All language subtitles for Africas Deadliest s03e02 Invaders

Epic battles

fought every day
across an entire continent.

They clash for territory.

For dominance.

For survival.

Only the strongest prevail.

They are Africa's deadliest.

AFRICA'S
DEADLIEST

A new day in Cape Town,
South Africa's False Bay.

For some, it's the last day.

Each of the 60,000 Cape fur seals
on Seal Island

eat about seven pounds of fish every day.

But they're not the top predators here.

Circling the island,
a streamlined assassin.

The great white keeps a low profile.

His color conceals him from above.

He patrols with perfect stealth.

His keen eyes penetrate the murk.

He can see as sharply below the water
as we can see above it.

But it's his teeth, three rows of daggers,
that will get the job done.

The shark needs to eat.

And so do the seals,

risking shark-filled waters.

They fish in groups,
sometimes spending days at sea.

As long as they're in the water,
they're in danger.

From deep in the kelp beds

to the surface,
where they catch their breath.

The shark's lateral line organ
detects the seals' motion.

Sensors on his snout home in
on their electric field.

Singling out a straggler...

he makes his move.

And misses.

The killer's quick,
but the seal's more agile

and can rip into him
with her claws and teeth.

Two strikes and he backs off.

But he's not done yet.

He dives to the bottom...

then blasts up from the deep
at 25 miles per hour.

He fails again...

and circles around for another try...

while the exhausted seal
swims for her life.

Until her luck runs out.

4,000 pounds of bite force
shear the full-grown seal in half.

That's the power of the world's
largest predatory fish.

In those final, crucial seconds
when the three-ton shark

explodes out of the sea,

his eyes roll back for protection,
so he can't see his prey.

The great white's jagged teeth splay out
like fingers

when he opens his maw.

All the better to grab a bite.

He hunts alone, and if a struggling seal
injures or blinds him,

his hunting days are over.

So, he relies on surprise.

A 60-pound seal will keep his belly full
for about two weeks.

He's not a fussy eater,
but a cautious one.

Tasting a sample before going whole hog.

Within minutes, nothing's left.

Unlike most fish,
he's partially warm-blooded,

and thrives in cold, temperate,
and tropical waters.

You never know where he'll turn up next.

Satisfied, he vanishes into the depths,

until opportunity calls again.

While the shark covers the waterfront,

Africa's plains are a proving ground
for three assassins in training.

Cheetahs have killer instincts,
but need coaching.

That's Mother's job.

Every two years or so,
she'll train a new litter.

Today's lesson, Thomson's gazelle 101.

The boys are top of their class.

Deadly serious.

Except there's always a class clown.

She gives the hiding calf a head start,

and shows the boys how it's done.

Now it's their turn.

Cheetahs score a kill about half the time.

It won't be so easy when they're
on their own, in about a year.

The takedown is only part of the lesson.

To make a living,
they'd better learn to eat fast,

or they could lose their prize
to aggressive lions or hyenas.

Mother cheetah does her job well.

The seasons pass.

The fully grown cubs
have banded together, a triple threat.

They look so tough,
but their swagger is premature.

They cross a pair of cheetah brothers

who've already claimed
this swath of savanna.

A brawl could bring crippling injury
and slow death by starvation...

unless the five wise guys wise up.

Two bands of brothers settle
their differences and form a coalition.

A gang of five.

They size up their first major assignment.

Oryx.

A target too risky
for a single cheetah to tackle.

Those saber-like horns
aren't just for show.

And hunting on an open plain
is never easy.

But the boys hatch a plan.

One tears in to spook
and split the adults...

while the others surround the calf.

But they're forced to abort.

No meal is worth
losing life and limb over.

The coalition's lack of experience
doomed their scheme.

They planned the heist,
but forgot the getaway.

The rescue party seems to surprise them.

They'll have to work on their hunting
strategy if they expect to succeed.

A herd of wildebeest might provide
another chance.

Except this cheetah's hunting solo today.

Recklessly, he makes his move...

and gets beest-blocked.

Big baby animals make tempting targets.

Except there's always someone bigger
watching out for them.

Large prey might work for the coalition,

but he's out of his league.

To get his mojo back,

he needs to pick off
something a little smaller, or go hungry.

He returns to the basics.

Gazelles, just like Mother used to take.

Patience.

Stealth.

Speed.

Those are his tools.

From zero to 60 in three seconds.

The fastest cat on Earth.

But gazelles are almost as fast.

At last, he pins her.

He sports an oversize heart and lungs
in a race car body.

But if he doesn't catch his meal in less
than a minute, he'll run out of gas.

He's the only cat
with nonretractable claws

and tire-tread pads,
so he can turn on a dime.

A strangling bite finishes the job.

He eats as much as he can
as fast as he can,

before bigger predators come
or vultures advertise his kill.

Cheetahs may be the smallest
of Africa's big cats,

but they're equally fit, fast, and fatal.

It looks so tranquil.

But behind every corner
of East Africa's reefs,

death lurks by claw,

by sting,

by being swallowed whole.

And the 7-inch peacock mantis shrimp
makes a tasty morsel.

Every moment he spends in the open
looking for a meal,

he risks becoming one.

Now the 22-pound octopus,

jet-propelled,

is gunning for him
with a shell-piercing beak

and paralyzing venom.

The shrimp knows it's too late to hide,
so he needs to take a stand.

The octopus closes in
on the mantis shrimp.

It's David and Goliath.

And David has a slingshot.

Cornered, the crustacean strikes
his most threatening pose.

The killer stops in his tracks.

For a moment.

The little shrimp stares death
in the face.

Until...

The octopus, the world's smartest
invertebrate, has brains,

but the shrimp's no wimp.

Firing a punch with the force
of a .22-caliber bullet,

he stuns the octopus

and buys just enough time
to dodge his deadly embrace.

Even the military studies the shrimp
for secrets

to strengthening armor and airplanes.

That sturdy fist isn't
his only superpower.

He can see 10 times more color
than we can,

possibly providing insight
into increased computer storage.

The seven-inch powerhouse flees
to safer grounds.

Or better hunting grounds.

He's worked up an appetite.

He doesn't wait long for his prey.

One strike and it's dinnertime.

Against the shrimp, the crab's claws
are like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

The shrimp can swing his hammer

with a force more than a thousand times
his own weight.

Which makes some large predators wish
they'd picked on someone their own size.

Up on the savanna, an entirely
different show of strength and prowess.

The leopard can leap 20 feet
in a single bound, even tree to tree.

Though he prefers to stalk by night,

he won't miss a chance to work
the day shift if the benefits are good.

And right now, they are very good.

The wildebeest migration.

Over a million strong.

In June, they parade
toward the Serengeti's Grumeti River.

The Nile crocodile, Africa's largest,
awaits their arrival with open jaws.

They pass here only twice a year.

A biannual bounty
worth getting excited about.

The ambush predator's wait is almost over.

Even a 15-foot bank doesn't stop
the thirsty wildebeest

from reaching the river...

and their salivating hosts.

Some break their legs or get trampled,

but they keep coming,
answering an ancient call.

They must drink every day.

But thirst should be the least
of their worries.

And the crocodile isn't the only
hungry predator happy to see them.

While the croc glides into position
at the riverbank,

the leopard wants to grab his cut
of the wildebeest action.

With no trees for cover,
he treads cautiously.

His spots blend with the grass as
he closes the gap to his thundering prey.

He's an ambush predator
and needs a place to stage his kill.

He's still out of range,
but the migration seems never-ending.

The riverbank shields him
as he speeds into position.

On the river, the croc
has plenty of targets.

But catching one is harder than it looks.

The thirsty beasts don't notice him.

He needs to keep it that way.

He scans the herd for the weak,
the small, or the injured.

An underwater strike boosts his odds.

Fail.

And fail again.

Raw power isn't enough.

He needs to focus.

The leopard is a hundred pounds of focus.

As the wildebeests speed
toward the river, he steals into position.

He doesn't waste a shot.

He can conquer prey twice his own weight.

The leopard smelled opportunity
and grabbed it by the throat.

Twice.

Because he can stash his kill in trees,
his work won't go to waste.

The Serengeti doesn't offer
many second chances,

but the migration sends
waves of prey to the river.

This time, he nails it.

Surprise, brute strength,
and slippery river

work to the croc's advantage.

The commotion lures other crocs,
who help with the heavy lifting.

Everyone grabs a mouthful.

Adjusting after his failed attempt,
he creeps within inches before striking.

The powerful croc pulls
the wildebeest into the river

and has to drown it.

Difficult in the fairly shallow water.

A death roll helps the croc
tear off larger chunks.

Once the crocs make the kill,
they compete for their share.

The croc with the highest rank
gets first dibs.

Then, dinner's served
without reservations.

Crocs and leopards.
Two powerhouse predators.

In this part of the Serengeti,

they don't often get a chance
to go gunning for wildebeests.

But when the time comes, they're game.

Off South Africa's east coast,
deeper water holds deeper trouble.

This warm ocean invites a certain class
of killer that doesn't discriminate.

The tiger shark's a familiar assassin
in these waters.

Constantly on patrol.

His excellent night vision
pierces the gloom.

His fading camo fatigue markings
mean he's seen a lot of action.

Fourteen feet long.

Quiet as a mouse.

Deadly as hell.

And on today's menu,

turtle.

Green turtles live mainly
among the sea grass.

They're named for the color
of their flesh, not their shell.

But he depends on his shell
to keep that flesh intact.

The shark has other ideas.

From turtles to tires, he'll devour
practically anything

without a second thought.

Or even a first thought.

When the turtle surfaces for air,
he's vulnerable.

Besides his sharp vision, the shark
detects his prey's electric field

and senses changes
in water pressure and temperature.

Pinned, the turtle has no way
to defend himself or rebuff the killer.

He can survive without a flipper,
and some do manage to escape.

But the turtle's thick shell is no match
for the tiger shark's sharp,

saw-blade teeth.

He'll finish his meal
and then go on his way.

Remora fish harmlessly cling to him,
hoping to snag his leftovers.

Inland, beyond the reach of any shark.

Two secretary birds share a quiet moment

while keeping their guard up.

The life-mates made it
through another day.

Who knows what might happen tomorrow?

This guy, an Egyptian cobra,
brightens nobody's day.

His venom can paralyze, suffocate,
and kill.

Legend says that's how Cleopatra
chose to go.

The secretary bird merely wants breakfast.

A few bugs, maybe a small reptile.

Not today.

This cobra can't spit venom.

But he's lethal, hungry, and on the move.

He surprises the bird, inciting
what looks like a frenzied chicken dance.

But who's the predator here?

The secretary bird, almost 5 feet tall,
holds his ground

and tramples the cobra to death.

Take a memo.
Don't mess with the secretary bird.

Those legs, some of the longest
of any bird of prey, are lethal weapons.

His flapping deflects the snake's bite
while the bird gets down to business.

Once he's pummeled his prey,
he downs it head-first.

All in a day's work
for the secretary bird.

In the grass, a predator can launch
a sneak attack.

But on a wide, sandy beach,
a killer has no place to hide.

Pupping season
on Africa's southwest coast.

A big, noisy muddle of Cape fur seals.

But today is no ordinary day at the beach.

An intruder is coming

with an appetite.

A brown hyena,
about the size of a German Shepherd.

Her massive, bone-crushing teeth
are among the largest of any carnivore.

The young seals look like easy pickings.

But it's never a good idea
to get between a mom and her pup.

The skittish hyena would rather scavenge
a dead pup than make a kill.

Lots of pups die from heat stroke,

and she won't hesitate
to gobble up one of those.

But most of these pups look pretty spry.

Seals group together for safety.

But each mother watches only her own pup.

So, if Mom goes fishing,
no one's minding the baby.

She picks the wrong pup.

She can't go home empty-handed.

In the den, everyone pitches in
to feed the cubs,

and she needs to pull her weight.

She'll keep up her nervous patrol
until hunger consumes her fear.

A pair of jackals,
one of her only competitors,

makes her tense situation even worse.

Seals, with their sharp claws,

can defend themselves against sharks
in the water.

On land, they're not quite as nimble,
though the hyena hasn't realized.

It's getting late.

She has to make her move.

It's now or never.

After a day of indecision,

the timid brown hyena finally
faces down the mother seal

so she can feed her own clan's young.

For hyenas, as with all predators,
it's not about the thrill of the kill,

but the drive to stay alive.

[TRANSLATOR CREDIT]

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