Spirit

Kryuchkov and Pugo had never been busier than in April. To protect this fragile new government and to stage an impressive military parade, the two men meticulously inspected every possible hidden threat around Red Square, both inside and out. To the Soviet people, this might seem like just another ordinary military parade, but for Yanaev, its significance was no less than the historic Red Square parade of November 7, 1941.

Yanaev stood before the mirror, adjusting his suit nervously. This would be his first appearance before the leaders of the remaining socialist countries: Cuba's Castro, Vietnam's General Secretary Do Muoi, representatives from Mongolia, Czechoslovakia's Jan Strasky, the North Korean leader, and envoys from neighboring socialist states. Once a mighty socialist bloc, the camp had crumbled under Gorbachev's disastrous reforms. Now, only six countries remained, barely surviving the storm.

Looking at his reflection, Yanaev seemed worn and tired. He took a deep breath, uncertain how to face his former allies. The mistakes of a foolish leader had shattered the bloc that once rivaled the West. The Soviet Union was a source of shame to the socialist comrades it had once led.

A knock came at the door. "Come in," Yanaev said.

Pugo and Kryuchkov entered one after the other. "Everything is arranged, General Secretary Yanaev. Security for the parade is flawless," they reported.

"Yes," Yanaev replied, turning toward Pugo. "What about the security for the visiting leaders? Their safety is paramount. Any accidents during the parade are unacceptable."

"There will be absolutely no accidents," Pugo assured him firmly. Then, with some hesitation, he added, "But General Secretary, I have never seen you this worried before. Is there something specific about this parade that troubles you?"

Yanaev shook his head. "No, just memories." He gazed out the Kremlin window at the bright flags fluttering in the wind. "I miss the Soviet Union of old—proud, powerful, a king ruling millions. Now, we wear splendid clothes on the outside, but inside we are rotten. One small shock and the whole thing might fall apart."

Kryuchkov nodded. "But we survived the toughest times, didn't we? Everyone thought the Soviet Union was finished after the August 19 coup, but we endured. The Soviet Union remains one of the few superpowers. That's your credit, General Secretary. Though battered, we will only grow stronger."

Yanaev smiled faintly. "I believe that too." He wiped away his sorrow. "Now, let's go to Red Square. It's time to review the army and greet the people's gaze."

Red Square was spotless, ready to welcome the troops. The blue sky above contrasted sharply with the crimson Kremlin walls. Crowds had gathered, eager to witness the parade. Among them were veterans of the Great Patriotic War, quietly waiting.

Some had stood here in November 1941, amid the brutal artillery fire of the German army, their backs blurred by bullets, later advancing steel-hearted to Berlin to plant the victory flag atop the Reichstag. They were proud of their motherland's strength. Though war had taken their most precious things, their beloved country had spared them no further loss.

For veteran Vasily, this was his first grand parade. A humble man from a small country town, he looked at the solemn majesty of Red Square and thought of comrades long gone. His voice cracked with emotion: "Do you see it, comrades? This is the mighty motherland you dreamed of!"

Before the ceremony began, Vasily, leaning on a cane and supported by others, visited the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Alexander Garden, just outside the Kremlin's red walls. Built on the eve of Victory Day in 1967, the mausoleum's dark red marble faced north, adorned with bronze sculptures of helmets and military flags—simple yet profound symbols of sacrifice.

At its center burned a torch shaped like a five-pointed star. The flame had burned continuously since the tomb's creation, a symbol that the martyrs' spirit would forever light the world.

Vasily laid pure white flowers before the tomb, honoring the unknown soldiers who died in the Great Patriotic War. Through tear-filled eyes, he seemed to hear the thunder of artillery and the steady footsteps of his comrades advancing relentlessly.

"Dear comrades, after all these years, I finally see you again. Though I do not know where your bodies rest, I know your souls gather here, never to part. This bouquet I lay before you is my humble tribute."

Before him was no cold stone but an eternal monument forged in the blood and spirit of countless heroes. Their great, indomitable souls, clutching steel guns, stood guard over every inch of the motherland, braving sun and storm, never leaving their post.