Chapter 400143Chapter NaN

October 8, 1940

Northern Italy - German-occupied territory, Milan

-Are you doing well?

Late in the evening, hearing Claudia's voice over the telephone, I felt happy, yet somehow wistful.

It was something she wanted and I granted, but if she were still my aide, we would be together by now.

"I'm not doing well without you."

I intentionally used a bit of a grumbling voice, and I heard laughter from the other end of the line.

-I never knew you were this cute.

This time, the laughter was quite long, and I felt the corners of my own mouth turn up.

"I think I'll be able to head up soon."

-That's good news.

The negotiations must have gone well?

Although the talks with Gasperi from the Italian side were more like a semi-unilateral demand than a negotiation.

"I can't be sure until the documents are actually signed, but that's about right.

How about you? Your training course is over and you've been assigned, right?"

-Yes, that's right. I confirm and convey telegrams when they come in, and I write obituaries to be telegraphed to the families of the fallen.

"…I see."

The German National Defense Forces could be said to be enjoying a series of victories, but casualties still keep coming without rest.

No matter how glorious the victory, it is accompanied by hundreds, thousands of sacrifices that are never even mentioned, and the tears their families will shed.

What consolation could a victory achieved through such sacrifice be to those who have lost their families? The burden of conveying that news must be far from light.

-It was pandemonium at first. There were many who would burst into tears while writing.

But everyone has adapted well, and we're doing our work with a sense of responsibility.

As if reading my mood, she spoke in a deliberately cheerful voice.

-Actually, before I started this job, I thought you were a bit peculiar for recording the names of all the subordinates you lost in Spain, and for diligently collecting lists of the fallen since the coup d'état.

"You did?"

A despondent laugh escaped me, and her voice came again.

-But since someone like you is leading the war, when I deliver obituaries or talk to my colleagues, I can speak with sincerity, not just empty platitudes.

"…This is a problem."

-Hmm?

"You say things that feel like you're reading my mind. I don't think I can live without you."

I heard laughter again.

This time, I could laugh along with her, and my gloominess flew away somewhere.

I don't think of that kind of work as light, but what she's doing is, in the end, a job befitting the title 'support personnel' by soldiers' standards.

Still, it was a relief that she didn't seem to have any dissatisfaction with it.

"I'm glad you seem to be doing well in your own way. Of course, I trust my reporter, but I was worried about how those around you would be."

-Yes, I'm fine.

The administrator, General Erich Fellgiebel, doesn't care at all that I'm your wife and treats me just like any other colleague. I like that.

Erich Fellgiebel. The general who oversees the German Army's communications and encryption.

He has been on our side since the time of the Black Orchestra.

He didn't have a frontline role, but the fact that our propaganda war reached even Nazi territories was thanks to his advance preparation, so he was a great help.

That aside.

"But that doesn't mean you should fall for a middle-aged general, Lady?"

Laughter was heard again.

-Ah, I'm laughing too much today. I feel like I've gone back to my carefree college days.

I'm getting along well with my colleagues, too. The only problem is they're all too interested in you.

I think I know what that's like. Someone like her would surely be a central figure among her colleagues.

-Thanks to that, it's nice to know all the trivial details about how people live and what the atmosphere is like. As a reporter for the Political and Military Department, I didn't have much contact with this side of things.

"That's good. How are the people?"

We are doing our best to secure the food supply by importing grain and meat from America and Yugoslavia, and we're trying to re-expand the civilian industry, which was completely neglected under Nazi rule.

Still, since we've entered a wartime economy, I was worried about how it would actually feel to the people.

This isn't an era where you can easily conduct a fact-finding survey, and honestly, this isn't something the higher-ups can understand just by walking out on the street.

-It seems to be okay for now. At least people are living well without worrying about their livelihood, and many say they only realized how grim the atmosphere was during the Nazi era after the administration changed.

"…That's a relief."

Still, it was a joy that the efforts we poured in were showing proper effect.

The Jewish people and the original German inhabitants who settled in West Prussia (Danzig) and Posen, which we gained from Poland, still live separately at a distance, but thanks to our special care, the extreme incidents we worried about haven't occurred.

That region has quite a bit more farmland than the German mainland, so we can look forward to future agricultural output.

The situation will gradually improve.

As I was feeling quite relieved, she added with a laugh.

-Someone from Bavaria was saying it's a shame they can't hold Oktoberfest again this year. This means life is bearable, right?

Ah, I laughed too.

"Haha, yes. If people are thinking about festivals, life must be bearable. …Oktoberfest, so it couldn't be held this year either."

Last year during Oktoberfest, the civil war was in full swing, and now we're at war.

I remember talking with her about how it might be held if the civil war ended early last year, but that didn't happen.

It probably won't happen for a while.

Italy, France, Japan, the Soviet Union. How many years will this history's World War II last?

Can we win this war?

-Dietrich.

Still, the civil war is over, and now the war with Italy is about to end.

"Yes, I know."

-People are also hopeful that the future will be better than the present.

We are definitely, properly, moving forward.

"…Thank you, Claudia."

-I'm the one who's thankful, Dietrich.

There was no explanation as to why we were thanking each other, but the fact that we understood naturally without needing one brought a feeling of absolute fulfillment.

Silence followed, but a tranquility flowed that made even that feel blissful.

After a moment, she spoke again.

-Well then, we should all rest now so we can work tomorrow, right?

"That's right. …I love you, Claudia."

-I love you too, Dietrich.

Do your best tomorrow.

For some reason, I feel like the me of tomorrow can do anything.

-

October 9, 1940

The capital of Italy, Rome

The Prime Minister and leader of Italy, Il Duce Mussolini, sat in his office with cloudy, glazed eyes.

Inside the office, where not even a window was open, was thick with the smoke from marijuana.

The ambitious, energetic, and charismatic dictator who once promised to restore the great glory of Rome to Italy had vanished without a trace.

Mussolini sat blankly and thought.

Where did it all go wrong?

Supporting the imperialist war, while being denounced as a traitor by his socialist comrades?

Raising the Fascist Party and staging the March on Rome?

Invading Ethiopia despite condemnation from the international community?

Or was it joining hands with Hitler, that country bumpkin?

Invading Tyrol because he coveted Austria?

Mussolini tried to rack his sluggish brain, but soon gave up, exhausted, and took another drag of marijuana.

After wasting more time in a daze, he recalled the dream of his youth.

He wanted to make Italy great again.

He wanted to wash away the stigma of being a European power defeated by the wretched African blacks of Ethiopia.

He wanted to make it not a loose and weak nation where each region did its own thing, but a mighty empire like Rome, which once ruled the world.

But the Italy he led had no such latent power.

He always had to lead incompetent fools who couldn't keep up with his lofty ideals.

The Army, which was defeated whenever it fought, chased away by Austrian border guards.

The Air Force, which ambitiously claimed to have developed a new aircraft model, yet couldn't last a few days against the German Air Force.

The Navy, which devoured the budget like mad, only to be crushed in the Mediterranean Sea by an opponent less than half its size.

Incompetent companies that promoted inhumane labor practices where workers had to hastily eat in front of machines, yet failed to meet even half the required weapon production output.

That useless mustached bastard who was so stubborn about not giving up Austria, only to crumble in a civil war that didn't even last a year against mere rebellious bastards.

The despicable French bastards who spoke as if they would help but turned a blind eye to Italy, pushing only their own plans.

And on top of that, the traitor King, who knew everything and actively supported the Fascist Party, only to draw a line and abandon him the moment things went slightly wrong.

Everyone was incompetent and pathetic, a bunch of garbage-like fellows.

Losers, unfit for a mighty Roman Empire.

That's why it turned out this way.

It wasn't his fault.

Everything was—

"Duce!"

Mussolini's delusions, steeped in his victim complex, were cut short by an aide who rushed in.

As fresh air rushed into the room thick with murky marijuana smoke, Mussolini actually felt displeasure.

"Wha…t is it?"

As he asked slowly, the aide shouted urgently.

"Rome is under attack!"

"Rome…? Under attack…?"

Mussolini slowly repeated the aide's words, then dropped the marijuana from his hand with a thud.

"Attack…? By whom? The German Army? Already? What was General Messe doing…?"

"It's that General Messe who is attacking!"

"What are you, talking about?"

Still, Mussolini's clouded mind wasn't working well, and the aide shouted as if frustrated.

"The entire German Frontline Army has started a rebellion! They say they will drive out the Fascist Party and form a democratic government!"

Mussolini was at a loss for words.

Even with a mind that wouldn't work, pickled in all sorts of drugs and marijuana, he could at least tell he was in the same position as Hitler.

"It's, it's not my responsibility… I'm just a figurehead who's already been stripped of all real power…"

Mussolini muttered weakly, then jerked his head up.

"Ri, right, the King! Tell the King to handle it! I know nothing about this!"

At the pathetic, disgraceful conduct of the once-charismatic dictator, his aide shouted, unable to hide his frustration.

"The King received a report in advance that the Frontline Army had changed direction and has already abandoned Rome and fled!"

"W-what? Alone?"

"Yes! He secretly fled last night with only the royal family!"

Mussolini paused for a moment, then tried to stand up, staggering.

"I, I have to run… I don't want to be hanged on a German gallows like that Polish bastard…"

Seeing the Duce unable to even support his own body, the aide shook his head with a despairing face and turned his back.

"Hey, you, help me… Huh? Where did he go?"

By the time Mussolini finally got up and looked for his aide, he had already fled to save his own skin.

Mussolini, with his staggering body, was about to go outside when he realized he was in his underwear and approached the wardrobe.

The stylish uniforms he had personally designed, expensive luxury shoes and boots, things that had made him look like a charismatic Fascist leader in his prime.

Mussolini picked up a uniform out of habit, but soon flung it to the floor and instead put on a suit and a fedora.

-

"Long live Free Italy!"

Having escaped the half-chaotic, empty, and ruined government building, Mussolini ran panting through the streets of Rome.

Downtown Rome was already full of Italians who had rushed out in an uprising by the Anti-Fascist National Liberation Committee, even before General Giovanni Messe's army arrived.

"Death to Fascists! Liberation to the people!"

The Italian army on the German front was ready to join hands with the devil as long as it meant they wouldn't have to fight the German Army, and the Fascists, realizing the entire frontline army had joined the coup d'état, had all already abandoned Mussolini and fled on their own.

He had racked his drug-addled brain and came out wearing a suit instead of a uniform, but it was a pointless act.

"It's the Duce!"

"Mussolini, that bastard!"

As befitting a dictator, he had plastered photographs of himself everywhere to promote himself to the people, so there was no one who didn't know his face, and also because he had an overly distinctive appearance.

"Stop right there, you bastard! My son and nephew all died because of you!"

"Y-You've got the wrong person!"

Mussolini, his mind finally clearing a little from the fresh air, made excuses as he ran frantically, but an angry crowd soon began to chase him.

Mussolini ran, and ran again.

Behind him, a crowd of terrifying scale followed like a pack of hungry ghosts.

The Anti-Fascist National Liberation Committee wanted to capture Mussolini alive, but the crowd, now filled with more angry Roman citizens than committee members, was out of control.

"Do you have any idea how many people died because of the war you started, you son of a bitch!"

"N-no! It's not my fault!"

Even though it felt like his lungs would tear, he ran, panting roughly, but his body, already ruined by drugs and marijuana, wouldn't run as much as he wanted.

He was running so hastily that one of his shoes had come off, and the foot that had been running barefoot was in excruciating pain.

"Sob, sob, huuk, I'm not bad, I'm not bad…"

Finally, Mussolini, who was running while bursting into tears, staggered and tumbled wretchedly, dragging his fine luxury suit on the Roman pavement, and ended up sprawled on the street.

"Huuuhhh…"

As Mussolini writhed in pain, the angry crowd surged towards him like a tide.

Mussolini, his face stained with pain and terror, full of tears and snot, opened his mouth with a sense of injustice.

"I, I, for Italy-"

Those were his last words.