the Barracks Building proper.
William didn't mind doing this kind of work, though he did strongly believe that his group needed at least a few more people with the correct qualifications around to ease the workload. But then again, the tempo of operations here was several times higher than it normally was, because his Dogs had to pick up the slack left behind by Alaska's and Saratoga's departure from the Gulf for the effort to retake Pearl.
As William returned to the Barracks building and made his way over to his office, he wondered how much longer his rag-tag crew could keep up the pace of operations, he wondered how much longer the Dogs could take this tempo too. They've been able to manage for the past two and a half weeks, but he could see the fatigue starting to build up and it was only a matter of time before something gave. Or the stockpile of dry dog food ran out.
William took a small comfort in the fact that at, the very least, the Barracks building and its rooms were air conditioned. If they hadn't been, William knew that morale here for both Human personnel and the dogs would be rock-bottom. Letting a heavy, tired sigh out the Lieutenant sat down at his desk and opened up the laptop that rested on it. A quick check of the Email confirmed that nothing major was developing...yet.
Though he did see news regarding Pearl, that during the effort to retake the base and right after the base was retaken several shipgirls were summoned, Several battleships at that. Which good news,very good news for William, maybe his PT Corgis and Support Staff can finally catch a much needed break in the very near future. Though he did pause when he saw that among the ships that had returned, Missouri and Wisconsin were amongst them. His eyes flicked back to reread the statement in the email again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
When William realized what he was reading was indeed real, a happy smile broke across the Lieutenant's face with a very relieved sigh. USS Wisconsin always had a special place in William's heart, she was the first museum ship he had ever visited back when he was a kid, and it was that visit to her that started his fascination with the Navy, which ultimately led him to join the Navy once he was out of High school, almost Seven years before this War had started. He had been devastated when News broke that she was sunk, but felt a sense of pride that she went down with Zero hands aboard her.
Now seeing that she has returned, he felt that he could probably start sleeping easier at night in the near future, even if Wisconsin was reassigned to guard the Panama Canal again. A small scratchy tap broke him from his thoughts, he blinked and looked up from his screen. "Enter." He calmly said one of the PT Corgis came into the room through the dog door. William rolled his chair back a bit to be able to reach down and take the small stack of large postage stamp sized papers the Fairy standing on top of the Corgi's head held out for him. They were the post-patrol reports he had asked for earlier.
A glance at the wall clock showed that it was 0720. He briefly wondered how just how long had he actually been staring at his emails, but only briefly. He watched the Fairy move to the Corgi's collar before disappearing behind it. "Thanks." he said to the dog before giving him a few pats on the head and a couple scratches under the chin. The dog made a happy sound and then left the room. William placed the small stack of reports on his desk, he carefully picked one up and read it. Somehow, though means he had long-ago given up trying to explain, he was able to read the details of the report perfectly well despite the super-tiny print and every word in it was 'Bork'.
William wasn't sure why he was the only one out of his ad hoc unit to be able to see the Fairies at all times when they wanted to show themselves and understand them clearly whenever they decided to speak. Though he figured it was a question who's answer would only confuse him even further than the concept of it already had. He took some comfort that his friend Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had seen the fairies once or twice before as well. At least then William knew his job hadn't made him gone crazy yet.
Thus he started the process of compiling the PT Corgis patrol reports into a overall report of what was going on in the Gulf last night. The consensus was, things had been quiet lately, the only real thing of note was that there was brief sighting of a Abyssal Submarine 90 miles from the shoreline and 120 miles east of Galveston but that was quickly ran down and depth charged to oblivion in the shallows by PT Squadron 3. Though they did loiter around the area till a destroyer came by and made certain the monster was well and truly dead. After all PT boats didn't have many Depth charges to begin with.
William didn't realize how much time had passed by the time he had finished transcribing and compiling the post-patrol reports from the Night Rotation, sent the report in a email to his superior, and then fill out several requisition forms for additional supplies. The normal stuff really, Dog Food, tools and parts for Warrant Officer Sanderson needed to do better maintenance on the PT's rigging. The Lieutenant sighed again as he filled out another form personnel request form, he needed someone else who could do the kind of work Sanderson did and was trained to handle dogs. If for nothing else than to ease the workload Sanderson had.
"Poor Mitchel, he's just as or even more overworked than I am." William murmured quietly to himself as he sent the myriad of electronic forms to the inbox of the logistical department. Before he could think further on how much longer his weapons specialist could keep up with the demands of making sure 96 sets of rigging were still working in proper order with the current intensity of operations. A knock on his office door, this one heavier and distinctive, tore him from his thoughts. "Enter."
"Hey, Braveheart, you lost track of time again. its 1525." Came the rather gruff voice of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, in one hand was a tray of food, possibly from the base Mess Hall proper. And it was then that William realize that he hadn't eaten much of anything since waking up. Though a mildly annoyed expression crossed the lieutenant's face as the Gunnery Sergeant came in and placed the tray and a glass of ice water on his desk before taking a seat.
"Thank you Jim, though did you have to use that nickname?" William said as he took a big bite out of a slice of Pizza. "Would ya have preferred me using one of the new nicknames the enlisted on base came up for you instead. Sir?" Came the reply from Clayton, a smug expression on his own, a expression of sudden dread and gloom appeared on William's at the statement.
"Do I even want to know what today's nickname is even?" William asked before he demolished the rest of the pizza and drank half the water in one go. "No, you probably don't want to know Sir, just know it won't be a problem when you next go to mess hall." Clayton said with all seriousness in his voice.
"Jim, what have I said about keeping formalities when its just us? For Pete's sake we've been friends for so long we may as well be brothers. But...thank you for that. I honesty don't need any more nicknames than what I already have." William said to the marine with a bit of exasperation, He sighed and placed his now empty tray off to the side. "Anyways what's up? Besides bringing my forgetful overworked ass chow, you usually got a good reason to stick around in my office." The lieutenant asked.
"You heard the news about Pearl sir?" Clayton asked curiously.
"I have." Came the sharp reply from the Lieutenant.
"So do you think we'll be getting any relief any time soon William? The Dogs do good work at helping to fill in the gaps when the heavies departed for Pearl but they need some down time to recuperate, Earlier I had to walk half of PT Squadron 1 over to that ship girl repair dock the base has because they weren't running right. Hell I dare say some of em might be ready for a rebuild or something hell if I know for certain William, just something seems different with most of Squadron 2." Clayton said with some measure of frustration. William knew Clayton hated not understanding things and everything regarding stuff like Ship girls, and PT Corgis was still very much a learning process for everybody involved. Even almost a year and a half after the Navy figured out the secret to summoning US ships back.
William gave a sigh and a thoughtful expression for a few moments before he spoke. "I don't know Jim, you and I both know all too well how the Brass is like. We can only hope that some of the Heavies are flying back here now. But being realistic, its probably gonna be a week at the least before things get back to anything that resembles normal around here." William said to his life long friend with frustration of his own.
"I know and don't worry William, just because those beautiful heavies are just around the corner to being back in the Gulf with some new faces. Doesn't mean I'll drop my guard or let anyone else drop theirs, even you sir." Clayton said with a wide grin.
"Thanks Clayton, I appreciate it." William said to the other with relief. He was glad to know his best pal and confidant wouldn't let him or anyone else slip up in their duties when the promise of some measure of relief was just around the corner. Though as William finished one last form for the day, at least till the Day rotation came in a roughly an hour and a half from now anyways, a devious devilish smirk appeared on Clayton's face. Which made William freeze up, he knew what that smirk meant. Clayton was about troll him something fierce, but William couldn't figure was what the hell the marine was going to troll him with... 'Oh god no! Please tell me he doesn't know!' was the Lieutenant's panicked thought.
"Sooo I heard that among the ships that returned when the Navy retook Pearl was USS Wisconsin~"
"Jim please no-" Begged William, futilely at that, as he felt his face starting to get flushed. He knew Clayton, and Clayton sure as hell knew the feelings William had about USS Wisconsin since they were both kids.
"I've seen that Fleet Idol's twitter lately, Whisky sure does look cute William~" Now Jim was mentally knocking the wind out of William before dealing the final blow.
"Jim! Don't you-" William tried to warn his friend, but alas Jim was always quicker when it came to delivering the final line.
"Maybe I can get that Idol to get the two of ya to meet up~" Jim finished with a almost evil smile plastered on his face as he got up and sprinted out of the Lieutenant's office. The statement had stunned William such that he didn't realize Jim had left the room until after he heard the door close. It took all of a second for the full weight of Jim's statement to be realized by William. When it was....
"GUNNERY SERGEANT CLAYTON!!!" Came the embarrassed and fuming shout from William. If anyone else outside of the often nicknamed 'Dog Squad' heard the Lieutenant's shout, they would swear that it sounded like an angry dog's bark or a shout not out of place on a sitcom from the 60's or 70's.
The other members of the rag-tag PT boat Support unit, didn't pay the shout any mind. Partly because they knew how well and for how long The Gunnery Sergeant and the Lieutenant had known each other. Part of it was due to the Gunny telling everyone else what his plan was when he'd visit the Lt. And lastly they all had bets on how the Lieutenant would take Clayton's trolling. And Pfc Ellen just won the entire pot.
Realizing that there was nothing now he could do to stop the Gunnery Sergeant, if the Gunny was planing on actually carrying through with his word. Jim had BS'd him enough times in the past that there was a slim chance that his old friend wouldn't actually contact that quadruple-dammed traffic cone to arrange a meet up with the Iowa-Class Battleship. But then again on the other hand, he knew his friend far too well. William pinched the bridge of his nose hard and sighed yet again.
"At this goddamn rate, I'm gonna end up becoming the Male Gulf version of Sara Gale!" The Lieutenant said in exasperated defeat, while things did work out for Gale, the amount of suffering she's had was Legendary. At the very least the Navy saw fit to give her a promotion based on all the work she did...and all the suffering she went through playing Destroyer minder. Among other things.
William himself on the other hand, wasn't quite sure he'd be able to handle the full spectrum of crazy that seemed to accompany the more... eccentric ship girls. Giving himself a double pat on the face to clear his thoughts. The Lieutenant decided that he needed out of the office. ASAP.
So he walked out of his office once he was sure he didn't have anymore paper work to do and went outside to observe Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and his three Marines playing with the PT Boats in a baseball field sized patch of grass speficically meant for the PT boats to get additional exercise when they weren't on sortie. Well it looked like mere play at first glance but seeing the Dogs break up into small elements and attempt to steal the tennis ball from one of the marines within the 20 second window had to hold the ball before they tossed it to one of their fellows was in some sense a drill for attack tactics.
William had to hand to Jim for coming up with that manner of training the PT boats, the side benefit of all this was that it was a good way for the rest of the Human portion of the unit to get exercise and maybe for just a moment forget their troubles. Though William just wished that the color of the tennis ball wasn't the same eye searing orange color of that Light Cruiser's dress.
Even though part of him was distracted with trying to keep the persistent annoying ear worm that was some of the Fleet Idol's more memorable sounds and jingles. Another part of him reacted automatically when Sergeant Banks in a moment of panic, pitched the Tennis ball right at the Lieutenant.
It was only when William reflexively caught the ball did he realize that Sergeant Banks threw it to him. And the next thing he knew, he was playing keep away with the PT Corgis. It didn't last particularly long though, for when William reached the all key 20 second mark. The Dogs came to a halt.
William looked at the dogs once, the annoyingly orange tennis ball in his left hand, and then he locked his gaze on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton. Who suddenly held an expression like he was sweating bullets. "Hey boys." William said to the Corgis after a short sharp whistle. And then he threw the ball at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton with a speed that could make some MLB pitchers envious.
"Go get em boys." William said after he threw the fast ball, which sent the Corgis going full speed. Unlike before, where the dogs would use harassment and distraction tactics to close in, here they went with a full on zerg-rush towards Gunner Sergeant Clayton.
Clayton attempted to catch the ball, but the fast ball bounced out of his hands before they could fully close. And by the time he manged to chase down the skittering ball and pick it up. The PT boats had already closed in.
Watching the Corgis quite literally dog pile Clayton was, cathartic for William. "Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, It seems that you couldn't keep the Ball away from the PT boats for the required 20 seconds after you picked it up. I'm sure you know what this means by this activities rules." The Lieutenant said loud and clear with a smile that from a certain angle and lighting, one might have sworn it was made of nothing but sharp teeth.
Clayton for his part emerged from the bottom of the fluffy pile after a few moments. "Yes sir, I lost, I wash the dogs come Monday." Clayton said with a fair bit of misery in his voice. Though the expression on his face told William that the Gunnery Sergeant had expected this kind of thing to happen to him.
William then went to check on Warrant Officer Sanderson and give the weapons specialist whatever help he could give him. The Lieutenant kinda lost track of time until a alarm on his watch notified him that it was time to get the night Rotation ready for their sortie. Both the Lieutenant and the Warrant officer double timed it back to the barracks to give the PT boats a quick top off meal and then. The next 15 and a half minutes were a mirroring of the organized chaos that had played out earlier that morning.
With a bit of time to spare, William made to the edge of the floating dock to greet the Day rotation as they came in. Now all he needed to do was wait for them.
Looking out at the sea, watching the group of PT boats come motoring back to the dock. William never did quite get used to see both a bunch of, admittedly adorable, Corgis scampering across the surface of the water as fast as their short little legs could take them, but somewhat at the same time, he occasionally saw the scene before him as 48 WWII-era PT boats steaming up to the floating dock. A blink of an eye later, and he once again just only saw the dogs.
When he had first seen it happen when he had started on this assignment, it sure gave him quite a startle, and a unplanned entry to the water. At this point in time though, he was used to seeing that happen, even if he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around why it happened. He had heard that the same happened to people on ships out at sea when they saw a shipgirl, and he believed it wholeheartedly.
He had some experience with Ship girls, mainly Destroyers that occasionally came over to play with the dogs...or snatch one or two away for naps and cuddles. Though the latter were more-often-than-not caused by the Japanese Destroyer ship girls than their American counterparts. A small bark shook William from his thoughts and he glanced back to the edge of the floating dock. The dogs had all gradually came to a halt at the edge of the floating dock, broken up into three ordered lines of sixteen. They were silently waiting for him to give them permission to come ashore, he never quite understood why they did that.
Was it because he was a Navy Lieutenant and therefore de facto commander for them when no one else was around? Was it because he could manage them so well? Or SECNAV forbid, was it purely because of his last name? He didn't know the answer to that question, and something told him that looking for it would just erode his sanity.
"Patrol Boats, Permission to come ashore Granted. Fall in and head off to the Mess hall. Squadron Leaders, make sure patrol reports are in by 1850." The Lieutenant spoke to the dogs before they started to hop up onto the dock three at a time. With a much practice motion, William kept his balance as the floating dock, reacted in interesting ways to the dogs. It wasn't the full weight the actual boats these dog were, had during the war, but it was still far heavier than what a Corgi should weigh, more in line in with combat-loaded Marines. Yet if he were to pick one of them up now, they'd feel only slightly heavier than the average Corgi would.
How that was possibly or made any lick of sense was far and above beyond his pay grade and sanity. So he didn't think about it too much and instead focused on making sure they remained organized and orderly as he followed the first trio to climb up back to the concrete landing the floating dock was attached to. Off to the left side of the landing was another 48 Patrol boats, rigging deployed and sitting quietly at attention, waiting for the incoming group to head off to the barracks.
It was always fascinating to watch the Dogs form up into groups of 12 before they dashed off to the PT boat Barracks. William always figured it was something that was ingrained into em from their past lives as Patrol Boats. Or perhaps it was his influence, as crazy as the world had gotten since the start of the war he always tried to maintain a sense of calm serenity while carrying out his duties even if he was surrounded in chaos. Maybe that was why, he honestly didn't know but he wouldn't rule it out. After watching the last group of 12 form up before dashing off for chow, William sighed heavily. Something he found himself doing more and more often lately.
"I really do need more people, me and six other people isn't really enough to manage 96 PT Boats..." He quietly muttered to himself, the Navy was still quite understaffed and recovering from the quadruple gut punch that had been Blood Week. Adding to that difficulty was trying to find people in the Navy who had experience handling Dogs, which is why four of his six subordinates were Marines.
William took a deep breath to steady himself as memories of that awful week briefly flooded back to his mind. A glance down to the silver bars of the Lieutenant collar device on his NWU's reminded him of how many officers were lost during the pandemonium of that week, reminded him of how he got to his position. Giving a small shake of his head to dispel those troubling thoughts and memories that threatened to drag him down, William looked at the assembled PT dogs of the Night rotation. Their beady eyes looked at him with a feeling that could best describe as concern.
"Don't worry about me boys, I was just thinking how much more work I'd have to do if I ever made it to O-5 or even O-6 before this War is over." He half-lied, it was something that he legitimately thought about and to some degree dreaded, if for nothing else then for the fact that reaching such a rank would likely have him dealing more and more with Ship girls. He wasn't opposed to working with them, but he didn't think he could handle the antics they could get up to.
"Though if I ever did make a senior officer rank, I probably should change my last name to avoid the storm of nicknames that'd come..." William said quietly to himself while turning around to head back onto the floating dock to see the PT boats off. He thought he had said that quietly enough for the PT Corgis to not hear him. That thought was instantly sunk before he even took a step onto the floating dock as he felt 48 pairs of eyes zero in on his back.
William gave another deep sigh and braced himself as he turned back to face the Night rotation, he had heard plenty about phenomena known as 'Destroyer Eyes' from other service members and even experienced it himself a handful of times before. In his expert opinion, while 'Destroyer Eyes' were powerful in their own right. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the Puppy Eyes the PT Dogs were giving him right now. Combined with the soft almost completely inaudible sad whines they were all giving, William felt his mental defense crumble almost instantly under the weight and volume of sad gazes directed at him.
"Boys stop with that, I was only Joking! I ain't gonna actually go and change my name, not even if I one day became a Flag Officer! I promise!" He found himself hastily saying, he didn't actually hate his name. Not at the slightest, though the thing he did hate was the plethora of nicknames the initials of his name gave. Most of them Wrestling related because the initials of his of full name, William Wallace Corgi, were the same as the initials for the World Wrestling Championship. There were other nicknames that came from his initials, but almost none of them annoyed him more than wrestling related ones.
The other nicknames he hasn't come to loathe in some manner, was the ones he's overhead some of the enlisted refer to him with since he and understaffed group started managing the PT boats stationed in New Orleans. "I admit though, provided I ever make it to an admiral rank , Admiral Corgi has a nice ring to it. Hell even if i just make it to captain, Captain Corgi also has a nice ring to it too." William said to himself while rubbing the stubble of his chin with one hand.
While he didn't exactly say the statement aloud in front of the PT Corgis, he wasn't trying to say it quietly in front of them either. Lieutenant Corgi was torn from his thoughts by a sound that was almost like a constant low rumble of thunder. The sound was being caused by 48 tails wagging and slapping the concrete of the landing all at once. "Alright enough that ya'll, time to go Sortie." He said with a somewhat exasperated sigh before he moved onto the floating dock, the PT Corgis following close behind him in lock-step in three lines of sixteen. As he came to a stop at the edge of the dock and turned sideways. The PT Corgis came to a halt and waited, William could feel their anticipation and he didn't want to delay things any further.
"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 0530. Good Luck and Fair Seas." Lieutenant Corgi Said to the Pt Corgis, totally not stealing that last bit from a video game he used to play somewhat often in his free time before the war started, totally. Watching the Dogs step off the dock and onto the water's surface, organize themselves into twelve boat squadrons before steadily racing off towards their designated patrol sectors to do amongst other things, spot and report on Abyssal surface ships and subs that might be lurking in the Gulf, engaging when and where it was possible or if it seemed like a surface group was making a beeline for either a coastal town or the oil rigs.
William knew those PT boats wound't have a chance in hell against anything bigger than a Abyssal Destroyer in a straight fight. But then again, PT boats never got into a straight fight if it could be helped, though being very fast and small certainly helped in avoid being hit if a fight was to happen. Furthermore, if a fight happened after dark, well The night rotation would be well off, given that only the best night battle capable PT boats were in the Night Rotation. As the last of the PT boats formed up and sped off to the distance, Lieutenant Corgi stood there on the floating dock, quietly praying for his PT boats to come back home safely.
After he finished his quiet prayer, he turned back and started making his way to the PT boat Barracks, after briefly checking his watch and noting that it had been all of 15 minutes since he came out onto the dock to greet the returning day rotation of PT boats and see the Night Rotation off. At this point he was fairly sure the Day rotation was finished eating, and that the Squadron leaders had left their reports on his desk already, even though they still had almost two hours to fill reports out and hand them in to him.
Part of him figured it was because they respected his firm but not overly strict leadership. Another part of him figured it was because the PT Corgis realized the sooner they handed in those reports and the sooner he finished transcribing them into the report he handed in to his superior. The more time he'd have to go play with them, not that he minded playing with the PT boats, in fact he enjoyed it when he didn't have other things to do. Though Lieutenant Corgi wondered just how often did the PT boats happen to overhear the Conversations he had with his #2, Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, on how to keep the PT boat's Morale up.
Sure enough, as Lieutenant Corgi got back to the PT barracks he saw Lance Corporal Desmond and Private First Class Ellen carrying out the couple dozen empty bags of Dog food that was the night rotations meal. Giving the two marine a hand with bringing in more bags from the store house to repeat the cycle again come morning. Corgi was starting to feel his exhaustion mounting up.
When he entered the Barracks itself, Corgi was greeted almost immediately by a coffee mug given to him by Sergeant Banks. "Gunny said that you'd probably need this sir."
"Thank you Sergeant Banks. By the way where is the Gunnery Sergeant currently?" Corgi said as he took the Coffee mug and took a generous sip.
"Gunny said that he was picking up some reports and paper work that Administration wanted you to look at, Sir." Banks said crisply while swapping out the five gallon jugs that provided water to the dog bowls. Corgi raised an eyebrow at this news.
"Really now Sergeant? You think they finally found some more Dog qualified people to assign to this outfit?" He asked, with perhaps some amount of hope in his voice.
"One can certainly hope for that, Sir. But the Officer that stopped by here was from New Orleans." Banks said as he finished swapping the last water jug, that bit of info made Corgi's sun-kissed face pale more than a fair bit.
"D-did you catch name of that officer Sergeant Banks? Or his rank?" Lieutenant Corgi asked, briefly tripping over the first word. Corgi had a sinking feeling in his gut with what the visit could be the signal of, but part of him still held out hope that it was his requests for additional personnel finally being granted. The truth of it would be known once Gunnery Sergeant Clayton returned from the Administration Building with the paperwork.
In the meanwhile, Corgi went back to his office to find the Post-Patrol reports from the day rotation already on his desk. In fact from the look of things, and one slightly chewed up pencil on the desk. It looked like one of the Squadron leaders had attempted to type out the report he normally wrote after reading their post-patrol reports.
"Okay... that don't help clear this uneasy feeling I'm having. At all." William said to himself as he dropped the slightly chewed up writing utensil into a desk drawer and got down to transcribing the Post-patrol reports. Things had been going well at his post, despite everything, it certainly had been nearly three weeks when the last major incident occurred, where one of the Visiting Japanese Destroyer Ship Girls somehow got a hold of thing of super glue and somehow managed to glue herself and two of the PT Corgis together. But something told him that this period of relative quiet was soon to end.
The Lieutenant had finished transcribing the last of the post-patrol reports when Gunnery Sergeant Clayton knocked on his office door. "Enter." Corgi said with no small amount of tiredness in his voice. Looking at Jim's mixed expression, William knew that there was at some good news to be had.
"William-" Clayton started to say before Corgi abruptly cut him off. "Jim, If there's any good news tell me that first, if there's not, then tell me the least bad news first then. Please." William asked his friend. Who seemed to brighten up a fair bit.
"Actually there is some good news William. Navy managed to find some people to fill some of the personnel requests you've filed." Came Clayton's reply, which caused Corgi to sit straight up in his chair with an expression of relief and anticipation painted on his face.
"How many? Is it anyone to help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his Job?...Wait... whats the catch? There's always a damn catch to any good news I get." Lieutenant Corgi said at first with excitement but that gave way to caution half way through.
"A pair of ensigns fresh from Annapolis sir. Whether or not either of them can help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his work remains to be evaluated sir." Clayton said to Corgi, briefly bringing back up the strict professionalism he normally had around superiors.
"Ah fuck it, I'll take what I can get at this point, I'll even happily take Army personnel if the Army is ever willing to lend me some their men. Can I hope to trust you to help bring them up to speed when they get here in..." Corgi intentionally left the question hanging for Clayton, who for his part didn't miss a beat.
"Three days Wallace, and yes I'm make damn sure they're brought up to speed on how this outfits operates and what to expect." The Gunny said with confidence. Which made Corgi give another tired but relieved sigh.
"And the bad news?" Corgi asked, quietly dreading whatever it was Clayton was about to say next.
"I don't its bad news per say Wallace, but... from how things were like in the Administration building, It looks like they're getting ready to have some ship girls stationed here for... some time. I honestly don't know for certain but I do know these papers probably mention for how long" Clayton said with what could be best described as mixed feelings. Something Corgi was currently sharing with his friend as the Gunnery Sergeant handed him the papers to look over.
On the one hand, it meant things might become easier on them and the PT boats. On the other hand it also meant that the kind of trouble and shenanigans ship girls could get up to would suddenly become a more normal facet to their already stressful lives. "Clayton, Tell everyone else I'm gonna retire the night earlier than normal once I finish this up." Corgi said as he accepted the folders and looked inside them.
"Of course Sir. Do try to get some rest Corgi. You need it, bad." Clayton said to his friend before leaving the room. One of the PT boats scampered into the room as the Gunnery Sergeant left it. Lieutenant Corgi looked at the PT Corgi as it came over to his desk and laid down on the floor to besides it.
"So you're the one who gonna guard my sleep tonight?" William asked the PT Corgi, who only looked up at him with its beady green eyes and gave a short, affirmative bark. He wasn't sure how he knew the bark was in the affirmative, but he knew it was.
He didn't know why the PT boats seemingly chose one of their own to go with him to sleep at the foot of his bed at night and his bed alone. He had asked the rest of his support staff about it and they told him none of the dogs tried getting into their rooms at night. It was only his room they tried to have at least one of their number in when it was time for him to go to bed. Could it be that they could sense his inner troubles? Did PT boats consider him one of their own? Was it just because they wanted at least one of them to be with him like how a pet dog would want to be with their owner at night? Something else all together?
Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi didn't know the answer to that question, nor would he attempt to find an answer to the why. All he knew was that the PT boats would do whatever it took to get one of their number at the foot of his bed when he went to sleep at night, even if it meant chewing through the door of his quarters to get access to his room. As he had learned the hard way exactly once when he was originally assigned to be the PT Corgi Minder after the first couple PT boats had been summoned in the area around New Orleans.
William looked had looked over the folders regarding the two new transfers and went about writing and distributing an email to his support staff about the two incoming transfers. Mostly standard Navy Boiler plate, but he did add an additional note to triple check that all the super glue they had was locked down in a manner that a Destroyer wouldn't be able to get access to it without drawing lots of attention. Which basically meant putting the stuff in the bottom two drawers of the Filing cabinet in his office. No Destroyer, he hoped would try looking for the stuff there.
After that was sent out, he looked at the third folder Clayton had handed him, the one that regarded what possibly would be any potential ship girls stationed at this ad hoc auxiliary of a Naval base. Honestly in his opinion it was just an extension of the Naval operations base in New Orleans which was just a mere hour and half or so drive from here at highway speed. Corgi thought about opening the folder and reading it, but then a rather strong yawn suddenly escaped his mouth.
With it came an intense wave of exhaustion. He decided that he could read the folder's contents in the morning since the outside of the folder didn't have any of the red stamped markings that meant he needed to read it then and there. Furthermore he didn't want to fall asleep in officer again and have Gunnery Sergeant Clayton yell at him for pushing himself too hard, again.
Nor was William wanting to have the PT Corgis drag him to his bed, even if it meant the untimely demise of either the door hinges or the doors themselves if the Dog's fairy crews couldn't get the hinges off or busted. He didn't want to try explaining to base supply why he needed two new doors all a sudden for a second time in three months. The first was bad enough!
So Lieutenant Corgi got up from his office chair and stretched, letting another yawn fly as he did. A look at his watch showed the time to be 20:21. Certainly earlier than he normally would go to sleep at but he didn't think he could force himself to stay up much longer with coffee and work. So he made his way out of his office, PT Corgi hot on his heels, and made his way to his room.
A quick change into his night time sleep wear and the Lieutenant was climbing into bed, the PT Corgi hopping up onto the foot of his bed and curling up between his feet. Did the PT Corgis cause his feet to be a tad bit warmer than he liked them to be most of the time? Yes, yes they did. However as William had noted, he did sleep a little better at night while having one of those PT Dogs watching over his sleep. Something he was glad for.
William Wallace Corgi sat up in his bed just long enough to Pat the head of the PT Corgi at his feet. As he pulled his hand away from its head he saw a fairy standing on top of it. "Good night, make sure I'm up by 0415. Alright?" He asked the tiny figure, who gave him a salute, or at least as close to one as its oversized head and stubby arms could manage. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Corgi said to the fairy as he fell back onto his pillow.
He was already completely asleep before his head even manged to touch the pillow.
So enjoy this look at a full day with a Overworked and badly Understaffed Navy Lieutenant who handles the PT Corgis. Enjoy.
Omake: An Officer and his Dogs
[=]
Pulling his hands from his face, A glance down revealed the Corgi that was sleeping at the foot of his bed was now awake and pawing at him, even with his darkness adjusted eyes it was almost impossible to see the dog's features in the near complete darkness.
"Its okay boy, it was just a bad dream, that's all." He said to dog in the dark as he rubbed the top of its head with one hand and scratched its ear with the other. The Corgi leaned into the touch and William could feel it wag its tail, the dog seemingly satisfied with his answer and the affection; jumped off the bed and waited by the door.
William glanced over to his alarm clock and noted the time was 0315. He groaned slightly as he realized he woke a full hour before his alarm was set to wake him, again and only managed to get 4 and a half hours of sleep, again. However he couldn't go back to bed, even if he wanted to, now that he was up. It was time to start the day.
"I know, just make sure everyone else is up by the time I get outta the shower dressed alright?" William said to the dog as he opened the door to his quarters and allowed the Corgi out of his room, the dog gave him a short cheerful bark before trotting out the open door. William closed it again and then made his way to his quarters personal shower.
A few minutes and one hot shower later, he was dressing into his NWU's, though before he pulled his pants up, he looked at the scar on his right thigh. A ragged, jagged line of angry pink that stretched from near the top of his knee to a few inches shy of the bottom of his hip. One of the constant reminders to him of that week, that first god awful week and what he went through back then.
Shaking his head to dispel the memories that threatened to bubble up, he pulled up and buttoned his trousers before he finished getting dress. Once he was presentable, he strode out of his quarters and down the hall that opened up to the rest of the building, past the doors quartered the other members of his group. Quiet shuffles of pawed feet clued him in that the PT boats were waking up and climbing out of their beds. The fact that the lights were on in the Kitchen area and he could smell the coffee even from the other end of the building meant only one thing. Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was already up and about.
As he strolled across the open room that served as the PT Corgi sleeping area to the open kitchen, William was already thinking about the day ahead. The reports he'd have to write up and send to his superiors, the post-patrol reports the returning night rotation would give him. The more immediate issue of feeding the 48 PT Corgis of the Day rotation before they headed out for their 12 hour shift. And much much more, however all of that was to the wayside for the time being. He couldn't do much of anything without coffee, and he needed a damn cup of coffee right now.
"Thanks Jim." William said to Gunnery Sergeant Clayton as the Marine handed him a mug of black coffee. A single sip sent the last lingering vestiges of his sleepiness fleeing like the morning fog before the hot summer sun. "Extra strength?" He asked inquisitively to the Gunny. Who only nodded before he walked over to the stove and began preparing something.
"Yep, Figured you needed it Wallace because you kinda look like shit man." Clayton said as he cracked some eggs into a pan and began frying them. William didn't bristle or get angry at Clayton's behavior or the casual usage of his middle name, partly because the two of em had been friends for years even before they both had entered the Armed Forces. Partly because he had told his friend to drop the formalities either when nobody else was around or when he needed Clayton to tell him exactly how things were without sugar coating it. The later, Clayton was particularly good at. Letting a soft sigh pass his lips, William took another hearty sip of the black elixir.
"I guess you're right Jim, didn't get much sleep again." William said with a measure of resignation to his voice, life hasn't been easy in the area around New Orleans since Pearl fell, even though he had heard that Pearl was just recently liberated. It'd still probably be a few days at best, or a week or more at worst before the shipgirls that were normally stationed in the Gulf returned. In the meantime, his PT boats would have to try to fill in the gaps as best as possible. Or least, take some of the burden off of the ship girls still stationed here in the Gulf Region.
His PT boats were roaming as far west as Galveston, Texas and as far east as Panama City, Florida; from their home station of Port Fourchon. Admittedly only having two squadrons going east and two going west meant the day and night Rotations were rather thinly spread out themselves when they sortied. But it did mean that some of the pressure on the remaining Destroyers and Cruisers stationed in the Gulf was eased ever so slightly. William was pretty sure all the Dogs understood that clearly. They often showed themselves far smarter and more resourceful than one would expect from a dog. William always figured it was because of the nature of PT boat operations during WWII that gave them those traits.
After he finished his mug of Coffee and the fried eggs Gunnery Sergeant Clayton was kind enough to make for the both of em. The two heard the sounds of the other five members of their rag-tag crew waking up and walking out of their rooms. "Jeez don't ya two ever sleep?" Came the disbelieving voice of Petty Officer Third Class Simon Lake. "Early risers get the best pickings Petty Officer Lake." William said with just a tad bit of sarcasm to his voice.
The petty officer grumbled something about sleep as he and other four dog handlers made themselves a quick cup of coffee and a bite to eat. As they did, William and Gunnery Sergeant Clayton when about feeding the PT Corgis, it wasn't a full meal because the dogs fuel reserves weren't depleted, but it was a top off before they went to go on their 12 hour patrol shift.
William didn't mind handling the bags of dog food and helping out with filling the bowls. He'd do the same thing that the men under him would, unless it was something he couldn't do himself, the men and it also seemed like the dogs themselves respected him for that. Though he did admit that life for him and his men would be easier if they had a few more people on hand to handle the work load.
After the last of the dogs were fed and the other members of his unit had a quick bite to eat, it was few minutes to 0445. Which now meant he needed to get moving, by the time the dogs were fitted into their rigging and assembled at the landing, the night rotation would be coming in. William looked at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, who only gave him a nod before gathering his marines to help set out food for the returning night rotation.
William headed towards the equipment shed with Petty Officer Lake and Warrant Officer Sanderson, the 48 PT dogs of the day rotation followed hot on their heels. As the three Navy men entered the shed and flipped the lights on, they started pulling riggings off their racks and stacked them on carts according to who was fitting out which PT boat. The PT Corgis for their part where coming through the dog door in a neat ordered line arranged by squadron and waited for the Navy men to affix their rigging to them.
William had seen twice before in the past how involved putting on a ship girl's rigging could be when he was in New Orleans. He was thankful that the process of helping the Corgis put their rigging on wasn't any nearly as involved. Actually the process itself was far more like putting a doggy life vest on the PT boats than assembling a mysterious piece of equipment on the dogs. The procedure was simply enough on paper, he and Petty Officer Lake would take a vest and buckle it onto a PT Corgi before letting the dog go to Warrant Officer Sanderson, who'd do the final check to make sure everything was on snugly before letting the dog walk out of the shed's exit door.
Even though the process was simply on paper, and in practice, the sheer number of PT Corgis meant the three of them had to be very swift in their motions to get everything done on time. Almost fifteen minutes of Organized Chaos later saw the three men exit the equipment shed, Warrant Officer Sanderson and Petty Officer Lake jogged back to the PT boat Barracks to give Gunnery Sergeant Clayton's Marines extra help with setting up the meal the returning night rotation would utterly demolish.
As for William himself, he looked at the assembled PT boats to make sure all were present and then he started down towards the concrete landing of the floating dock. The PT dogs silently followed him in formation. It wasn't terribly far of a walk from the equipment shed to the dock landing, and the morning coolness certainly made the trek more bearable. But it still was a roughly 200 feet of walkway to cross. Recently built walkway. Just about everything military related here was built within the last year and a half. All of it a response to Abyssal threat posed against the Gulf region.
William knew this place wouldn't ever become a proper Navy Port, at least not anytime soon. The current setup and layout of the oil facilities present here precluded that, and they were too critically important to the war-effort to dismantle and move further inland. So the Military compromised and turned the wetlands area around and to the west of the port into a ad-hoc Naval base. Most of the Major Facilities were located just to the west of the port itself, though his section of the base was practically right in front of the oil and pipeline facilities.
There were a few more shore batteries and AA guns in his area of the base than the others to better protect the oil and pipeline facilities but William knew that it probably wouldn't be enough to repel a determined abyssal force that managed to get past the Maritime air patrols, the conventional ships that patrolled the waters around the base, and the PT Corgis stationed here. Really speaking, this base was just the advance warning for the Main Gulf Theater operations base in New Orleans in the event of a Major Abyssal assault. In a cynical sense, they were meant to buy as much time as possible for New Orleans to muster up a proper defense.
He shook his head slightly to dispel those thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to dwell on thoughts like that, especially now since he could just see silhouetted by the early morning sun, the PT Dogs of the night rotation coming in. A quick look at his watch read 0525, pretty much right on time. William walked forwards from the dock landing out onto the floating dock itself, he walked the entire 150 foot length of the floating dock and waited at its edge for the night rotation to come in.
He didn't have to wait much longer, as the dogs came up the edge of the dock in three neat ordered lines of sixteen. "Patrol boats, permission to come ashore granted. Fall in and get some chow, Squadron leaders, make sure patrol reports are in my office by 0745." He said to them before they climbed up onto the docks and hurried along up the dock to the landing to form up in their groups before dashing off to the PT Barracks.
He watched them for a short bit as he came back to the dock landing with the last trio of PT boats from the night rotation. He always tried to catch sight of the moment where their rigging vanished into thin air, but alas he's never once yet seen it happen. This morning wouldn't be different from all the others in that regard.
Turning his attention away from the retreating forms of the night rotation and towards the day rotation, he started walking down the length of the floating dock once again, the PT boats of the Day rotation following close behind him, and as he reached the end of the dock he turned to his side to allow the dogs to Pass by.
"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 1700. Watch yourselves out there, and come back safe." William said to the Corgis before they stepped off the dock and onto the water. As they formed up into their squadrons they departed with headings towards their designated patrol areas. William himself remained on the dock for a couple minutes after the last of the PT dogs had formed up and departed with their squadron before he started his way back to the PT Boat barracks.
He'd see if there was anything he could do to help Clayton and the others with feeding the night rotation. Unlike the day rotation who had just half a scoop more dog food than what'd one normally expect to feed a Corgi for the day to top off their fuel reserves. The Night Rotation was running on close to empty.
Individually, a hungry PT Corgi couldn't even eat as much as a Destroyer ship girl could, unless the rumors he'd heard on the grape vine about the Akizuki-class were true. However a pack of 48 Hungry PT Corgis could probably make more than a handful of battleships balk at just how much food they could utterly demolish.
As He reached the PT Boat Barracks, William was greeted by the tail end of the controlled chaos that was feeding a returned patrol rotation. There wasn't much for him to do besides help Pfc Ellen and Sergeant Banks carry out the two dozen or so empty 55 pound bags of dry dog food to the dumpster. As well as move about three and half dozen more bags from the Storehouse to the Barracks Building proper.
William didn't mind doing this kind of work, though he did strongly believe that his group needed at least a few more people with the correct qualifications around to ease the workload. But then again, the tempo of operations here was several times higher than it normally was, because his Dogs had to pick up the slack left behind by Alaska's and Saratoga's departure from the Gulf for the effort to retake Pearl.
As William returned to the Barracks building and made his way over to his office, he wondered how much longer his rag-tag crew could keep up the pace of operations, he wondered how much longer the Dogs could take this tempo too. They've been able to manage for the past two and a half weeks, but he could see the fatigue starting to build up and it was only a matter of time before something gave. Or the stockpile of dry dog food ran out.
William took a small comfort in the fact that at, the very least, the Barracks building and its rooms were air conditioned. If they hadn't been, William knew that morale here for both Human personnel and the dogs would be rock-bottom. Letting a heavy, tired sigh out the Lieutenant sat down at his desk and opened up the laptop that rested on it. A quick check of the Email confirmed that nothing major was developing...yet.
Though he did see news regarding Pearl, that during the effort to retake the base and right after the base was retaken several shipgirls were summoned, Several battleships at that. Which good news,very good news for William, maybe his PT Corgis and Support Staff can finally catch a much needed break in the very near future. Though he did pause when he saw that among the ships that had returned, Missouri and Wisconsin were amongst them. His eyes flicked back to reread the statement in the email again to make sure he wasn't seeing things.
When William realized what he was reading was indeed real, a happy smile broke across the Lieutenant's face with a very relieved sigh. USS Wisconsin always had a special place in William's heart, she was the first museum ship he had ever visited back when he was a kid, and it was that visit to her that started his fascination with the Navy, which ultimately led him to join the Navy once he was out of High school, almost Seven years before this War had started. He had been devastated when News broke that she was sunk, but felt a sense of pride that she went down with Zero hands aboard her.
Now seeing that she has returned, he felt that he could probably start sleeping easier at night in the near future, even if Wisconsin was reassigned to guard the Panama Canal again. A small scratchy tap broke him from his thoughts, he blinked and looked up from his screen. "Enter." He calmly said one of the PT Corgis came into the room through the dog door. William rolled his chair back a bit to be able to reach down and take the small stack of large postage stamp sized papers the Fairy standing on top of the Corgi's head held out for him. They were the post-patrol reports he had asked for earlier.
A glance at the wall clock showed that it was 0720. He briefly wondered how just how long had he actually been staring at his emails, but only briefly. He watched the Fairy move to the Corgi's collar before disappearing behind it. "Thanks." he said to the dog before giving him a few pats on the head and a couple scratches under the chin. The dog made a happy sound and then left the room. William placed the small stack of reports on his desk, he carefully picked one up and read it. Somehow, though means he had long-ago given up trying to explain, he was able to read the details of the report perfectly well despite the super-tiny print and every word in it was 'Bork'.
William wasn't sure why he was the only one out of his ad hoc unit to be able to see the Fairies at all times when they wanted to show themselves and understand them clearly whenever they decided to speak. Though he figured it was a question who's answer would only confuse him even further than the concept of it already had. He took some comfort that his friend Gunnery Sergeant Clayton had seen the fairies once or twice before as well. At least then William knew his job hadn't made him gone crazy yet.
Thus he started the process of compiling the PT Corgis patrol reports into a overall report of what was going on in the Gulf last night. The consensus was, things had been quiet lately, the only real thing of note was that there was brief sighting of a Abyssal Submarine 90 miles from the shoreline and 120 miles east of Galveston but that was quickly ran down and depth charged to oblivion in the shallows by PT Squadron 3. Though they did loiter around the area till a destroyer came by and made certain the monster was well and truly dead. After all PT boats didn't have many Depth charges to begin with.
William didn't realize how much time had passed by the time he had finished transcribing and compiling the post-patrol reports from the Night Rotation, sent the report in a email to his superior, and then fill out several requisition forms for additional supplies. The normal stuff really, Dog Food, tools and parts for Warrant Officer Sanderson needed to do better maintenance on the PT's rigging. The Lieutenant sighed again as he filled out another form personnel request form, he needed someone else who could do the kind of work Sanderson did and was trained to handle dogs. If for nothing else than to ease the workload Sanderson had.
"Poor Mitchel, he's just as or even more overworked than I am." William murmured quietly to himself as he sent the myriad of electronic forms to the inbox of the logistical department. Before he could think further on how much longer his weapons specialist could keep up with the demands of making sure 96 sets of rigging were still working in proper order with the current intensity of operations. A knock on his office door, this one heavier and distinctive, tore him from his thoughts. "Enter."
"Hey, Braveheart, you lost track of time again. its 1525." Came the rather gruff voice of Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, in one hand was a tray of food, possibly from the base Mess Hall proper. And it was then that William realize that he hadn't eaten much of anything since waking up. Though a mildly annoyed expression crossed the lieutenant's face as the Gunnery Sergeant came in and placed the tray and a glass of ice water on his desk before taking a seat.
"Thank you Jim, though did you have to use that nickname?" William said as he took a big bite out of a slice of Pizza. "Would ya have preferred me using one of the new nicknames the enlisted on base came up for you instead. Sir?" Came the reply from Clayton, a smug expression on his own, a expression of sudden dread and gloom appeared on William's at the statement.
"Do I even want to know what today's nickname is even?" William asked before he demolished the rest of the pizza and drank half the water in one go. "No, you probably don't want to know Sir, just know it won't be a problem when you next go to mess hall." Clayton said with all seriousness in his voice.
"Jim, what have I said about keeping formalities when its just us? For Pete's sake we've been friends for so long we may as well be brothers. But...thank you for that. I honesty don't need any more nicknames than what I already have." William said to the marine with a bit of exasperation, He sighed and placed his now empty tray off to the side. "Anyways what's up? Besides bringing my forgetful overworked ass chow, you usually got a good reason to stick around in my office." The lieutenant asked.
"You heard the news about Pearl sir?" Clayton asked curiously.
"I have." Came the sharp reply from the Lieutenant.
"So do you think we'll be getting any relief any time soon William? The Dogs do good work at helping to fill in the gaps when the heavies departed for Pearl but they need some down time to recuperate, Earlier I had to walk half of PT Squadron 1 over to that ship girl repair dock the base has because they weren't running right. Hell I dare say some of em might be ready for a rebuild or something hell if I know for certain William, just something seems different with most of Squadron 2." Clayton said with some measure of frustration. William knew Clayton hated not understanding things and everything regarding stuff like Ship girls, and PT Corgis was still very much a learning process for everybody involved. Even almost a year and a half after the Navy figured out the secret to summoning US ships back.
William gave a sigh and a thoughtful expression for a few moments before he spoke. "I don't know Jim, you and I both know all too well how the Brass is like. We can only hope that some of the Heavies are flying back here now. But being realistic, its probably gonna be a week at the least before things get back to anything that resembles normal around here." William said to his life long friend with frustration of his own.
"I know and don't worry William, just because those beautiful heavies are just around the corner to being back in the Gulf with some new faces. Doesn't mean I'll drop my guard or let anyone else drop theirs, even you sir." Clayton said with a wide grin.
"Thanks Clayton, I appreciate it." William said to the other with relief. He was glad to know his best pal and confidant wouldn't let him or anyone else slip up in their duties when the promise of some measure of relief was just around the corner. Though as William finished one last form for the day, at least till the Day rotation came in a roughly an hour and a half from now anyways, a devious devilish smirk appeared on Clayton's face. Which made William freeze up, he knew what that smirk meant. Clayton was about troll him something fierce, but William couldn't figure was what the hell the marine was going to troll him with... 'Oh god no! Please tell me he doesn't know!' was the Lieutenant's panicked thought.
"Sooo I heard that among the ships that returned when the Navy retook Pearl was USS Wisconsin~"
"Jim please no-" Begged William, futilely at that, as he felt his face starting to get flushed. He knew Clayton, and Clayton sure as hell knew the feelings William had about USS Wisconsin since they were both kids.
"I've seen that Fleet Idol's twitter lately, Whisky sure does look cute William~" Now Jim was mentally knocking the wind out of William before dealing the final blow.
"Jim! Don't you-" William tried to warn his friend, but alas Jim was always quicker when it came to delivering the final line.
"Maybe I can get that Idol to get the two of ya to meet up~" Jim finished with a almost evil smile plastered on his face as he got up and sprinted out of the Lieutenant's office. The statement had stunned William such that he didn't realize Jim had left the room until after he heard the door close. It took all of a second for the full weight of Jim's statement to be realized by William. When it was....
"GUNNERY SERGEANT CLAYTON!!!" Came the embarrassed and fuming shout from William. If anyone else outside of the often nicknamed 'Dog Squad' heard the Lieutenant's shout, they would swear that it sounded like an angry dog's bark or a shout not out of place on a sitcom from the 60's or 70's.
The other members of the rag-tag PT boat Support unit, didn't pay the shout any mind. Partly because they knew how well and for how long The Gunnery Sergeant and the Lieutenant had known each other. Part of it was due to the Gunny telling everyone else what his plan was when he'd visit the Lt. And lastly they all had bets on how the Lieutenant would take Clayton's trolling. And Pfc Ellen just won the entire pot.
Realizing that there was nothing now he could do to stop the Gunnery Sergeant, if the Gunny was planing on actually carrying through with his word. Jim had BS'd him enough times in the past that there was a slim chance that his old friend wouldn't actually contact that quadruple-dammed traffic cone to arrange a meet up with the Iowa-Class Battleship. But then again on the other hand, he knew his friend far too well. William pinched the bridge of his nose hard and sighed yet again.
"At this goddamn rate, I'm gonna end up becoming the Male Gulf version of Sara Gale!" The Lieutenant said in exasperated defeat, while things did work out for Gale, the amount of suffering she's had was Legendary. At the very least the Navy saw fit to give her a promotion based on all the work she did...and all the suffering she went through playing Destroyer minder. Among other things.
William himself on the other hand, wasn't quite sure he'd be able to handle the full spectrum of crazy that seemed to accompany the more... eccentric ship girls. Giving himself a double pat on the face to clear his thoughts. The Lieutenant decided that he needed out of the office. ASAP.
So he walked out of his office once he was sure he didn't have anymore paper work to do and went outside to observe Gunnery Sergeant Clayton and his three Marines playing with the PT Boats in a baseball field sized patch of grass speficically meant for the PT boats to get additional exercise when they weren't on sortie. Well it looked like mere play at first glance but seeing the Dogs break up into small elements and attempt to steal the tennis ball from one of the marines within the 20 second window had to hold the ball before they tossed it to one of their fellows was in some sense a drill for attack tactics.
William had to hand to Jim for coming up with that manner of training the PT boats, the side benefit of all this was that it was a good way for the rest of the Human portion of the unit to get exercise and maybe for just a moment forget their troubles. Though William just wished that the color of the tennis ball wasn't the same eye searing orange color of that Light Cruiser's dress.
Even though part of him was distracted with trying to keep the persistent annoying ear worm that was some of the Fleet Idol's more memorable sounds and jingles. Another part of him reacted automatically when Sergeant Banks in a moment of panic, pitched the Tennis ball right at the Lieutenant.
It was only when William reflexively caught the ball did he realize that Sergeant Banks threw it to him. And the next thing he knew, he was playing keep away with the PT Corgis. It didn't last particularly long though, for when William reached the all key 20 second mark. The Dogs came to a halt.
William looked at the dogs once, the annoyingly orange tennis ball in his left hand, and then he locked his gaze on Gunnery Sergeant Clayton. Who suddenly held an expression like he was sweating bullets. "Hey boys." William said to the Corgis after a short sharp whistle. And then he threw the ball at Gunnery Sergeant Clayton with a speed that could make some MLB pitchers envious.
"Go get em boys." William said after he threw the fast ball, which sent the Corgis going full speed. Unlike before, where the dogs would use harassment and distraction tactics to close in, here they went with a full on zerg-rush towards Gunner Sergeant Clayton.
Clayton attempted to catch the ball, but the fast ball bounced out of his hands before they could fully close. And by the time he manged to chase down the skittering ball and pick it up. The PT boats had already closed in.
Watching the Corgis quite literally dog pile Clayton was, cathartic for William. "Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, It seems that you couldn't keep the Ball away from the PT boats for the required 20 seconds after you picked it up. I'm sure you know what this means by this activities rules." The Lieutenant said loud and clear with a smile that from a certain angle and lighting, one might have sworn it was made of nothing but sharp teeth.
Clayton for his part emerged from the bottom of the fluffy pile after a few moments. "Yes sir, I lost, I wash the dogs come Monday." Clayton said with a fair bit of misery in his voice. Though the expression on his face told William that the Gunnery Sergeant had expected this kind of thing to happen to him.
William then went to check on Warrant Officer Sanderson and give the weapons specialist whatever help he could give him. The Lieutenant kinda lost track of time until a alarm on his watch notified him that it was time to get the night Rotation ready for their sortie. Both the Lieutenant and the Warrant officer double timed it back to the barracks to give the PT boats a quick top off meal and then. The next 15 and a half minutes were a mirroring of the organized chaos that had played out earlier that morning.
With a bit of time to spare, William made to the edge of the floating dock to greet the Day rotation as they came in. Now all he needed to do was wait for them.
Looking out at the sea, watching the group of PT boats come motoring back to the dock. William never did quite get used to see both a bunch of, admittedly adorable, Corgis scampering across the surface of the water as fast as their short little legs could take them, but somewhat at the same time, he occasionally saw the scene before him as 48 WWII-era PT boats steaming up to the floating dock. A blink of an eye later, and he once again just only saw the dogs.
When he had first seen it happen when he had started on this assignment, it sure gave him quite a startle, and a unplanned entry to the water. At this point in time though, he was used to seeing that happen, even if he still couldn't quite wrap his mind around why it happened. He had heard that the same happened to people on ships out at sea when they saw a shipgirl, and he believed it wholeheartedly.
He had some experience with Ship girls, mainly Destroyers that occasionally came over to play with the dogs...or snatch one or two away for naps and cuddles. Though the latter were more-often-than-not caused by the Japanese Destroyer ship girls than their American counterparts. A small bark shook William from his thoughts and he glanced back to the edge of the floating dock. The dogs had all gradually came to a halt at the edge of the floating dock, broken up into three ordered lines of sixteen. They were silently waiting for him to give them permission to come ashore, he never quite understood why they did that.
Was it because he was a Navy Lieutenant and therefore de facto commander for them when no one else was around? Was it because he could manage them so well? Or SECNAV forbid, was it purely because of his last name? He didn't know the answer to that question, and something told him that looking for it would just erode his sanity.
"Patrol Boats, Permission to come ashore Granted. Fall in and head off to the Mess hall. Squadron Leaders, make sure patrol reports are in by 1850." The Lieutenant spoke to the dogs before they started to hop up onto the dock three at a time. With a much practice motion, William kept his balance as the floating dock, reacted in interesting ways to the dogs. It wasn't the full weight the actual boats these dog were, had during the war, but it was still far heavier than what a Corgi should weigh, more in line in with combat-loaded Marines. Yet if he were to pick one of them up now, they'd feel only slightly heavier than the average Corgi would.
How that was possibly or made any lick of sense was far and above beyond his pay grade and sanity. So he didn't think about it too much and instead focused on making sure they remained organized and orderly as he followed the first trio to climb up back to the concrete landing the floating dock was attached to. Off to the left side of the landing was another 48 Patrol boats, rigging deployed and sitting quietly at attention, waiting for the incoming group to head off to the barracks.
It was always fascinating to watch the Dogs form up into groups of 12 before they dashed off to the PT boat Barracks. William always figured it was something that was ingrained into em from their past lives as Patrol Boats. Or perhaps it was his influence, as crazy as the world had gotten since the start of the war he always tried to maintain a sense of calm serenity while carrying out his duties even if he was surrounded in chaos. Maybe that was why, he honestly didn't know but he wouldn't rule it out. After watching the last group of 12 form up before dashing off for chow, William sighed heavily. Something he found himself doing more and more often lately.
"I really do need more people, me and six other people isn't really enough to manage 96 PT Boats..." He quietly muttered to himself, the Navy was still quite understaffed and recovering from the quadruple gut punch that had been Blood Week. Adding to that difficulty was trying to find people in the Navy who had experience handling Dogs, which is why four of his six subordinates were Marines.
William took a deep breath to steady himself as memories of that awful week briefly flooded back to his mind. A glance down to the silver bars of the Lieutenant collar device on his NWU's reminded him of how many officers were lost during the pandemonium of that week, reminded him of how he got to his position. Giving a small shake of his head to dispel those troubling thoughts and memories that threatened to drag him down, William looked at the assembled PT dogs of the Night rotation. Their beady eyes looked at him with a feeling that could best describe as concern.
"Don't worry about me boys, I was just thinking how much more work I'd have to do if I ever made it to O-5 or even O-6 before this War is over." He half-lied, it was something that he legitimately thought about and to some degree dreaded, if for nothing else then for the fact that reaching such a rank would likely have him dealing more and more with Ship girls. He wasn't opposed to working with them, but he didn't think he could handle the antics they could get up to.
"Though if I ever did make a senior officer rank, I probably should change my last name to avoid the storm of nicknames that'd come..." William said quietly to himself while turning around to head back onto the floating dock to see the PT boats off. He thought he had said that quietly enough for the PT Corgis to not hear him. That thought was instantly sunk before he even took a step onto the floating dock as he felt 48 pairs of eyes zero in on his back.
William gave another deep sigh and braced himself as he turned back to face the Night rotation, he had heard plenty about phenomena known as 'Destroyer Eyes' from other service members and even experienced it himself a handful of times before. In his expert opinion, while 'Destroyer Eyes' were powerful in their own right. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the Puppy Eyes the PT Dogs were giving him right now. Combined with the soft almost completely inaudible sad whines they were all giving, William felt his mental defense crumble almost instantly under the weight and volume of sad gazes directed at him.
"Boys stop with that, I was only Joking! I ain't gonna actually go and change my name, not even if I one day became a Flag Officer! I promise!" He found himself hastily saying, he didn't actually hate his name. Not at the slightest, though the thing he did hate was the plethora of nicknames the initials of his name gave. Most of them Wrestling related because the initials of his of full name, William Wallace Corgi, were the same as the initials for the World Wrestling Championship. There were other nicknames that came from his initials, but almost none of them annoyed him more than wrestling related ones.
The other nicknames he hasn't come to loathe in some manner, was the ones he's overhead some of the enlisted refer to him with since he and understaffed group started managing the PT boats stationed in New Orleans. "I admit though, provided I ever make it to an admiral rank , Admiral Corgi has a nice ring to it. Hell even if i just make it to captain, Captain Corgi also has a nice ring to it too." William said to himself while rubbing the stubble of his chin with one hand.
While he didn't exactly say the statement aloud in front of the PT Corgis, he wasn't trying to say it quietly in front of them either. Lieutenant Corgi was torn from his thoughts by a sound that was almost like a constant low rumble of thunder. The sound was being caused by 48 tails wagging and slapping the concrete of the landing all at once. "Alright enough that ya'll, time to go Sortie." He said with a somewhat exasperated sigh before he moved onto the floating dock, the PT Corgis following close behind him in lock-step in three lines of sixteen. As he came to a stop at the edge of the dock and turned sideways. The PT Corgis came to a halt and waited, William could feel their anticipation and he didn't want to delay things any further.
"Patrol Boats, Permission to Sortie Granted, return here by 0530. Good Luck and Fair Seas." Lieutenant Corgi Said to the Pt Corgis, totally not stealing that last bit from a video game he used to play somewhat often in his free time before the war started, totally. Watching the Dogs step off the dock and onto the water's surface, organize themselves into twelve boat squadrons before steadily racing off towards their designated patrol sectors to do amongst other things, spot and report on Abyssal surface ships and subs that might be lurking in the Gulf, engaging when and where it was possible or if it seemed like a surface group was making a beeline for either a coastal town or the oil rigs.
William knew those PT boats wound't have a chance in hell against anything bigger than a Abyssal Destroyer in a straight fight. But then again, PT boats never got into a straight fight if it could be helped, though being very fast and small certainly helped in avoid being hit if a fight was to happen. Furthermore, if a fight happened after dark, well The night rotation would be well off, given that only the best night battle capable PT boats were in the Night Rotation. As the last of the PT boats formed up and sped off to the distance, Lieutenant Corgi stood there on the floating dock, quietly praying for his PT boats to come back home safely.
After he finished his quiet prayer, he turned back and started making his way to the PT boat Barracks, after briefly checking his watch and noting that it had been all of 15 minutes since he came out onto the dock to greet the returning day rotation of PT boats and see the Night Rotation off. At this point he was fairly sure the Day rotation was finished eating, and that the Squadron leaders had left their reports on his desk already, even though they still had almost two hours to fill reports out and hand them in to him.
Part of him figured it was because they respected his firm but not overly strict leadership. Another part of him figured it was because the PT Corgis realized the sooner they handed in those reports and the sooner he finished transcribing them into the report he handed in to his superior. The more time he'd have to go play with them, not that he minded playing with the PT boats, in fact he enjoyed it when he didn't have other things to do. Though Lieutenant Corgi wondered just how often did the PT boats happen to overhear the Conversations he had with his #2, Gunnery Sergeant Clayton, on how to keep the PT boat's Morale up.
Sure enough, as Lieutenant Corgi got back to the PT barracks he saw Lance Corporal Desmond and Private First Class Ellen carrying out the couple dozen empty bags of Dog food that was the night rotations meal. Giving the two marine a hand with bringing in more bags from the store house to repeat the cycle again come morning. Corgi was starting to feel his exhaustion mounting up.
When he entered the Barracks itself, Corgi was greeted almost immediately by a coffee mug given to him by Sergeant Banks. "Gunny said that you'd probably need this sir."
"Thank you Sergeant Banks. By the way where is the Gunnery Sergeant currently?" Corgi said as he took the Coffee mug and took a generous sip.
"Gunny said that he was picking up some reports and paper work that Administration wanted you to look at, Sir." Banks said crisply while swapping out the five gallon jugs that provided water to the dog bowls. Corgi raised an eyebrow at this news.
"Really now Sergeant? You think they finally found some more Dog qualified people to assign to this outfit?" He asked, with perhaps some amount of hope in his voice.
"One can certainly hope for that, Sir. But the Officer that stopped by here was from New Orleans." Banks said as he finished swapping the last water jug, that bit of info made Corgi's sun-kissed face pale more than a fair bit.
"D-did you catch name of that officer Sergeant Banks? Or his rank?" Lieutenant Corgi asked, briefly tripping over the first word. Corgi had a sinking feeling in his gut with what the visit could be the signal of, but part of him still held out hope that it was his requests for additional personnel finally being granted. The truth of it would be known once Gunnery Sergeant Clayton returned from the Administration Building with the paperwork.
In the meanwhile, Corgi went back to his office to find the Post-Patrol reports from the day rotation already on his desk. In fact from the look of things, and one slightly chewed up pencil on the desk. It looked like one of the Squadron leaders had attempted to type out the report he normally wrote after reading their post-patrol reports.
"Okay... that don't help clear this uneasy feeling I'm having. At all." William said to himself as he dropped the slightly chewed up writing utensil into a desk drawer and got down to transcribing the Post-patrol reports. Things had been going well at his post, despite everything, it certainly had been nearly three weeks when the last major incident occurred, where one of the Visiting Japanese Destroyer Ship Girls somehow got a hold of thing of super glue and somehow managed to glue herself and two of the PT Corgis together. But something told him that this period of relative quiet was soon to end.
The Lieutenant had finished transcribing the last of the post-patrol reports when Gunnery Sergeant Clayton knocked on his office door. "Enter." Corgi said with no small amount of tiredness in his voice. Looking at Jim's mixed expression, William knew that there was at some good news to be had.
"William-" Clayton started to say before Corgi abruptly cut him off. "Jim, If there's any good news tell me that first, if there's not, then tell me the least bad news first then. Please." William asked his friend. Who seemed to brighten up a fair bit.
"Actually there is some good news William. Navy managed to find some people to fill some of the personnel requests you've filed." Came Clayton's reply, which caused Corgi to sit straight up in his chair with an expression of relief and anticipation painted on his face.
"How many? Is it anyone to help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his Job?...Wait... whats the catch? There's always a damn catch to any good news I get." Lieutenant Corgi said at first with excitement but that gave way to caution half way through.
"A pair of ensigns fresh from Annapolis sir. Whether or not either of them can help Warrant Officer Sanderson with his work remains to be evaluated sir." Clayton said to Corgi, briefly bringing back up the strict professionalism he normally had around superiors.
"Ah fuck it, I'll take what I can get at this point, I'll even happily take Army personnel if the Army is ever willing to lend me some their men. Can I hope to trust you to help bring them up to speed when they get here in..." Corgi intentionally left the question hanging for Clayton, who for his part didn't miss a beat.
"Three days Wallace, and yes I'm make damn sure they're brought up to speed on how this outfits operates and what to expect." The Gunny said with confidence. Which made Corgi give another tired but relieved sigh.
"And the bad news?" Corgi asked, quietly dreading whatever it was Clayton was about to say next.
"I don't its bad news per say Wallace, but... from how things were like in the Administration building, It looks like they're getting ready to have some ship girls stationed here for... some time. I honestly don't know for certain but I do know these papers probably mention for how long" Clayton said with what could be best described as mixed feelings. Something Corgi was currently sharing with his friend as the Gunnery Sergeant handed him the papers to look over.
On the one hand, it meant things might become easier on them and the PT boats. On the other hand it also meant that the kind of trouble and shenanigans ship girls could get up to would suddenly become a more normal facet to their already stressful lives. "Clayton, Tell everyone else I'm gonna retire the night earlier than normal once I finish this up." Corgi said as he accepted the folders and looked inside them.
"Of course Sir. Do try to get some rest Corgi. You need it, bad." Clayton said to his friend before leaving the room. One of the PT boats scampered into the room as the Gunnery Sergeant left it. Lieutenant Corgi looked at the PT Corgi as it came over to his desk and laid down on the floor to besides it.
"So you're the one who gonna guard my sleep tonight?" William asked the PT Corgi, who only looked up at him with its beady green eyes and gave a short, affirmative bark. He wasn't sure how he knew the bark was in the affirmative, but he knew it was.
He didn't know why the PT boats seemingly chose one of their own to go with him to sleep at the foot of his bed at night and his bed alone. He had asked the rest of his support staff about it and they told him none of the dogs tried getting into their rooms at night. It was only his room they tried to have at least one of their number in when it was time for him to go to bed. Could it be that they could sense his inner troubles? Did PT boats consider him one of their own? Was it just because they wanted at least one of them to be with him like how a pet dog would want to be with their owner at night? Something else all together?
Lieutenant William Wallace Corgi didn't know the answer to that question, nor would he attempt to find an answer to the why. All he knew was that the PT boats would do whatever it took to get one of their number at the foot of his bed when he went to sleep at night, even if it meant chewing through the door of his quarters to get access to his room. As he had learned the hard way exactly once when he was originally assigned to be the PT Corgi Minder after the first couple PT boats had been summoned in the area around New Orleans.
William looked had looked over the folders regarding the two new transfers and went about writing and distributing an email to his support staff about the two incoming transfers. Mostly standard Navy Boiler plate, but he did add an additional note to triple check that all the super glue they had was locked down in a manner that a Destroyer wouldn't be able to get access to it without drawing lots of attention. Which basically meant putting the stuff in the bottom two drawers of the Filing cabinet in his office. No Destroyer, he hoped would try looking for the stuff there.
After that was sent out, he looked at the third folder Clayton had handed him, the one that regarded what possibly would be any potential ship girls stationed at this ad hoc auxiliary of a Naval base. Honestly in his opinion it was just an extension of the Naval operations base in New Orleans which was just a mere hour and half or so drive from here at highway speed. Corgi thought about opening the folder and reading it, but then a rather strong yawn suddenly escaped his mouth.
With it came an intense wave of exhaustion. He decided that he could read the folder's contents in the morning since the outside of the folder didn't have any of the red stamped markings that meant he needed to read it then and there. Furthermore he didn't want to fall asleep in officer again and have Gunnery Sergeant Clayton yell at him for pushing himself too hard, again.
Nor was William wanting to have the PT Corgis drag him to his bed, even if it meant the untimely demise of either the door hinges or the doors themselves if the Dog's fairy crews couldn't get the hinges off or busted. He didn't want to try explaining to base supply why he needed two new doors all a sudden for a second time in three months. The first was bad enough!
So Lieutenant Corgi got up from his office chair and stretched, letting another yawn fly as he did. A look at his watch showed the time to be 20:21. Certainly earlier than he normally would go to sleep at but he didn't think he could force himself to stay up much longer with coffee and work. So he made his way out of his office, PT Corgi hot on his heels, and made his way to his room.
A quick change into his night time sleep wear and the Lieutenant was climbing into bed, the PT Corgi hopping up onto the foot of his bed and curling up between his feet. Did the PT Corgis cause his feet to be a tad bit warmer than he liked them to be most of the time? Yes, yes they did. However as William had noted, he did sleep a little better at night while having one of those PT Dogs watching over his sleep. Something he was glad for.
William Wallace Corgi sat up in his bed just long enough to Pat the head of the PT Corgi at his feet. As he pulled his hand away from its head he saw a fairy standing on top of it. "Good night, make sure I'm up by 0415. Alright?" He asked the tiny figure, who gave him a salute, or at least as close to one as its oversized head and stubby arms could manage. "Thanks. I appreciate it." Corgi said to the fairy as he fell back onto his pillow.
He was already completely asleep before his head even manged to touch the pillow.
[=]
Last edited:
'
