Unprecedented Magnificence

People from all across the Soviet Union gathered in front of their televisions, eyes fixed on the grand ceremony unfolding live. Yanayev appeared radiant on the screen, waving warmly and greeting the people of the country with practiced ease.

He was hosting representatives from North Korea, reaffirming the historic friendship between the two nations. North Korea expressed its hope to expand trade ties with the Soviet Union, especially as many Eastern European communist countries had succumbed to peaceful evolution and abandoned socialism. Losing the Soviet Union's support would deliver a fatal blow to North Korea's fragile economy.

For this reason, North Korea had become more like a loyal watchdog crawling beside the Soviet Union, desperate to cling to its last major ally. History would prove the devastating impact of the Soviet collapse: North Korea's economy spiraled into a decade-long recession and only began to recover slowly in the early 21st century.

"We have always valued our socialist allies greatly," Yanayev replied with polite formality. But what followed chilled the North Korean representatives. "However, as you are aware, the Soviet Union is currently facing serious economic difficulties. We can no longer purchase goods at the previously low prices, nor can we provide selfless assistance as before."

Though tactfully worded, the message was clear—North Korea's prosperous days were numbered.

A flicker of disappointment crossed the North Korean envoy's face. Nearby, Vietnam's General Secretary Do Muoi glanced on with a subtle sense of satisfaction. Unlike North Korea's rigid conservatism, Vietnam had already embraced economic reforms and avoided the brink of collapse.

Ignoring the tense atmosphere, Yanayev focused on the parade ahead. He did not take the stage first to speak; instead, he greeted the World War II veterans in attendance.

Taken aback by Yanayev's unexpected attention, the veterans were touched. As some attempted to stand and shake his hand, Yanayev gently placed his hands on their shoulders, encouraging them to remain seated. Smiling, he said, "If standing is difficult, there's no need. On behalf of all our people, I offer you my deepest respect."

Bowing 45 degrees, Yanayev's gesture was captured by cameras, along with the veterans' puzzled yet moved expressions. This sincere, unforced moment won cheers from viewers nationwide—a natural display of respect more powerful than any rehearsed speech.

One veteran finally said, after a long pause, "General Secretary, you are too... too polite."

Yanayev glanced briefly at his empty left sleeve and replied solemnly, "Thank you for all you have done. The motherland will never forget you."

Neat ranks of soldiers marched in perfect unison across Red Square, their bayonets flashing in the May sunlight. Red songs echoed above, while white doves—symbols of peace and hope—soared into the sky. Colorful hot air balloons floated upward, representing the country's longing for peace.

The stirring notes of "Katyusha" filled every corner of Red Square. Alongside the song rolled Moscow's armored forces: formations of T-80 and T-72 tanks gleamed under the sun, their 1,250-horsepower engines rumbling as steel tracks gripped the cobblestones. These massive machines heralded the arrival of the red polar bear.

Do Muoi's eyes sparkled as he watched the T-80 tanks pass by. Vietnam had previously acquired some T-72s through forced arms sales, but the T-80—a development based on the T-64—had not yet been exported. Given the recent frenzy of Soviet arms sales, it was possible the T-80 would soon appear on the foreign market.

While Do Muoi daydreamed, the cameras caught every subtle expression on the faces of the attending leaders.

Next came the missile troops. The SAM missile series—feared across the West—rolled onto the parade ground. From the single-soldier portable SAM-18 "Needle," to the mobile SAM-19 "Tunguska," and the colossal SAM-21 "Triumph" long-range missile, each provoked awe from the audience.

Yanayev felt a quiet pride. This parade was a carefully crafted show of strength. Unable to recreate the grandeur of the August 1 Western military exercises, this display was a warning in disguise: The Soviet Union may be in decline, but its arsenal remained a formidable deterrent.

Finally, the Soviet Union unveiled a weapon sure to capture North Korea's attention—the long-range ballistic missile.

Though the Soviet Union had supplied North Korea with about 20 Scud-B missiles starting in 1972 through the 1980s, North Korea had acquired more advanced versions from Egypt and had copied these to produce the Hwasong-5 missile. Three years prior, drawing from Iraq's Al Hussein missile, North Korea had lengthened the fuel tank and extended the range to develop the "Nodong" missile.

No major breakthroughs had been announced publicly, but only Yanayev knew the full extent of North Korea's missile development. After the Soviet Union's collapse in 1992, former Makayev Design Bureau researchers began assisting North Korea in advancing missile technology. The "Nodong" missile was officially deployed in 1995.

This parade was like an arms exhibition the socialist allies had long dreamed of. The North Korean representative, distracted, glanced at Yanayev and attempted to inquire privately about the SAM missiles. Yanayev skillfully evaded the question—this was not the time to discuss such matters.

When the last weapon rolled onto the parade ground, the familiar strains of Katyusha abruptly ceased. In its place came a new anthem—Soviet March, adapted under Yanayev's direct orders, its lyrics strikingly more radical and domineering.

When Yanayev requested a tenor to perform this more aggressive version, Surkov, the Minister of Propaganda and parade organizer, expressed his concern. "Are lyrics filled with such blatant chauvinism really appropriate for a military parade?" he asked cautiously.

Yanayev, fully aware of the fierce spirit that simmered among the Slavic people, shot back with a sharp question. "Which message is more likely to rally the public: political correctness or radical slogans? Consider this: the saintly saying, 'The Soviets will live in peace with the Western world and never go to war' versus the bold declaration, 'The Soviets will flatten the world and show no mercy to enemies who threaten the motherland.' Which do you think will ignite passion among our people?"

Surkov did not hesitate. "The second one."

"Exactly. Any other questions?" Yanayev rolled his eyes. "Expressions like 'friendly countries are surprised' do not exist in my vocabulary. Should we consider the feelings of the British in these lyrics? No. We have never held much goodwill for European troublemakers. If they dislike it, they can file a complaint at the embassy—I'm sure the Minister of Foreign Affairs will handle that politely."

He added wryly, "Besides, when the Americans composed Soviet March, they intended it as mockery to discredit us. Little did they know it would become a beloved heroic anthem. It's a bit like how redneck Trump's approval ratings soared unexpectedly before I traveled through time."

As the stirring, grand music echoed through the air, the Soviet Union unveiled its final, fearsome killing machine to the world's eager gaze. The immense weapon's colossal frame cast a shadow heavy with dread. Over 30 meters long, it bore a warhead with a TNT equivalent nearing 20 million tons—enough to destroy the world multiple times over.

From Belfast across Europe to the Far East!

This was the Soviet Union's ultimate trump card, the weapon most feared by the West. Alongside the unstoppable steel torrents that had flattened entire regions and the vast nuclear arsenal, it symbolized the apex of Soviet might.

The Red October March is sung across the land.

NATO named this fearsome weapon after the most terrifying demon of hell:

Poplar, Katyusha, Iron Tide, and our red polar bear...

R-36M — Satan.