Ensign
Peter Flynn didn’t know who threw the first punch. He only knew that the marine
that had half a meter on him and at least fifteen kilos was set to pound him
into the bar. Seeing as he was fresh out of Officer Training and had plenty of
classes on tactics, he could have opted to employ those now, except his temper
had gotten the better of him when one of the marines had quite literally spit
beer in his face.
The marine
was too used to relying on his size, so telegraphed his punch. Flynn ducked to
the side, grabbing the marine’s arm, spun around behind the larger man, and
promptly dislocated the shoulder. While the marine howled, he kicked the man in
the back of the knees, then rammed his head at the wooden panels underneath the
bar.
The SPs
promptly cuffed him, but not before Skip Rollins, lip bloody and a black eye
already swelling up said, “Great Brawl, Pete. Let’s come back next liberty.”