"Put that damn thing away," Olig said, looking at the knife in R's synthetic hand. "We’re here to surrender R2D2." He winked.

The sound of the scout’s turbines was getting louder, a growing whine. The vehicle was still out of sight, negotiating a bend in the road. R reluctantly sheathed his blade.

"Okay here’s what we’ll do," said, eyes gleaming maniacally. "We gotta let ‘em know we’re sincere about surrender. So we gotta do it the Kook'tuttla way."

"What do you know about the Kook'tuttla way of doing things?"

"Enough. I did exo-sociobiology before I joined the services."

"Did you pass?"

"Nope. Never mind. Now we have to lie across the road, on our backs, and sorta inch our way along, indicating our wounded submissive posture."

R started to protest again but with a shove the sergeant knocked him. Caught off guard, with a damaged leg actuator to boot, R-650 fell across the road. Thud! on his back.

Olig pulled out a dirty white handkerchief, lay down nexta him. "It’s supposed to be green, never mind," he said, indicating the filthy rag. "This’ll have to do. Now inch your way along. Remember to stick your belly in the air."

R-650 tried to do so. The effort made the actuators in his right leg give out completely. Searing pain was transmitted along paracarbonite nerves to his silicoid-iridium-sponge neural net brain. He tried to access his operating system, to call up a dialogue box and disable the pain sensors. No time! The Kook'tuttla scoutcar loomed over the rise. For an instant R thought they were going to be run down. But the driver slammed on the brakes with just meters to spare.

The Kook'tuttla jumped out, three of them. Maybe there was a fourth one manning the squat-muzzled 20 millimeter autocannon in the vehicle turret. R wasn’t sure. It was hard to think straight with the pain. The electronic display before his eyes was starting to go staticky. He was dimly aware of Olig scraping his butt around on the dirt road going "we surrender we surrender." Yeah, sure, like these bastards understand Terran Standard.

Whack! Thud wham! Heavy blows suddenly rained down on him. From Olig’s yelps R realized the sergeant was receiving the same treatment.

The tallest of three Kook'tuttla shouted something. The kicking and beating and rifle-butting stopped. R guessed the commander, if that’s who he was, fell for the bait, believed they wanted to surrender. R-650 was pulled roughly to his feet. He felt his bad leg give way again, was about to fall, but shifted his weight to his good leg, internal gyros straining in an effort to compensate. He could see Olig held by one of the Kook'tuttla, blood streaming down his face from the blows. This was the first time R had seen Kook'tuttla up really close. They were not a handsome sight. Even the tallest one, the commander, was shorter than Olig, although all three were proportionally very broad and muscular. Their skin, where visible through the dull green uniform, was slimy brownish-green, with numerous small warts. The faces broad and flat, eyes small and red, nostrils flat, mouths broad and drooling a revolting saliva. Think of a toad mated with a Terran gorilla, then make it ten times as ugly. Yet at the same time the face revealed a high and a surprising intelligent-looking forehead. A fringe of quills formed a sort of spiky mohawk along the top of the head and down the back. R knew that these quills secreted a milky-colored substance that was fatal to humans and indeed most Earth animal life.

R could see no gender differences among their three captors. And indeed there were none; the Kook'tuttla were hermaphroditic, each contained male and female genitals and would lay six to ten eggs at a time. The eggs were kept in hatcheries, and the young fed on anabolic steroids to make them a lot stronger and more aggressive. Even if he were undamaged, and Olig in peak physical condition, he knew the two of them would stand little chance in hand to hand combat. Now the situation was even more desperate. Damn that Olig! How were they going to get out of this one?
--Proteus

The question was almost immediately replaced with another. "Now what the hell are the toady bastards doing?" Watching the enemies warily, and without making direct eye contact, R observed what almost certainly was the leader of the three.

The hideous little monster seemed to be sniffing around and eventually pointed in the direction of the damaged R-unit. Once again demonstrating the behavior R650 had seen a few moments earlier, grunting and moaning an apparently humorous communication to his alien band, took a stride towards Olig. Tensing for the final opportunity to defend himself and his comrade, R waited for the right instant. When to his suprised astonishment the odd creature lifted a flap in his armor and released a familiar smelling stream of fluid onto Olig's feet and legs. This seemed to be its way of saying "Hey you look like you feel left out" and pissing on him was his way of making sure that both knew their were no favorites among the prisoners of the Kook'tuttla.
--Niko Tesla

Pissed on again- Dammit.  I'm really going to kill Olig now.

R was in no mood for this shit.  His hand found The handle of his knife and in a single fluid motion he drove it in the Kook'tuttla's groin.  R was very pleased with the startled Kook'tuttla's odd screams of agony.  Serves the smug bastard right.

The other two Kook'tuttla soldiers were taken aback by R's savage violence.  Olig, wasting no time let out a whooping war cry, and dove for the feet of the nearest enemy driving the surprised solder into the ground, its head striking an exposed rock with a loud crack.  Olig then beat the villain in a frenzied pace driving the remaining life out of it.

R-650 shoved the screaming commander into the second Koot'tuttla scout who had just begun to unleash a hail of bullets in R's direction.  The fallen leader absorbed the brunt of the onslaught and knocked the weapon from the soldier's grasp.  R was on it in a second, knife in hand and never let the Kook'tuttla recover from its error.

R, exhausted from the struggle, waited for the 20 mm rounds to tear him to shreds, but that was it.  The arrogant bastards hadn't left anyone in reserve for backup.

Olig, resting on his fallen victim, turned to R and let out an other whoop.  "What I tell 'ya, we had these bastards beat and there wasn't a dam thing they could do about it."

R just rolled over and punched the S.O.B. right in the face.
--Jason Newgard

R hit him right in the face! He fell to the ground, writhering in agony, pain, and anguish.
--Brian Atwood

"R!" roared Olig, his hand muffling the yell as it cradled his bruised nose. "You sonofabitch! What the hell did you hit me for?" He staggered to his feet, blood and gore from the Kook'tuttla dripping from his hands and chest.

"Sgt Olig, after that stunt i figured you just needed a good ass kicking....... Now would you help me get to my feet so we can make use of this transport?" Olig looked at R for a brief moment before his eyes softened, and the sound of his laughter began to echo across the small draw they sat it. "Well I'll take that into consideration the next time we're in this situation R. Now lets get your gimp ass into this thing and start heading for the fleet"
--MHal9000

What happens next? You decide. Write a sentence, write a paragraph then send it to me and I will add it to the story.