| Author | Message | ||
     Major Stephen Gregg |
The Drinniol were by no means a highly intelligent species. They were, in fact, one of the least intelligent species in the Hegemony. Fortunately, that suited their purpose just fine. With their massive bodies, immense strength, and tough skin, the Drinniol were at the same time both living heavy-cargo movers, and excellent heavy assault troops, able to soak up damage on the battlefield while dealing out plenty of carnage to keep the enemy occupied. Because they were relatively unintelligent, they were easily controlled. Centuries of living in the Hegemony had made them complacent to their superiors and nearly zombie-like in their normal, everyday routine and carrying out of orders. Combat however, was a different story. Drinniol in combat went into a rage that was sure to lead to mass destruction of enemy forces, but was sometimes difficult to control. Also, without proper guidance, their tactics didn’t consist of much more than ‘charge in and swing arms about until everybody’s dead’. The Drinniol that was currently swinging its arms about was attempting to crush a Starfleet Marine that it just couldn’t seem to get its hands on. Each swing seemed to miss the Marine by inches, and the man was darting about as if he knew exactly where the Drinniol didn’t want him to go. It wasn’t often Stephen Gregg toyed with his prey, but in this case he was going to make an exception. This particular ‘beast’ had come inches from splattering him against the deck when it burst unexpectedly through a bulkhead while he and his team were making their way through one of the double-sized decks on the Pfhor warship. Gregg hadn’t taken too kindly to this, and had promptly ordered his men to fall back for a moment. His rifle was on the deck behind him, tossed there as he had fallen backwards from the impact of the ‘thing’ through the bulkhead. Gregg was slightly pleased he had lost hold of the weapon, because if he had retained it, he would have likely shot the beast through the head on the spot. The beast swung its arms about in a rage, roaring each time it missed Gregg. Each of the Major’s movements was timed perfectly, without hesitation as he darted from side to side, ducked and rolled, and circled the creature. The small, wry, satisfied grin within Gregg’s helmet grew slightly each time the creature roared – audibly becoming more and more frustrated with each swing. Then the creature did what the Major had been waiting for. It roared even louder and brought both its arms up high in the air, bringing them down in a hammer blow that crushed into the deck and buried the creature’s arms up to its elbows. Of course, Gregg hadn’t been near the impact side, he had dived and rolled beneath the creature’s tree-trunks of legs. As the creature roared anew, Gregg removed the false matter sword from its attachment point at the small of his back and activated it. A short spin with the blade, and half the beast’s right thigh severed. The roar from the beast this time was not one of frustration, but one of surprise and immense pain. Gregg didn’t hesitate as he swung cleanly, and severed the inner thigh of the creature's other leg. Another roar, and the creature spasmed , ripping its arms up out of the deck and began to fell backwards, falling down upon the Major. But in a smooth motion, Gregg altered the length of the false matter blade, extending it to its maximum limit, and swung the blade directly over his head. The beast split in two down its centerline, the two halves of the creature falling to either side of the Major, leaving him unscathed – if splattered in bodily fluids. Gregg stood there for a moment, the tip of the false matter blade lightly touching the deck in front of him, before turning the blade off and retrieving his rifle. As he straightened from picking up the weapon off the deck he looked over to the team that had retreated to the entrance of the chamber where the duel had taken place. If he had been able to see through the polarized face-shields of the men’s helmets he would’ve seen them staring at him with a combination of awe, both of his duel with the beast, and his apparent insanity for conducting it. The Major cleared his throat, “Gentlemen, I believe we have a vessel that has yet to be secured for capture. Let’s move.” |