Chapter 118
Chapter 118
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 118
Chapter Title: The Hardships of War I Despise (1)
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July 4, 1940
Berlin, Northern Germany, Government Complex
“Pardon?”
I had to ask again, doubting my own ears. My father replied, his face as stoic as ever.
“I’ve lured some of Britain’s private companies to Germany.”
Wait, what? He poached British companies that were panicking over the unprecedented invasion of their homeland? Isn't this just plain robbery from a house on fire?
“Thanks to that Hitler fellow, we’re overly reliant on the armaments industry. This is a good opportunity to attract investment from private companies.”
“Uh, is that really alright? In this war, Britain is technically our ally.”
My father answered, not bothering to hide the look of pity in his eyes.
“That’s why it’s alright. They were already planning to relocate now that their home country has become a battlefield. If we’d left them alone, they would have fled to the safety of America. All we did was offer them a few benefits and secure them for ourselves. They aren’t major arms manufacturers anyway, and it’s the British who are desperate for our participation in the war, so they’re not in a position to complain.”
It was true that Britain had already taken a lot from us, like making us recognize Emperor Wilhelm’s coronation or the return of Danzig and Posen.
...He had a point, he really did.
Truly, truly, truly the very model of a ruthless capitalist. Robbing a house on fire. I don't think I could ever come up with such an idea.
“...That’s incredible, Chancellor.”
My father snorted and then took it a step further.
“Do you think they’ll collapse immediately if we cut munitions support to Poland by half?”
“Excuse me?”
What was he talking about now? Cut munitions in half while they’re in the middle of fighting the Soviets? As I stared at him, dumbfounded, he looked at me with that same pitying expression before answering.
“You still don’t get it. You have a long way to go. We’re already pouring more weapons into Poland than the amount they’re paying us each month. What if we cut it in half, wait for the Poles to get desperate, and then tell them to hand over their territory in Upper Silesia as payment for the weapons?”
My jaw dropped.
This... this was...
A monster. A monster spawned by capitalism stood right here before me.
My father had never been fond of Poland, but still...
“Uh, um, Chancellor. I will consider the proposal to receive Upper Silesia as payment for weapons, but if we cut equipment support in half, the risk of Poland collapsing as soon as the offensive begins will increase dramatically. Let’s review a more moderate proposal for Poland with the Foreign Ministry.”
“Hmph. Weakling.”
“Chancellor. I genuinely believe that for the future of Germany, it is better to improve public sentiment with Poland, even if only slightly. The method you suggest may be effective for acquiring territory now, but it is far too extreme in the long run.”
After hearing my words, my father stared at me for a moment before speaking.
“Ha. At least you’ve now reached a level where you can talk back to me properly.”
“I am the Vice-Chancellor of the Chancellery before I am your son, Chancellor.”
My father fell silent for a moment at my response, then said dismissively.
“The only reason I’m thinking this way is because of all the ammunition the military squandered in Italy. I sent you to restrain and supervise them, yet I hear you actively encouraged it.”
“*Cough*. My... my apologies...”
We had successfully broken through the defensive line Italy had painstakingly built, almost without shedding any blood, but the cost of the shells and bombs we rained down for six straight days, twenty-four hours a day, was astronomical.
My father adjusted his glasses and spoke again.
“Of course, your argument that spending money is better than sacrificing the lives of our citizens, who will become the backbone of our economy, has merit, so I did not oppose it in the meeting. But we are fighting a war, and it will take time for the soldiers who survived because we fired those shells to return to society and produce equivalent economic value. Among them, not a few will fail to readjust to society, like after the last Great War, and will be unable to be converted into economic value.”
My father’s words were merciless, but they were also the words of a true economist, and they were grounded in reality.
“...I am aware of that. But isn’t the state’s purpose to protect its people? I do not wish to pay with lives for something that can be solved with a fiscal deficit.”
Seeing my father’s displeased face, I added.
“Of course, if I were to do so to the point of bankrupting the state, it would be an abdication of responsibility under the excuse of good intentions. I will be more prudent in the future.”
Only then did my father flash his characteristic wry smile.
“Good. You may go.”
“Then I will take my leave, Chancellor.”
“...Well done.”
My father’s “well done” felt less like praise and more like a heavy burden.
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July 4, 1940
Alexandria, British Egypt
British Egypt, the territory responsible for the Suez Canal, Britain’s lifeline.
The admirals of the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Fleet, led by Commander Admiral Andrew Cunningham, and the generals of the British Africa Corps, led by Archibald Wavell, sat with their heads together.
“The front is too wide for the Africa Corps to cover. French Lebanon, Syria, Italian Libya, and even Ethiopia. With the homeland in no position to support us, the army must focus solely on defense.”
Wavell paused, biting his lip for a moment before continuing.
“But now even our supply lines are a concern. Even if the homeland manages to send supplies through the French Navy, the Italian Mediterranean Fleet won't just stand by and watch as they pass through Malta...”
Wavell glanced at Admiral Andrew Cunningham’s expression and his face filled with apology.
“Of course, we know your situation is not easy either, and there is nothing the army can do to help. The fact that the British Army is nothing more than a shell fired by the Navy is, for now, a source of great resentment.”
“Not at all. We are well aware of the army's circumstances. The Royal Navy exists for times like these, so we must find a way to break through this situation.”
Though he said as much, the heart of Admiral Andrew Cunningham, commander of the Mediterranean Fleet, was not at ease.
Of the six battleships in the Italian Navy, two were new vessels commissioned in June of this year, and the other four had recently undergone major refits, making them considerably stronger.
Mussolini’s boast that his navy was no less than the French Navy wasn’t entirely empty talk; the Italian Navy was the only branch of the Italian military that was properly equipped.
In contrast, the main ships at the Mediterranean Fleet’s disposal were the three Queen Elizabeth-class battleships *Warspite*, *Barham*, and *Malaya*, and the light aircraft carrier *Glorious*. That was all.
All three battleships had received refits, but *Warspite* was a prototype and had been considered a troublemaker prone to breakdowns even before her refit, while *Malaya*’s refit had been cut short due to budget shortages.
The disparity in capital ships was nearly two-to-one, but it was even worse when considering auxiliary vessels.
The Italian Navy, the Regia Marina, had 120 destroyers, 14 light cruisers, 7 heavy cruisers, and numerous submarines.
In contrast, the Royal Navy’s Mediterranean Fleet had only 35 destroyers, 4 light cruisers, and 3 heavy cruisers.
Bringing in the Gibraltar fleet was not an option. Even with them, their strength would be less than half of Italy’s, and they also had to keep an eye on Spain. Meanwhile, in the Far East, the Empire of Japan had already captured Hong Kong and was attacking British Malaya and the Far East Fleet.
With the British Isles themselves having turned into a battlefield, the British Empire was truly besieged on all sides.
But the pride of the Royal Navy, which had ruled the seas for an era, did not waver even in this moment.
“It couldn’t possibly be worse than this, but...”
Even in this desperate situation, Admiral Cunningham’s eyes burned with a fierce light.
“The Royal Navy must be Britain’s bastion in any situation. First, we must buy time to face this ordeal.”
-
July 5, 1940
Taranto, Southern Italy, Italy’s key naval port
Admiral Inigo Campioni’s Regia Marina, tempted by Duce Mussolini’s love call offering the Air Force’s oil, began to formulate a plan to strike Malta and Alexandria.
They had a surprise attack plan in place, but it was contingent on a joint strike with France. With the Air Force, which was supposed to participate in the original plan, now annihilated, a new strategy was needed.
However, before they could even formulate a plan, the defensive line in South Tyrol collapsed in less than a week, putting Italy’s own feet to the fire.
Mussolini demanded that they achieve some result to draw in French reinforcements, and Admiral Campioni’s worries mounted.
“Honestly. He was happy enough to take our fuel, and now he comes begging to us.”
While Admiral Campioni found the situation absurd, it was clear that this was no time to go on strike over past grievances.
If the Regia Marina did nothing, Italy would gain the dishonor of being a nation that declared war first, only to collapse without putting up a decent fight.
It was for this reason that Admiral Campioni was unable to sleep late into the night.
“Still, I have to do something—Ugh?!”
The admiral, who had been lost in thought while studying a map, shot up from his seat at the sound of a sudden explosion. Immediately after, the air raid sirens began to wail.
-
Having learned from the great success of France's surprise attack, the Italian military had grown vigilant. The port of Taranto, Italy's largest naval base, had established fairly robust defenses against an air raid, wary of British aircraft carriers.
An incredible number of anti-aircraft guns and machine guns, over 100 of each, were prepared, and in addition, barrage balloons and nets to stop torpedoes were being installed.
The problem was that the air raid occurred before that work was finished, and on a dark, cloudy day at that.
Flares dropped by British aircraft lit up the dark night sky, signaling the start. Soon after, Italy’s precious oil storage tanks were hit by dive bombers.
The dark sky briefly brightened as the oil tanks exploded and burned, and only then did the Italian forces, who had been completely unaware of the offensive, witness the sight of British Fairey Swordfish torpedo bombers flying over the harbor.
“Fire, fire!”
The anti-aircraft gunners, belatedly roused from their sleep by the emergency, scrambled out and began to fill the sky with a barrage of flak.
“Admiral!”
“Tell every ship to engage in anti-aircraft combat! Set sail! Now! If we stay here, we’re just sitting ducks—!”
Before Admiral Campioni, who had rushed to the bridge of the flagship *Littorio*, could finish his sentence, a report that was almost a scream came in.
“Port lookout reports! Enemy aircraft has dropped a torpedo, approaching this vessel!”
“Starboard, ah—”
The captain, who had instinctively been about to order an evasive maneuver, shut his mouth, his face pale. A massive battleship moored in a harbor had no ability to accelerate instantly.
“All hands, brace for impact!”
Admiral Campioni shouted, grabbing onto the nearest object, and everyone else did the same.
A brief moment passed as everyone held onto whatever they could to steady themselves, waiting in tense anticipation. Then, with a deafening roar, the massive hull of the *Littorio* shuddered.
“Aaargh!”
Even though they had anticipated the hit, the impact was by no means small. The crew staggered, and once the confusion of assessing the situation passed, damage reports began to fly in.
“Compartments two and three are flooding! Sealing them off!”
“Take action and tell every ship to set sail immediately and create distance! We’re like rats in a trap here!”
“Yes, sir!”
All the while, the anti-aircraft guns of Taranto harbor and of each ship spewed fire relentlessly, blanketing the sky.
The Swordfish, biplanes made of wood, were slow, but surprisingly, they weren’t easily shot down even when hit a few times in the fuselage, the shots merely punching holes through them.
Despite the curtain of flak that seemed to cover the sky, the Swordfish flew about frantically, dropping bombs and torpedoes.
“It looks like a second wave of attackers has arrived! It’s too dark to shoot them down effectively!”
Hitting an aircraft with anti-aircraft fire in broad daylight was a matter of half luck, half skill. Trying to shoot down an aircraft that was barely visible at night was next to impossible.
“Dammit, turn on the searchlights!”
“B-but Admiral! That will reveal our position!”
Finally, unable to watch any longer, Admiral Campioni shouted. The captain tried to stop him, but Admiral Campioni would not back down.
“We’re all packed together near the harbor anyway, getting hit by every torpedo they launch! What position is there to reveal? Turn them on!”
“Yes, sir!”
On Admiral Campioni’s order, relayed by radio, the battleships of the Regia Marina switched on their searchlights. One of the Swordfish, caught squarely in a sudden beam of light, absurdly lost its balance and crashed into the sea.
The beams of light chased the Swordfish frantically, and as the anti-aircraft fire intensified, the slow-moving planes began to be shot down one by one.
But even so, the Swordfish succeeded in dropping their bombs or torpedoes. Several destroyers and cruisers were hit, and a column of water erupted from beneath the heavy cruiser *Zara*.
“Damn it all!”
Admiral Campioni could only watch the scene helplessly from aboard the *Littorio*, which was already flooding and beginning to sink.
The Swordfish were almost all shot down or had returned to base, but the Italian Navy was preoccupied with assessing the damage to each ship from the surprise attack.
The Taranto raid, which involved a total of 20 Swordfish, resulted in 7 Swordfish shot down—more than in the original history, thanks to Admiral Campioni being present and the lessons learned from the French raid on Britain—and ended with less damage.
Nevertheless, the destruction of the oil tanks was a severe blow to the already fuel-starved Italian Navy, and most importantly, their newest battleship, the *Littorio*, one of their six capital ships, was heavily damaged and would be confined to a dry dock for months.