Chapter 400147Chapter NaN

October 28, 1940

Near Taranto, Southern Italy

While the first engagement between Germany and the Soviet Union raged on the Eastern Front, a civil war was underway in Italy to end the war.

The army of the Anti-Fascist National Liberation Committee had occupied Naples, where the King and Fascist Party personnel had fled, and was now advancing in pursuit as they ran to Taranto.

A broadcast by General Giovanni Messe, who had toiled as a Vice Commander under the Fascist Regime, was being transmitted via radio and loudspeaker to the military and cities across Italy.

[Our King has abandoned Italy.

Victor Emmanuel III is a man who doesn't care how many more Italians die, how we are left destitute and starving, or how high a price we pay in reparations, as long as he can protect his Albanian Throne and Ethiopian Throne.]

When his conditions were not met, Victor Emmanuel III requested negotiations with Germany again, saying the amount of reparations was negotiable as long as the Albanian and Ethiopian Thrones were guaranteed.

“Punishment for the traitorous Royal family!”

The King's actions—engaging in a tug-of-war with Germany to maintain his empty titles, heedless of the ruin of Italian lives or how many Italians died at the hands of the German Army on the front—enraged all of Italy.

[Italians, you no longer need to fight for the Duce or the King. You no longer need to fight the German Army, to bleed and die! Let us make those who started this war pay for their sins! And let's go home! Let's return to our families alive!]

“Hooray! Long live General Messe! Long live the Liberation Committee!”

The Italian Army, which had been like a ragtag mob under the justification of fighting for the nation, now displayed unrecognizable valor at the hope of ending the war with the German Army and returning home.

In contrast, the morale of the Italian Fascist Party and the Royalist Faction army opposing them had already hit rock bottom.

“S-Surrender! We won't fight for the Fascists anymore!”

“We surrender! I just want to go home now….”

Whenever the Fascist and Royalist forces encountered General Messe's army, incidents of them surrendering without putting up a decent fight occurred one after another.

Meanwhile, a division was even occurring within the high command as they fled.

“To think they can't even stop that traitorous gang! Did I really approve a war trusting such pathetic men?!”

“Hah, for someone about to be dethroned, you sure run your mouth well. You're the King who planned to hand us over and side with them.

For what reason would we fight to protect you?”

“W-What? How rude! Just like a rabble of rootless rioters!”

Victor Emmanuel III and Rodolfo Graziani, the Chief of the General Staff of Fascist Italy, were having an argument even as they desperately fled towards Taranto.

The Italian Liberation Committee had not only revealed the King's diplomatic documents passed on by Germany.

They had also publicly released the secret letter the King had sent, offering to hand over Fascist personnel in exchange for a guarantee of his throne.

Thanks to this, the relationship between the Royal family and the Fascist personnel had hit rock bottom.

With the front army having defected to the Liberation Committee in its entirety, the situation was already desperate. Now, in this state, even the ardent party members of the Fascist Party and the Royalist figures, who had initially been loyal, began to test the waters and scatter one by one.

Of the Fascist and Royalist forces, which had numbered in the tens of thousands when they first escaped Rome and gathered their army, only a few hundred, if that, managed to reach Taranto.

Ante Pavelić, the extremist nationalist leader of Croatia, shook his head as he watched the miserable state of affairs.

He had sought refuge with Mussolini to manage the Croatian resistance while being protected from Yugoslavia's wanted list, but he too was well aware that the fate of the nation of Italy was in decline.

So, he had been sounding out the possibility of seeking asylum in Spain, but even he hadn't known Italy would collapse so quickly.

Thus, the three factions—the Italian Royalist Faction, the Italian Fascist Party, and the Croatian Nationalists—were together in a strange combination, but there was no solidarity or anything of the sort between them.

But coincidentally, at that moment, all three men were thinking the same thing.

'Once we reach the Port of Taranto, let's find a boat, leave this country, and then figure out a countermeasure.'

Victor Emmanuel III was thinking of first abdicating to the Crown Prince, entrusting Italy to him, and then fleeing to other countries to test the waters before returning home once his safety was guaranteed.

Meanwhile, Graziani and Pavelić were planning to escape to Spain.

In front of Taranto, there were sailors who had come out to greet them.

“Welcome, Your Majesty the King. Chief of the Army General Staff.”

It was Admiral Angelo Iachino, who had taken command as head of the Italian Navy after Admiral Campioni, who had led the Mediterranean fleet in the decisive battle, was killed in action.

“Oh, Admiral Iachino! You've come to receive me! You are truly a loyal subject of the Kingdom of Italy!”

Victor Emmanuel III beamed at the admiral who gave a polite salute and the sailors who had come to meet them, but Count Ciano, who was with them, sensed an unusual air and his face stiffened.

Sure enough, as Admiral Iachino, who had greeted them with a rather serious salute, gestured with his hand, the sailors simultaneously raised their rifles and aimed at the few remaining remnants of the King's faction.

“W-W-What is the meaning of this! And you call yourself a proud admiral of the Kingdom of Italy!”

The King shouted, his magnificent mustache trembling, but the admiral replied resolutely.

“I am an admiral of Italy, Your Majesty the King. Just as Your Majesty is the King of Italy.

However, Your Majesty is now making Italians shed each other's blood just to save your own skin.”

“You traitor! Your duty is to be loyal to the King and the nation!”

Hearing the King's angry shout, the admiral gave a scoff.

“General Messe said this. The military must naturally be loyal to the King.

Because being loyal to the King is the same as being loyal to the nation. However….”

The admiral stared at Victor Emmanuel III and declared.

“If that King does not serve the nation, then the King is not qualified to receive loyalty.

Therefore, the current King is not qualified to receive my loyalty. …My thoughts are the same as General Messe's.”

“Y-You, you bastard, how dare you. Hngh….”

The stout king, merely 153cm tall, roared in anger before grabbing the back of his neck and collapsing.

“Your Majesty!”

The King, pathetically supported by the Crown Prince—who in the original history would have been called the May King after abdicating from Victor Emmanuel III and reigning for only the single month of May before being dethroned—looked smaller than ever.

Just then, seeing Messe's army approaching in the distance, Admiral Iachino gave a chin gesture and opened his mouth.

“I advise you to surrender, unless you want to die a senseless death.”

Realizing that further resistance was now meaningless, the soldiers of the Fascist Party and the Royalist Faction finally laid down their weapons and raised their hands.

In this situation, even Field Marshal Rodolfo Graziani and the Fascist personnel, including Count Ciano, could only give up with sullen faces.

But while the Fascists and Royalists despaired, Ante Pavelić, holding onto the hope that this had nothing to do with him, stepped forward.

“We are Croatians.

We have no relation to the current incident, so please let us go.”

“You are Pavelić?”

“That's… right?”

Looking at the bewildered Ante Pavelić, Admiral Iachino grinned.

“Well, well. We have a distinguished guest.

I welcome you.”

“…? Th-Thank you.”

Ante Pavelić and his followers received the welcome of the admiral and sailors without knowing what was going on.

And after being 'sincerely' treated in a physical manner, they were handed over to the Liberation Committee side along with the Royalists and Fascists.

-

October 29, 1940

Milan, Northern Italy, German-occupied territory

While Italy was sorting itself out through a civil war, we dispatched General Fedor von Bock's Army Group back to the home country.

I remained here, along with General Johannes Blaskowitz's Army Group and Manstein.

For now, Italy, as a defeated nation, is even fighting a civil war to obediently accept our conditions.

However, if we were to naively withdraw completely from Italy, there's no guarantee how they might act once they can breathe again, so there is a necessity to maintain military pressure.

Fortunately, I received a report that Italy's Liberation Committee had secured the King and the key figures of Fascist Italy.

Thanks to them accepting the propaganda war I proposed, public opinion for the abolition of the monarchy is high, but we still need to hold an official monarchy abolition vote.

We'll have to wait for that before we can officially sign the peace negotiations, which will finally conclude matters in Italy.

In the midst of all this, I received a visit from Manstein.

“Congratulations, Vice-Chancellor! As the head of the General Staff, I cannot hide my joy in presenting you with this shoulder insignia!”

I narrowed my eyes at the General Staff shoulder insignia Manstein was holding. Right, the time had finally come for the officers who graduated from the War College to be recognized with the General Staff shoulder insignia.

Come to think of it, no short amount of time has passed. I've entered my 30s, and Roger Michael, who came with Manstein, is also proudly wearing his General Staff shoulder insignia.

…I remember feeling envious when I first met Tresckow and saw his General Staff shoulder insignia.

“That's strange, Chief of the General Staff.”

“Yes? Strange, you say?”

I looked at the beaming face of Manstein and added.

“But I dropped out of the War College's training course halfway through.”

“Ah, that you did, Vice-Chancellor! HOW.EV.

ER! The War College has a system where, during wartime, participation on the front lines can serve as proof of one's career to complete the course! Of course, it's a time-honored tradition dating all the way back to the Napoleonic Wars—”

“I'm aware of that, Chief of the General Staff. And I haven't been active on the front lines, either.”

When his words were cut off, Manstein's expression almost stiffened for a moment, but he quickly put on an obsequious smile and spoke.

“N-No, what do you mean you haven't been active on the front lines! Who would dare say such a thing! Without the Vice-Chancellor's lofty strategic insight and management of logistics and production, who knows how much we would have suffered! The General Staff has unanimously! Agreed that the Vice-Chancellor has the qualifications of a General Staff Officer!”

Listening to Manstein's exaggerated statement, I let out a small sigh and gave a bitter smile.

“Chief of the General Staff, with all due regret, I have no intention of intervening in this matter.”

Only then did Manstein's expression turn unimpressed.

I have a rough idea why they're acting like this.

The offensive led by Minister of Defense Ludwig Beck, Commander-in-Chief Wilhelm Ritter von Leeb, and Army Group Commander Gerd von Rundstedt ended with the horrific sacrifice of 250,000 men, only to leave East Prussia under threat.

The Cabinet, which was already preparing for civilian control of the military, seized this opportunity to draw its sword. It couldn't allow the military to function as an independent military establishment forever.

“B-But, Vice-Chancellor. They know nothing about military affairs.

You, who know the military well and are the second-in-command of the government, must provide appropriate mediation….”

“I clearly conveyed my opinion that it would be best to hold off on the offensive, Chief of the General Staff.

The reason we allowed the military to make independent judgments beyond the government's opinion stems from Germany's time-honored tradition of mission-type tactics, but also because we respected the military as a professional group.”

That didn't mean it was okay to make an independent judgment and produce 250,000 casualties—more than all the casualties that have occurred since World War II began.

“Ahem, ahem.”

Manstein cleared his throat, then gave a look to Roger Michael.

So he's mobilizing my friend because he can't get through to me.

Michael hesitated for a moment, then sighed and opened his mouth.

“Vice-Chancellor, if I may be so bold as to speak as a member of the General Staff, I do not believe the responsibility for this defeat can be shifted entirely onto General Rundstedt and a part of the military. We misjudged the Soviet Union's strength, but based on the intel we had, anyone would have made the same judgment.

This is the entire military's—”

“I know, Major Michael. Congratulations on becoming a General Staff Officer.”

“…Thank you, Vice-Chancellor.”

Michael, looking very apologetic, stepped back.

I know. Does this responsibility lie only with Beck, Leeb, and Rundstedt?

The Junkers who form the core of the German military have, without exception, looked down on the Soviet Union, and most lack an awareness of grand strategy.

And those Junkers aren't limited to a few old-timers like them; it's everyone with a 'von' in their name.

Erich von Manstein, Erwin von Witzleben, Henning von Tresckow, Wolfram von Richthofen—even people I have an acquaintance with or who have proven their ability are no exception.

Even Manstein here, for that matter, has genius-level tactical capability but is no different from Rundstedt when it comes to grand strategy.

Misjudging the Soviet Union's strength based solely on what they've shown so far is by no means strange, and the damage suffered from a defeat by the Soviet Union is something anyone, not just Rundstedt, could have sustained.

“Ahem, Vice-Chancellor. The loss of 250,000 is painful, but it's also a loss that was reduced by General Rundstedt's quick judgment.

If I may be so bold as to predict the scale of the coming war, figuring out the Soviet Army's strength with that level of loss is, in the end—”

“A profit, you say?”

Manstein shut his mouth.

Yes, I know of Stalingrad from the original history.

You could even say we were lucky to have gauged the Soviet Union's strength with only 250,000 sacrifices. But.

“Can you say that to the families of the fallen soldiers? If we had launched the offensive after the entire Italian Front Army had advanced North, or if we had at least just declared war and assumed a defensive posture, the losses would have been less than half! At the very least, we wouldn't have had to tell the families of the fallen that, for all their sacrifice, our army didn't advance a single inch!”

But that doesn't erase the fact that the damage they caused was unnecessary.

Even if we were lucky it was only 250,000, as long as they possess this potential for running wild, it wouldn't be strange for the same, no, a disaster on the scale of Stalingrad to occur at any time.

“There will be no leniency. The leaders of this offensive will have to take responsibility, and whatever treatment the Cabinet decides on, I will respect that judgment.”

The reason they're insisting I mediate isn't so much an expectation that I'll give them leniency, but because even if the treatment is the same, their pride will be less hurt if it comes from me—someone who is at least in the same army and appointed by the Emperor.

They can't stand a civilian politician who knows nothing about the military, even if they're the number one in the government or the government itself, meddling in military affairs.

But they can accept a decision from the second-in-command of the government, someone who is, at least nominally, affiliated with the military. That damned exclusiveness of theirs.

Even if we received an oath for civilian control of the military, if the German Army doesn't accept change, it will forever remain just the German military establishment.

And that change, as long as there is such a clear justification, must be brought about by the hands of a proper civilian government, not by a special case like me.

If this is a nation that can only function properly with an irregular like Dietrich Schacht, how is that any different from the system of the German Empire, which eventually collapsed after Bismarck's retirement?

“Ahem, if, if that is truly the Vice-Chancellor's will….”

Manstein's face was extremely unimpressed, but he ultimately accepted it.

“However, Vice-Chancellor, granting you the qualification of a General Staff Officer was decided upon by the General Staff and the War College, regardless of this incident.”

Well, I suppose so.

If the discussion had started after Rundstedt's defeat, it wouldn't have come out this quickly.

Is it that they acknowledge my ability, or do they want to make it clear, even in this way, that I'm also affiliated with the military?

“I'm grateful for the military's goodwill, Chief of the General Staff.

But I cannot accept it. I do not wish to leave an exception to the honorable name and time-honored tradition of the General Staff Officer.”

As someone who once struggled through the difficult General Staff course, there is also the personal reason that I don't want to snatch the reward for the efforts other General Staff Officers have poured in.

But more than that, this would clearly set a precedent.

If exceptions like, 'It's not normally allowed, but for this person it is,' start to appear, a proper democracy can never be realized.

A General Staff Officer is not in the political realm, but becoming the exceptional existence of a 'politician who is also a General Staff Officer' is the problem from the start.

Isn't the justification that 'for this person, this level of special treatment is acceptable' the most common path to becoming a dictator?

“Ahem, that the V-Vice-Chancellor respects the General Staff tradition so much is an honor… I suppose.”

I felt sorry for Manstein, who had an extremely sour expression, but I took a white envelope from my clothes.

It was a long deliberation, come to think of it.

In front of General Model, I said I wear a military uniform because I'm afraid I'll forget that soldiers are dying on the front lines.

I had also considered returning to being a soldier if I quit being a politician, but Richthofen told me that was impossible.

“Wh-What is this, Vice-Chancellor?”

Manstein took the envelope I handed him and asked with a bewildered look.

Until now, I've controlled the military under the justification of being the Vice-Chancellor appointed by the Emperor and a member of the Army, but we can't become a normal nation by relying on such things forever.

“It's my discharge application, Chief of the General Staff.

Normally, I would give it to my direct superior, but coincidentally, I don't belong to any unit.”

The discharge application I had resolved to submit, wanting to survive the Condor Legion, was now finally being fulfilled, years later and after going through all sorts of hardships, with a completely different meaning.

I gave a wide grin to Manstein, whose face was rapidly souring.

It is now time for a change.