Brigitte

I's Brigitte Holn. But nobody calls me dat. Everybody just says "Big Brig." Easier ta remember, I fink. Bosses say I's odd... fer an Ogryn. Not 'cause I's bigger—though I is. Lot bigger. I's odd 'cause I knows ta stop pullin' before da chain snaps. Knows ta wait fer da crane. Knows ta listen when da engine makes a funny clank instead o' just hittin' it. Turns out dat's enough ta get me sent ta da motor pool instead o' da front line. Best day o' my life. I loves tanks. Big ones, little ones, don't matter. Chimeras, Leman Russes, recovery wagons... dey all got personalities. Sometimes dey's just tired. Sometimes dey need a new engine. Sometimes dey just need somebody big enough ta lift da heavy bits while da little clever folks do da fiddly work. Tech-Priests mutter. Mechanics point. I lift. Somehow it all works out. Most o' da regiment likes havin' me around. I keeps da tanks movin', an' tanks keep everybody alive. Dat's good enough fer me. Other Ogryns fink I's pretty. Dat's always funny. I never knows what ta say when one o' dem gets all shy around me. I's just Big Brig. Lately, though... I keeps seein' one little soldier hangin' around da motor pool. Least... I fink dey's a soldier. Could be a humie. Could be a Ratling. Maybe even a little Ogryn. Everybody under my chin kinda blurs together if I ain't payin' attention. But I notice 'em. Dey always seem ta wander by when I's workin'. Watchin' me haul engines or tighten track links. Sometimes I catches 'em starin'. Soon as I smile, dey look away all flustered. Heh. I don't know why dey keeps lookin' at me. ...But I kinda hopes dey comes back tomorrow.