THIS:
[Let it be known that the beliefs contained in this post are not my own, Minotaurs are just jerks.]
Throughout the briefing, a giant stood silent, distant from those that might call themselves his brother. He had listened to the mission briefing intently. As many among their number supported the veteran Ultramarine, the ugly crack of a smile began to play upon his scarred lips; a small motion by his standards, but due to the immensity of his frame and proportions, an all too obvious one. The Ultramarines. Sons of Macragge. The Warriors of Ultramar. The pride of Roboute. Marneus Calgar's sycophantic slaves, so blinded by reverence to their "Spiritual Liege" and bound by the doctrines set by their Primarch that they lacked nearly any individuality. Save the renowned Macraggian arrogance, of course. In this, Gregor considered himself fortunate. There existed no stigma against the Minotaurs to follow the example of their Primarch, for no one, save the High Lords or perhaps Asterion Moloc, could guess the origin of the gene seed of the Minotaurs. It was not that of the Imperial Fists, Gregor was certain. They retained use of their Belcher's Gland and sus-an membrane. But such were thoughts for another time.
Gregor could not admit to approving of being commanded by an Ultramarine, the divide between their chapters still standing strong centuries later, but at the same time, he did not know the others well enough to give his vote for them, and truthfully, he didn't like any of them much more than the Ultramarines. He thought of volunteering himself, but reasoned that, despite his prowess, he would be ill-suited for the position. The Minotaurs were a fleet-based chapter, and more than that, they near-exclusively operated at full strength, rarely splitting the chapter in any fashion. This was to be a conflict with but two squads. Gregor found the absence of a full-chapter fighting alongside him a more alien and uncomfortable feeling than he would have guessed. It was not fear. Gregor was a Space Marine, a Minotaur no less, he has fought against nigh-impossible odds without backing down. But in numbers, the Minotaurs had a tactical advantage that could not be overstated. It was not merely useful for grueling battles of attrition, but for the flexibility on the field, the ability to field every single Marine of varying specialties and abilities, backed by the impressive technology at their disposal. That was lost here, here, he would be forced to rely on the abilities of those he did not know or trust, without the cohesion of a full-strength Minotaur assault. He wondered if the Deathwatch was truly an efficient use of Astartes resources.
Such thoughts were pushed from his mind as the other Marines continued to converse, talking strategy and logistics. Keeping his ear open, he nevertheless allowed his eyes to wander around the room, observing his fellow Marines. Based on their builds, Gregor guessed that only one, perhaps two, of the assembled Astartes in this room could begin to rival his raw physical might, but he knew physical supremacy was not enough. While he had made good use of his abnormal size and strength for his chapter, he knew that alone was not the measure of a Marine. Many in the room were veterans, with more experience than he could claim to have, and loathe as he was to admit it, he did not favor his chances against them in combat under most circumstances. The others? The ugly smile crept upon his face again. He looked for weak points in their armour, tried to read their posture for evidence of how they might carry themselves in combat. He could glean some information, but not enough. He could hardly wait until he fought alongside them, allowing him to further study the way they wage war, so as to best devise strategies on how he might go about besting them.
Killing a Space Marine wasn't so hard, you just needed to know how. A thrust of the blade through the side of their chestplate, puncturing both hearts, was perhaps Gregor's favorite method, as it allowed a closer, more intimate kill. A blade or bolter shot through the visor worked just as well. Some would censure Gregor for his thoughts, but it was the way of the Minotaur to strive to defeat the worthiest of opponents. And what opponent is more worthy to fight a Space Marine than another Space Marine? The effectiveness of this train of thought could not be denied, the Minotaurs have proven most competent at the execution of rival Marines.
As the briefing ended, Gregor turned, silent but for the heavy purr his his armour's fibre bundles whirring around his genehanced musculature. He heads for the armoury.
Meal on wheels