Chapter 74
Chapter 74
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: World War II - What Are We Fighting For (4)
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December 26, 1939
Mestre, Venice, Veneto region, Northern Italy
From Italy's perspective, this war had begun with the simple expectation of helping the Nazis suppress the German rebels and easily acquiring Tyrol.
But Italy, having launched its offensive before its war preparations were complete, suffered unnecessary losses against unexpectedly fierce Austrian resistance.
Just as they finally came to their senses and pushed into Tyrol with a thoroughly prepared offensive, they were forced to retreat, sustaining unforeseen damage from Germans enraged by the prince's death and reinforced by the Reichswehr.
With the northern part of the Veneto region occupied and Venice on the brink of falling, Italy was now crying for war, issuing a general mobilization order.
In Mestre, where the Italian military headquarters was currently located, Duce Mussolini himself had come to deliver a speech.
"I, Duce Mussolini, as a servant of the state for the Italian people, ask for nothing for myself. I desire only the glory of Italy, and for aiding our allies, we were promised Tyrol in return!"
Mussolini's deep voice and strong features had a charismatic effect, which proved effective in calming the residents, who were anxious about the losing war.
Even if, in reality, it was all just superficial gloss.
"But those German traitors, not content with betraying our faithful alliance, are now denying Italy's rightful claim, promised by our ally, and have invaded to trample upon our land! Is this just?"
"No!"
After the plants in the crowd started the chant, it took but a moment for the anxious masses to cry out in unison, the wave of sound spreading instantly.
Emboldened, Mussolini began to shout, gesturing dynamically.
"Those despicable German invaders will surely pay the price for this! While their foolish and vicious army attacks us, our powerful ally, Poland, is striking their soft underbelly!"
Seeing hope bloom on the faces of the people at his words, Mussolini shouted with even greater confidence.
"Those vile invaders will soon collapse, and the world will once again witness our strength! Italy is more strongly united than ever, and we will reclaim the glory of the Roman Empire!"
The expressions of the military officials watching Mussolini's speech were not particularly pleased, but the residents were ecstatic.
"The power of Italy, united under the strength of Fascism, the unity shown by the descendants of the great ancient Romans, will lead us to victory! Glorious Italians, advance! (Avanti)"
"Avanti!"
As Mussolini gave the Fascist salute with his right hand, the crowd saluted in unison like a crashing wave, shouting back.
Though later known as the Nazi salute, its origins actually lay here.
Finishing his speech, Mussolini maintained his characteristically solemn expression and waved his hand in satisfaction. The Italians responded with fervor, repeatedly chanting "Duce" and "Avanti."
As Mussolini descended from the podium, the military officials fell in behind him.
"A brilliant speech that touched the hearts of the Italian people, Duce!"
"It was a deeply moving speech!"
Mussolini snorted as if it were only natural.
Hitler, now dead and gone, may have been famous for his powerful speeches, but Mussolini was inwardly convinced he was an orator of a caliber Hitler could never compare to.
No, comparing himself to the likes of Hitler? Was that even conceivable?
That madman, lost in his delusions of grandeur, had died in vain, proving that he, Mussolini, was the true Fascist leader.
Still, he thought the man would last at least a year, but to end up like this in just three months. Mussolini clicked his tongue at Hitler's incompetence and threw out a blunt question.
"What is the war situation, Marshal Graziani?"
Graziani flinched slightly at Mussolini's brusque tone but quickly tried to placate him as he answered.
"Our losses are considerable, but their offensive has been stalled. It seems Poland's invasion of the north has been effective."
In truth, it was less that the Italian army had stalled them and more that the German army had halted its own offensive, but there was no need to report such details and diminish his own standing.
Mussolini scoffed inwardly at Graziani's words and said.
"Those idiots have thoroughly worn themselves out in their civil war, so the troops they sent to attack us must have been all they had. Their offensive capacity has clearly reached its limit. Keep pushing and drive them out of Italian territory as soon as possible!"
"Yes, sir!"
Despite Graziani's reply, Mussolini looked at him with displeasure.
He had trusted Graziani because of his rather impressive performance in Ethiopia, yet he had allowed an invasion of the Italian mainland.
Had it not been for the fiery offensive he had shown in Tyrol, he would have been dismissed long ago. But since he had achieved some results, he would have to wait and see.
If only that damn Hitler hadn't been defeated so early, and if that German prince, who came from god-knows-where, hadn't died there...
As Mussolini clicked his tongue, Vice Commander Giovanni Messe spoke up.
"With all due respect, Duce. Our casualties in the battles against the German army have already reached forty thousand. Rather than launching an offensive here, it would be better to wait for the divisions to reorganize and for mobilization to complete..."
On paper, the Italian Army's 40 corps—Italy referred to its divisions as corps—seemed a massive force, but in reality, they had suffered immense losses and had few reserves, leaving them in a compromised state.
Normally, 40 divisions in another country would constitute a large force of 800,000 men.
But the Italian army, due to its peculiar structure of increasing the number of corps for show, lacked substance. Compounded by massive losses, the actual number of available troops deployed to the front was barely 600,000, if that.
But at Vice Commander Giovanni Messe's words, Mussolini's face contorted into a deep frown.
"That is not a problem! As blood to strengthen Fascism, the ten thousand who died in Ethiopia were far too few!"
As all the military officials stood in shock, Mussolini continued.
"It doesn't matter if the number of casualties is tens of thousands. What I need is the blood of young men to strengthen Fascism and seat me at the peace negotiation table as a victor! If not now, while Poland is striking their homeland, when will we get another chance? Counterattack immediately!"
Was this the same man who once solved the livelihood problems of the Italian people and claimed that American-style mass production factories made humans miserable?
As Giovanni Messe stood in stunned silence, Mussolini, seeing his expression, added in a slightly softer tone.
"Don't worry too much, Vice Commander. Hungary will soon join the war, and there will be support from within Germany as well. Then, no matter how much those bastards resist, they'll have no choice but to surrender soon."
"From within Germany, you say?"
Mussolini laughed as if amused.
"That's right. Fascism is a powerful weapon born from the aspirations of the people. The Nazis may be a crude imitation of Fascism, but they are Fascists nonetheless. Do you think such a thing would die out so easily?"
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December 29, 1939
The German-Italian front in the Veneto-South Tyrol (Trentino-Alto Adige) region, Northern Italy
Early in the morning, the Italian army was preparing an offensive to drive the German forces from their homeland.
"We have staked everything on this general offensive. Fiat's new medium tank, the M11/39, will finally see combat."
Germany was already using the 3rd and 4th series tanks, which were medium-class, as their main force. But Italy, late in development, had been forced to face them with light tanks, suffering enormous sacrifices.
This time, however, fifty medium tanks were finally deployed, raising high expectations among the Italian military command.
"Now, according to the offensive plan..."
Just as Marshal Graziani was about to give orders to his generals, the phone rang.
"This is Vice Commander Messe."
As Graziani and the other generals watched Messe take the call, Messe's eyes narrowed. He turned to look at Graziani and the generals and spoke.
"The German army has begun to withdraw. The front lines are already empty!"
"Ooooh...!"
"Ha! It seems they couldn't withstand Poland's attack after all!"
The Italian generals began to cheer. How harshly they had been beaten by the Germans, whom they had underestimated, trusting in the Germans' poor showing at the Anschluss and their ongoing civil war.
Greatly encouraged by the turn of the tide, they fell into an optimistic belief that they could now achieve glory in battle.
"Good, very good! Pursue them at once!"
"But, Commander. We were on the defensive and are just now shifting to an offensive. The units have not yet been properly positioned."
"Even with only a portion of our forces, we'll have numerical superiority if the enemy is retreating! Everyone knows an army is most vulnerable when it's in retreat! Commence the attack!"
Rodolfo Graziani, having confidently launched a fierce bombardment on Tyrol only to be pushed back and allow an invasion of the mainland, was feeling anxious.
The image of Italo Balbo, a marshal like himself, retreating with slumped shoulders, would not leave his mind.
"We can't miss an opportunity like this, with the enemy turning tail and running!"
In Ethiopia, too, he had sent many of his subordinates to their deaths, but in the end, he had achieved his objectives and become a marshal.
A soldier only needs to secure results and win. He had no desire to end up like Balbo.
-
"To think those terrifying bastards would run away so easily."
The Italians muttered in a daze as they advanced along the now-empty former German positions.
Pushing into Tyrol had been fine, but they had suffered severe losses under the fierce assault of enraged Germans and Austrians, forcing a hasty retreat over the Alps.
"Those Neapolitans are always the first to run."
"And they're the ones who call us Sicilian country bumpkins."
The Italians who had fought the Germans felt a kind of fear towards an enemy that, despite their own totalitarian ideology, burned with an even higher fighting spirit and pushed them back with perfect unity.
Duce Mussolini might speak of a united Italy and receive cheers from the masses, but that only worked because the people in the areas where he spoke were all from the same region.
Italians were, by nature, people whose local loyalties ran deeper than their patriotism. While individual soldiers could be brave, their organic cooperation was a mess.
"Maybe Poland is doing better than we thought?"
"I hope so. Ah, I want to go back to my warm home so badly."
"Just imagining it is a joy. Ah, I hope I'm home by next spring."
Regardless, the Italian soldiers from Sicily, who got along well with their own, chattered endlessly as they continued their advance.
But their hopeful conversation did not last long.
The Italian soldiers flinched in surprise as the L3 tankette leading the advance suddenly burst into flames from an explosion on the ground, their eyes wide with shock.
"Uh, uh-oh, a mine—"
An unlucky soldier who had instinctively recoiled and stepped on a mine was thrown into the air by the explosion. He fell back to earth and began to scream, clutching what used to be his leg.
"Aaaah!"
"I-It's a minefield! Fall back!"
"What the hell? I thought they retreated in a hurry! Why is there a minefield here?"
The Italian army had only detected the German withdrawal on the 29th, but the Germans had actually begun preparing and executing their withdrawal on Christmas Day, the 25th.
While the Italian army's guard was temporarily down for Christmas, a decoy force had remained to feign their presence, and the withdrawal, conducted meticulously every night, appeared to the Italians as if it had just begun.
The Germans, in their retreat, had long since planted all sorts of mines and booby traps throughout the Veneto region to buy time. The Italians, having hastily initiated their pursuit without even fully deploying their forces according to their own offensive plan, were forced to endure considerable losses in both men and morale.
Unfortunately for the Italian army, the losses they incurred while pursuing the German forces, who had long since vanished from Veneto, were merely at the level of 'a nuisance.'
In the South Tyrol (Trentino-Alto Adige) region, they were now facing a defensive battle the likes of which they had never seen.