Katyusha

I remember it like it was yesterday. When it rolled off the train and I was handed the key. She didn’t look like much. Just a regular truck. But atop her back was a raisable rack. On that rack we’d load rockets, like standard artillery, but with more fire power. On her cab was the letter “K”, stamped into the metal. Officially, it was called the BM-13 but we all called her Katyusha.

That’s what I called her. Katyusha. Though her real name was Katya. We met long before this war. We were young, and maybe impulsive. I remember it like it was yesterday. When I saw her on the riverbank. Just like the song. Except she wasn’t waiting for anyone. Or maybe she was. I’d like to think she was waiting for me. I don’t recall our conversation, just that we wanted to meet again as we parted that evening. That riverbank was our spot. We’d meet in the morning. We’d spend the day together. Then we’d part by evening. Katyusha and I.

I remember our first night. Among all the other machines, she stood out to me. Even though she looked identical to all the others. But just how a man can identify the woman he loves in a crowd of thousands, I could identify her among every other truck. To me they were all BM-13s, mine was Katyusha. We were on alert that night. I didn’t want to leave her alone on the cold. So, I slept in the cab. The night seemed silent. One could not believe a war was on.

That night was silent. We would not have guessed a war was coming. Katyusha and I lay beneath the stars. We talked. We joked. That laugh. How I love that laugh. Always full of joy. I miss it on the lonely nights. Like the night in the cab. The memories of the river came back to me. It would have been silent; except for the sound of us talking and laughing. Then I said it for the first time. “Katya, you are my Katyusha.” “Katyusha, I love you.”

We kept each other warm that night. We lost all sense of time until the morning light came.

She kept me warm that night. But the peace was shattered. We were to mobilise.

The Germans were advancing again. We got our range. Gently I touched the delicate controls. For a moment all I heard was the engine purr, the rack raise. I remembered how she would constantly hum to herself. Never an actual song, just some random tune. I’d sit and listen to her, even when she did know I was. Focus. I waited. Some of the men blocked their ears. I would, once I fired. Then she sang. I could not block that out. The rockets whistled from her, hitting a high note. They lit up the sky, then the entire night.

She lit up the night with that smile of hers. It did not matter how bad my day had been. When I say Katyusha smile, the darkness would flee. I loved to hear her voice; I still hear her when the silence becomes too much. She loved to sing. When she actually hummed a tune, she would always sing. Why would I not want to hear my Katyusha sing?

Then came her song. It was ironic. Who knew how we met? It was like it was written for us. For her. If ever she had had a bad day. If ever I did not see that smile. I’d sing Katyusha to her. She loved it. Why wouldn’t she? It was her song.

Days later we pushed the Germans back. Katyusha did most of the work for me. What I saw I could not unsee. The earth scorched. Men burned to the bone. I did this. I thought of Katyusha. What would she say? If she stood beside me now. Would that smile fade. Would her face contort in horror? Would she still love me? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t bare what I saw. Instead, I saw her. My Katyusha. But she saw what I had done. I opened my eyes and turned away. I did not want to see it. I didn’t want to see her cry. I hated it when she cried. What monster would make my Katyusha cry? Someone like her only deserved happiness. I don’t know what I’d do to the man. Who made Katyusha cry.

When I returned to her side I looked back again. “It’s alight.” I whispered. “It’s not your fault.” “Don’t cry Katyusha. I’m here.”

We’d spent days together. Then weeks. We’d met for weeks before we decided to go somewhere other than the river. Like to a restaurant. Neither of us could afford anything fancy. But I had Katyusha, I needed nothing more. She didn’t turn heads like some of the other girls. But I did not care. It was better that way. I did not want others to try take her away. As for the others. They had nothing on my Katyusha. Then we decided to make it official. We were 19. So what? We’d decided to marry. What was the difference if it was 2 years “early”. I’d go to war in two years. I might not be coming back. We’d at least have those two years.

“Take a look at this.” I heard him say. 3 fresh recruits. They were looking at her. One touched her cab.

“Get your hand off of her!” I yelled. He did not listen. Or maybe he was going to protest. I didn’t let him. I shoved him away from her. Nobody touches my Katyusha! Nobody disrespects her.

I recall one evening. When the sky decided to open up. The rain poured down on us. Katyusha loved the rain. I didn’t. But I learned to. For her. She loved to walk in it. But she hated the thunder and lightning. We’d been walking that evening. That smile bright as can be. Then artillery rumbled. No, sorry. It was the boom of thunder. Lightning struck like an explosion. She had her face buried in my chest in seconds. Quivering.

“It’s alright.” She was terrified. We got back to safety. We huddled up on the bed. I closed the curtains so she wouldn’t see the lightning.

The sound of the rain pounding on her metal body was soothing. But I knew I could not leave her in the rain too long. I’d hate for her to rust. The horizon boomed with thunder. Or artillery. No, thunder. I saw the lightning flash. I found a tarp and began to cover her. Keep her warm and safe. I looked at the others. They stood in the rain. On the front we had no shelters. Yet, nobody covered theirs. Did they not care? Or did they not know how to care?

I climbed into the cab and shivered. Yet she was warm. I thought of my Katyusha. I missed her. Did she miss me. She hadn’t written to me in some time. Had she forgotten me? No. Not my Katyusha. She was waiting for me to write her first. She didn’t want to write about the good times she was having whilst I suffered. She didn’t want to write about her sorrows whilst I was having a good time. She wanted to know how I was doing first. She was considerate. I wished she just write regardless of my situation. But I’d write her. I lay in the cab and wrote. I let my heart spill out all over the page. I know I shed a few tears. Can you blame me? I hadn’t seen her in so long. When I finished it, I folded it and put it under the seat. It would be safe there. She’d get it tomorrow.

It was inspection day. I made sure she was spotless. I hated seeing her muddy anyway. I scrubbed her metal body until I could almost see my reflection. I always took care of her. We didn’t have much. I worked as a farm helper. She was still looking for a job. I ensured everything I made would go to benefitting us. Our village was small, and very easy to miss. I always let her bathe first with what hot water we had. I didn’t care if it was cold for me afterwards. If our shoes wore out, I got her new ones first. I couldn’t bear the thought of my Katyusha walking around with blistered feet. She always smelt lovely. Not from perfume of fancy shampoo, just naturally. It was like she never sweated. Or I just never noticed. I kept her from smelling of diesel and smoke. The others always smelt.

“How are you holding up?” Someone asked me. I recognised him. But his name is lost to my memory.

“Fine. Why?”

“I heard you crying last night. In the cab.” What was he doing sneaking around us last night.

“I get emotional when I write to my wife.”

He was about to talk when the inspector arrived. He returned to his truck. We stood. The inspector went by each on. Criticizing each on. Then he got to Katyusha.

“This, men, this is a proper job well done.” He said. Then he began walking around her. Taking his time. Admiring her. I couldn’t blame him. But I didn’t like it. “Excellent job.” He opened the cab door. The interior was spotless. Then he looked under the seats.

“What’s this?” he took out a folded piece of paper. I twitched. “Hiding reports?”

“Put it back!” I snapped. He ignored me and recklessly unfolded it. “I said put it back!” I repeated.

“What is this supposed to be? It’s garbled rubbish. Unreadable.”

I snatched it from him. “They are not for you!” He only looked at me.

“Apart from this mess, you pass the inspection.” He said, a little stunned. Why? He walked off. I looked at the page. He’d creased the corner. Gently I straightened it. Then I put it back with the rest of her letters.

It was a chaotic day. Noise. Just noise. But I could hear Katyusha singing merely. The German artillery barked and she responded. That’s my girl. Above the birds roared in the sky. Planes. Planes roared in the sky. Katyusha loved the sounds of the birds singing. She hated the sound of the aeroplane engines. “They disturb the peace.” She’d say.

I loaded the rack. Then hopped in the cab and let her sing again. I don’t know why everyone else always blocked their ears when she sang. It was beautiful. Then one of those awful flying machines dove and shot at us. The gunners shot back but to no avail. I felt Katyusha shudder.

“Don’t be afraid.” I said. Then I saw smoke. I got out to check There was a bullet hole on the bonnet. She was bleeding smoke from it. That animal! He’d clipped her. A moment of panic. But she was humming away fine. She was still alright. But he harmed her. How could I let this happen. How? What kind of a husband…

“It’s just a scratch.” I said. “You will be alright. I’ll take you to the medic when we’re done.”

I reloaded. I fired. I let her scream. That scream…

I remember how she screamed. When they dragged my Katyusha away. I can’t unhear it. I was too late. What kind of a husband lets them drag his wife away? Somehow, they did not see me. Or did I just hear the story. I must have been there. When… she fell in the mud. My Katyusha, her face ruined. Her smile gone. My Katyusha… was gone.

NO! NO, she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. They try to convince me otherwise. But she’s there every morning. How can she be gone if she’s always beside me! They lie to me. Who lies to a man about such a topic?

And who hurts such a delicate woman? Her laugh was beautiful. Her scream was terrible. They wanted to hear her scream. Now they will. They will hear my Katyusha scream, knowing they will hurt more than she did. My Katyusha. You hated violence. But nobody hurts you. They will pay. But I don’t know who did it. So, they’ll all have to do. I’m sorry you have to be part of this.