Chapter Two

Commodore RamStrong

“Move in now…Drive! Drive! No! No! Not there…Go for the gills—or go beneath and strike!” bellowed the old dolphin.

Piper felt foolish. She always did when they played this ridiculous game of pretending one of the Pod to be a Snag-Tooth, while two others took mock swipes at it. She wasn’t very good at it, either. So far she had fumbled up on every tactic that was supposed to render a full-grown shark helpless.

“The gills…the underbelly…that is where you must strike if you are to do these foul beasts any harm!” scolded Commodore RamStrong, his big glossy eyes wide with scorn. He hefted his twelve-foot-long, nine-hundred-pound frame out in front of the squad. He jerked his beak sideways, signaling Piper and her two young partners to rejoin the ranks.

RamStrong looked impressive as he paraded himself before his young gray charges. He was a grand specimen of an old-time breed of Whistlers. The Clan admired him as the luminary he truly was, for he had proven his valor many times in boundary skirmishes with prowling Snag-Tooth. Though most of the time such tussles were only with the Browners and the Sanders that were not of vast bulk, those Snag-Tooth were still just as fierce and spirited as the larger breeds. And one time the Commodore had fought and slain one of the sleek Blues—a beast that stretched a good fifteen feet long—when it was in the throes of the vile Furies. Few creatures in the sea cared to battle a Snag-Tooth that had the feeding madness upon it, but Commodore RamStrong had fought the crazed shark and had won! A renowned warrior with a megillah of fearsome exploits that he proudly shared with them all, time and again, he was leery only of the much larger predators of the Open Sea.

Not even the cocky young bulls of the Fury Squad cared to test old RamStrong’s strength. At thirty-six seasons (or more, though he would never admit to that), the Commodore was a legend at Kwi Coast. His word was revered throughout the Clan.

Now he lectured the row of forty silky-skinned dolphins, all of them either burly males or fierce, unmated females. Few were over fifteen seasons of age. It was the duty of the young to protect the Pod.

The squad was alert as the Commodore spoke. They pumped their strong-tailed flukes up and down, suspending themselves in place in the pale morning sea.

“Once you have struck its gills, the evil creature cannot breathe. Even if you fail to strike hard enough, his gills can still rip, and he will be too weak to move. The Snag-Tooth are not like normal GillFins. These evil killers must move if they are to even breathe. If not, they drown.”

The squad dolphins all “clicked” in unison, making the strange sound that came from inside their high foreheads. It was the customary response paid any of the High Clan during formal gatherings. The odd noise filled the pale green waters with a sound that was like a heavy fishing line being reeled in. RamStrong lifted his weathered face, pleased with their etiquette.

“The underbelly is just as good a mark, for the Snag-Tooth’s vitals are afloat inside there…loose. One good hit and those vitals are crushed!”

More clicking.

“But you cannot afford a miss at either of those targets! The cunning killers guard them well—they are aware of their own weakness. If you miss, you have placed yourself in a vulnerable position for their vicious jaws.” The Commodore’s husky voice darkened as the last words rose from his blowhole, and it seemed that the water darkened, too. “They are very quick—these silent ones—and in the mere instant your strong beak is twisted aside, a Snag-Tooth can spin under you and tear out your soft belly.”

The squad clicked nervously, the long, snouted faces of the youngsters—and even some of the veterans—going pale as they envisioned those gleaming jaws chewing away at their stomachs. No one doubted what the Commodore had said. He knew more about the Snag-Tooth than any Whistler at Kwi Coast. Only the Commodore had ever seen the Snag-Tooth at their worst.

****

It was in his early life that young RamStrong had witnessed the savage destruction of his first pod—a small band of twelve Whistlers who had one day found themselves trapped in the Open Sea amidst hordes of crazed sharks. “The Furies,” the shaken young dolphin had called their madness—when the Snag-Tooth indulged in a grotesque feeding ritual—slashing, tearing, and sawing at everything near them until the water became a bloody froth. RamStrong believed the Snag-Tooth worked themselves deliberately into such a madness so every living thing in the sea—even the WhistlingFins’ much larger cousins, the fierce HunterKin, slinked away in fear.

Somehow young RamStrong had been ignored by the frenzied horde that day, and he had watched helplessly as his family died a violent death, their pitiful whimpers haunting him as he fled. And he had sworn he would never again let it happen to a Pod of his; nor would he forget the debt he owed those silent killers of the Deep. For he had never spoken openly of the guilt that tormented him whenever he recalled his impotence at the time of his first Pod’s doom. “Strength through herding and drilling” became his mantra. And once he had proven himself to a new Pod at Kwi Coast, nearly thirty seasons past, he rose steadily in their ranks to the High Clan. Gradually, he swayed them to his own brand of wisdom, convincing the Clan Thane and Pod Elders that it was safer to dwell in the sanctuary of reclusive coastal waters, where the terrible dangers of the Open Sea like the larger Snag-Tooth did not exist, where a clever Pod might then prepare, undisturbed, for the Great Invasion—when all the Snag-Tooth would band together in one mass fury to plague the seas. “For the Snag-Tooth are a ruthless breed who will stop at nothing till every living creature in the sea trembles before them!”

RamStrong had promised that Kwi Coast would be ready for that day…as would the wiser Whistlers everywhere else in the sea.

****

Now the Commodore scanned his gray ranks. It was time to close the morning session with a mock combat. His eyes fell on a large, well-muscled dark gray dolphin, and he nodded his beak in quiet approval. It was QuickFin, one of the squadron leaders, and RamStrong’s prime protégé. Like most of the younger squad members, QuickFin had not yet seen actual combat with a Snag-Tooth, but when the day came to venture into the outer zones and engage one of that dreaded breed, the Commodore felt sure his young protégé would not fail him. The young squadron leader was a fast learner and eager to please. RamStrong was proud of him above all others.

Just how it had come to pass that QuickFin was of the same bloodline as the shiftless Piper had always mystified the old Whistler. It bothered him just thinking about it. He let his gaze slide over to the tail end of the ranks, and a cloud appeared to pass over his rumpled face. It was because of her kinship with QuickFin that the Thane had insisted (one of the rare times SilverFlukes insisted on anything) that RamStrong admit Piper into the Fury Squad.

“She is too small!” the Commodore had argued. He’d always wondered if Piper was really a “crossbreed”—and a distant Kin to the foolish “Jumping Whistlers” who sometimes swept by the cove on their seaward journeys and consorted with the local Kwi Coast Pod until the Commodore scooted them off. RamStrong had no use for the spinner dolphins and their flighty ways. They were not as orderly and somber as his own bottlenose breed. And whenever word came that a playful spinner pod was on its way, the surly old Whistler was always leery of whatever mischief they might cause. Piper’s light markings and her careless antics in the waves were highly characteristic of their ilk. Somewhere, he often mused, those mischievous Jumpers had entered their bloodline into the Kwi Coast Clan…and Piper was it. One was enough, RamStrong thought.

From the start, Piper had done nothing but grate on the old dolphin’s nerves. She didn’t want to be in his Fury Squad, and the Commodore had made it obvious he did not want her there. But neither was going to change the Thane’s mind. Yet even RamStrong had to admit that if the little scamp had been willing to use her marvelous speed for better things than careless romps in the waves and private hunting games, she might have made a decent Fury Fighter.

Still, it was hard for anyone to ignore what an attractive Whistler she was. Piper’s rare excess of light, patchy colors and her foam-white flippers and fins made her a temptation. Even the two light cross marks over her brow, which gave her the coy look of a Jumper, added to her appeal. RamStrong felt he might have persuaded her through courtship—were he a younger bull—though that had already been tried by some of the squad youngsters. He wondered often if she might ever finally change. RamStrong glanced at her again and noted the faraway look in Piper’s eye. With a quiet grunt he continued his survey of the squad.

He turned his gaze to the higher ranks. Next to QuickFin was another handsome young Whistler nearly the same size. Though not quite the full eight feet that QuickFin had already grown to in but nine seasons, Buffer, just a shade less in strength, was a staunch young battler. He even bore the same rugged look the Commodore had once flaunted in his youth—the bulky chest, the steel gray all over the dorsal side (though the years had faded the Commodore’s). Yet RamStrong was not that pleased with Buffer, for he saw that the cocky youth seemed far too impressed with himself—unlike QuickFin, a tried devotee to the squad. Buffer’s loyalty and devotion to the squad appeared hazy. It seemed the Fury Squad only gave him an excuse to brawl or to show off…for Piper, RamStrong thought. And it was obvious Buffer resented the constant praise heaped on the gallant QuickFin. Buffer might bear watching, he felt.

He put the cocky youngster from his thoughts and scanned the rest of the squad: SlickFin, the speedy scout who could echo onto a school of tasty GillFin fluttering over a mile away, and then predict exactly when those fish would cross over the Kwi Coast boundaries where they could be taken by the Pod; RipFin, who could command a squadron of Fury Fighters through maneuvers that would leave a band of prowling Snag-Tooth battered, bleeding, and fleeing; Snapper, who had learned to use his jaws in battle as though he were a Snag-Tooth himself. On and on it went. RamStrong knew the strategies and weaknesses of every one of his charges, all of them worthy of his praise in some way…all but one.

He turned his gaze on Piper, thought for a moment, then signaled a break for air. As one vast body, the squad soared for the surface. The training zone waters bordered the outer zones—where roving sharks sometimes lurked and spied on the mysterious pod of dolphins. That in itself pleased the Commodore, for he wanted the Snag-Tooth to know of the Kwi Coast Pod’s fighting prowess.

RamStrong took his time returning, letting the squad wait for him, as was his custom. A round of courtesy clicks greeted him as he took up his place before them again. Then another spirited chorus of clicks sounded within the ranks as a beautiful, silver-colored dolphin came gliding out from around the edge of the kelp jungle. It was Thane SilverFlukes, the Royal Lord of the High Clan and descendant of a long chain of the Kwi Coast Pod’s heralded rulers. At twenty seasons, SilverFlukes was the youngest to ever head the Clan. He was nearly as large as the Commodore, but unlike RamStrong, whose skin was dull and marred by the years, the Thane’s shone like a sunlit surf.

Piper felt that Thane SilverFlukes was the only member of the High Clan that had any real sense. And though the Thane’s word was final on all Pod Matters, he rarely resorted to it. SilverFlukes had been reared under the regime of Commodore RamStrong and the Pod Elders, and so he usually honored Clan traditions, bowing often to the whims of those deemed older and wiser. Piper had always wished Thane SilverFlukes would simply do as he saw fit, but she knew it was not his way. Except for rare instances, the Thane hardly ever asserted his bloodline authority.

RamStrong always made a point of pushing his squad to its fullest whenever the Thane was about. SilverFlukes greatly respected the Commodore’s renowned military savvy, and the grizzled elder wanted to keep it that way.

“We shall examine the Initial Thrust tactics and how best to maneuver the enemy into vulnerability!” barked the Commodore in his most authoritative tone. Briskly the squad snapped into its fighting pose, their bullet-like heads lowered to protect the softer whites of their chests. They all looked formidable and menacing, with even Piper poised reluctantly at the tail end. She felt foolish.

RamStrong gave the impression of scanning the ranks for a pair of volunteers. It was a great honor to be selected for a display of might before the Thane himself. But RamStrong had already made up his mind that it was going to be QuickFin and Buffer. Displeased as the Commodore was with Buffer’s attitude, he knew the burly young bull was a crack fighter. Maybe this display was what he needed.

“QuickFin…Buffer!” bellowed the Commodore. “Assume the attack posture…I shall play victim. Pay attention now, and we may learn something here of survival.”

The dual-attack game was a favorite of the squad, for it was a novelty to watch the Commodore mimicking so perfectly the silent, stealthy movements of the Snag-Tooth—while two Whistlers charged at him. Even Piper, who could not stand the game, was amused by it. Though she often debated the sensibility of it all with her brother, she still enjoyed watching QuickFin flaunting his craft. And she was secretly pleased that the Commodore had given Buffer a chance to prove himself. Even if she did think Buffer a bit overbearing at times, Piper always felt sorry for him when the Commodore ignored him.

QuickFin and Buffer were an excellent team, despite the obvious dislike they held for one another. Their skills in “worrying down” and batting away a hungry Snag-Tooth rivaled those of the seasoned veterans. “Surpassed them,” Buffer would insist. Soon they would do this for real.

The Commodore hefted his own bulk into a low fighting pose, brushing back and forth in slow, sweeping motions. It was an eerie sight, this giant of a dolphin imitating so well the sinister, slinking crouch of a prowling shark. Meanwhile, QuickFin spun his own rippling mass of muscle overhead while Buffer moved in haughtily from the rear. The Commodore barked out a number of commands for different maneuvers—calling sometimes for one attacker to act as a decoy, while the other launched a mock ramming of the “gills” or the belly, turning aside at the last moment. RamStrong would then score it a hit or a miss. The two young bulls feinted, retreated, and darted in and out of the quasi Snag-Tooth’s range, and the Commodore reared his head and bared his teeth, giving a picturesque display of the malevolent grace of an attacking shark.

Both youngsters took turns scoring impressive hits—and the silent loathing they held for one another faded in the wake of their exceptional teamwork. Twice everyone had to break for air, QuickFin and Buffer effectively mixing their own breaths with the combat exercise. There was little doubt in the minds of the rest that the two could dispose of a real Snag-Tooth in a true skirmish. But the Commodore knew only time would tell for sure.

Thane SilverFlukes was pleased with the exercise and echoed his pleasure before departing.

After reassembling his legion, RamStrong warmly congratulated QuickFin and then commended Buffer for his “timely and refreshing display.” Piper felt sure that the young Whistler had been stung by the Commodore’s obvious reluctance to offer the morsel of praise.

“And fear not…little Piper,” the Commodore added before dismissing them all, “I shan’t ever embarrass the squad by displaying one as listless as you before the Thane.”

Some of the squad snickered, while Piper seethed quietly. She knew Commodore RamStrong would forever try goading her into cooperating. Never! Let the old fossil rant and rave all he wants.

As the session broke up, Buffer slid by Piper and quipped, “Little chance you’ll impress the Thane.”

Piper sometimes wondered why she ever felt sorry for Buffer.