"Hey, Finn, can I borrow your ring?" a man called from a platform. "I'm going into the city this weekend and I could use a little flash".
Troyd laughed. "You'll have to bite it off like that whatsit in the old movie. How are they working?"
"Good. Eager. Donaldson lost one this morning, though - it attacked him. The others already ate it. They didn't get a frenzy going, probably the big breakfasts you're issuing".
"Glad to hear it". Troyd tossed a thermos of coffee to him. "Be nice and share for a change".
"We're going to have to get you a sea suit", Troyd said as they pulled away from the platform. "The water's pretty cold in the bay this time of year".
He pointed to a platform next to the shore. "That's training. You'll learn the hand signals easy enough - there's only sixteen of them. We fire flares when we want them to attack. For the BMs, that is. There's another dozen or so the handlers use to keep in touch with each other".
"What about at night?"
"Same signals, with chemical glow sticks. The BMs actually respond better at night. I think they can see the glow sticks better than they do hands.
Same thing with the flares. Just don't pull your flare pistol early - they'll see it and get all idgitated and go nuts because they think it means food".
"I need to know everything about capabilities. Especially speed in water over long distances, and on land".
"On a long haul they average, um, fifteen or twenty miles per hour. That varies depending on currents. They slow down a bit in really cold water too".
"And on land?"
"Land they move along pretty good, a fast walk. But they leave a trail like a mudslide. There's the smell and they lose scales pretty easily, so pretty much any idiot knows when some BMs have been through. When am I going to hear more?"
"What's in the buckets?"
"Positive reinforcement. The BMs go nuts for pork. Dog too, but not so much as a good fatty pig. We give them pigs' feet, snouts, heads, ears, all that stuff, when they do something right. After a successful action we'll usually roast a hog or two to treat everyone".
"I think I read somewhere that physiologically, human flesh is a lot like pig".
"They eat that too. They're always eager to go into action to get a bellyful. You've never seen creatures so eager for a fight. They don't give a damn about casualties either, just means more eating on the way home".
"Any land training going on now?" Valentine asked.
"Yeah, up by those old houses".
"Can we land this thing and take a look?"
"Sure. We'll even show you how to give a couple orders. Just watch your fingers when rewarding. Toss, don't give. These ain't a bunch of backflippin' dolphins".
* * *
Valentine spent the next six weeks training with the OXFs. They equipped him with a Chinese SG carbine, reliable enough but not
much good beyond fifty yards on autofire or a hundred shooting over open sights. They accepted him as one of their own. OXFs saw a lot of wanderers pass in, decide the work wasn't for them, and pass on again to something easier - like lumberjacking.
He answered a few questions about Catalina Island, and retreated behind the old reliable "That's classified" when probed too deeply, though most of the questions revolved around the weather and the amount of sunshine. He hemmed and hawed during a couple of equivocal probes about needing people with experience handling Big Mouths back on the island.
One of the trainers opined that the Big Mouths wouldn't do well there, as they were cool-water creatures, but another man claimed the eastern shores of Florida were thick with thriving BMs.
He spent his days cold and wet and his nights in his fish-reeking quarters on the Redeye, with his hands and arms slathered in lanolin to restore moisture and keep his skin from sliding off the bone. The creatures' odor was all-invasive, all-pervasive, and seemed to be the one thing that quieted his appetite.
As he slept he got the uncomfortable feeling someone was watching his dreams along with him.
Eventually he laid out a detailed plan for Troyd, a route into the mountains that avoided the river-watch stations. It involved a series of upriver journeys and then short overland hikes, always to the north, where a new river would be picked up for a push of a few miles more inland, then another short overland journey. By this long, counterclockwise turn, they could hit the Snoqualmie upriver from the Outlook, unguarded by dams, falls, or nets.
"The BMs can do it. It'll be hell on the men, though. That's a lot of time in some very cold water. We'll need to bring chemical heat".