Chapter 167
Chapter 167
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Blackmail (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Confirmed?"
"Absolutely. We've verified that Moscow has issued a partial mobilization order."
At the firm confirmation from Joint Chiefs Chairman Marshal Bradley, President Truman flew into a towering rage.
"These goddamn reds—what the hell do they think they're up to?"
These reds weren't content with just Italy—they planned to set all of Europe ablaze?
The president adjusted his glasses, then addressed the Joint Chiefs Chairman.
"It's about time we gave them a taste of their own medicine. Drop a nuke in the Adriatic Sea."
Truman believed they couldn't afford to lose this game of chicken.
They needed to show the reds exactly what America was capable of.
An hour later, a B-29 that had taken off from southern Italy dropped a single nuke in the central Adriatic.
KABOOM!
It was a blatant violation of the nuclear agreement, but with the Soviets openly stoking fears of all-out war, America had no reason to hold back.
Besides, it hadn't hit any troops, making it tricky for them to lodge a formal protest.
Moscow froze at America's nuclear strike.
"The American imperialists aren't backing down—instead, they're lobbing nukes to bluff us. Is this really going according to plan?"
"Comrade General Secretary, a few nukes pose no real threat to our forces. Even if they dropped a hundred, they couldn't halt our advance. The Americans know that full well."
It was a fact proven time and again in Italy.
Nukes didn't pack their full punch against military targets.
Unless troops were deliberately clustered for an offensive, a single nuke could only take out a battalion at best.
The real problem came when the target was a city.
"What if one of those heads for a Soviet city?"
The generals fell silent at that.
"Comrade General Secretary, they can't actually use nukes on us anyway. Rather than cower, we need to act unfazed and bold."
"Act boldly?"
"Position our ships right where they dropped it."
It was a game of brinkmanship.
"Hope it works."
The Soviets promptly deployed destroyers into the Adriatic, striking a defiant pose for America to see.
The standoff between the two superpowers quickly escalated into a grave risk of all-out war.
Beneath the surface, however, efforts were underway to avert conflict.
"We can't let this spiral into accidental war under any circumstances."
"Of course not, Comrade General Secretary."
Outwardly aggressive, the Soviets were inwardly terrified of full-scale war.
Soviet dictator Stalin, when alone in his office, would sip brandy to soothe his fears.
He hadn't felt this dread even during the Great Patriotic War.
The Nazis, who had overrun Europe, were just fleeting Huns in the end.
America, though—that giant across the Atlantic was the real deal.
Its overwhelming economic might.
Stalin still remembered the massive Lend-Lease aid America had shipped over the ocean.
Pit the Union against that giant, and defeat was certain.
That was why the General Secretary had no intention of clashing head-on with America in this war.
"Comrade General Secretary, are you in?"
"Come in."
Stalin swiftly masked his frail expression with the help of some liquid courage.
Once more, the indomitable Man of Steel dominated the center of the office.
"Comrade General Secretary, intelligence from America."
Military Intelligence reports were usually useful, but none more so than this one.
"240? Two hundred and forty?"
Stalin nearly gasped upon hearing America's stockpile of nuclear warheads.
He barely kept his composure.
America's arsenal far exceeded his vague estimates.
"This is just an estimate. The actual number could be higher."
Excluding those used, the Union's stockpile was down to just two warheads.
No wonder the American imperialists were acting so bold.
Stalin judged it best to back down in this crisis.
With that kind of disparity, the Union's so-called nuclear deterrent was worthless.
No—it was worse than a child facing an adult.
240 warheads could wipe out every major Soviet city.
'It's not time for us to fight America yet.'
"No chance this intel is wrong?"
Stalin double-checked.
"We can say that with certainty."
After much deliberation, the General Secretary summoned War Minister Vasilevsky.
"Comrade."
"Yes, Comrade General Secretary."
"The partial mobilization order for European Russia is hereby canceled, effective immediately."
Stalin had decided to retreat.
The Soviet reversal sparked cheers across Europe.
"The reds are backing down."
Washington instantly knew its nuclear bluff had worked the moment the Soviets retreated.
"The reds are definitely short on nukes. Your Excellency, why not press the advantage and slam thirty into northern Italy? The Soviets won't have the guts to stand up to it and will pull back."
Curtis LeMay pushed aggressively for more nuclear strikes.
Show the reds the full fury of nuclear power, and the war was as good as won.
The climax would be nuclear.
LeMay stressed that nukes were the only way to end this war.
"Push the front lines forward with nukes."
The president found the idea tempting, truth be told.
"You think that's feasible?"
"Absolutely. If needed, drop ten along the Austria-Yugoslavia border to create a radiation belt— it'll completely cut off their reinforcements."
But if they overplayed their hand and the reds snapped into full war, the damage would be unbearable.
Truman barely resisted the allure of nukes.
"I hear you, General, but it's premature. Let's make the Soviets back down through words if we can."
A sword was strongest in its sheath.
With the Soviets retreating, America could afford to play the gentleman again.
Washington wasn't some bloodthirsty warmonger like the mad reds.
"Secretary of State."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"Request mediation from Pyongyang. The reds must want talks by now."
Through this standoff, Truman was convinced the Soviets weren't ready to match America.
But he couldn't predict the next round.
They needed to defuse the tension now.
And end this damn Italian war.
Truman hoped Pyongyang would mediate effectively.
*
Crazy bastards.
Frankly, America and the Soviets had crossed the line this time.
The Soviets issued partial mobilization, plunging the world into World War fears, while America openly dropped a nuke, shredding the agreement.
One slip, and it could've gone full war.
And yet, neither side had said a word to me.
If they want mediation, they should've asked nicely first.
Anyway, after piling up enough kindling to start a bonfire and then chickening out, both sides came crawling to us.
Fine, at least they asked.
But their demands were miles apart.
"We demand the restoration of the Italian People's Republic."
The reds spouted their usual nonsense, as always.
"Ridiculous. A ceasefire at current lines means we draw the ceasefire there."
The Soviets and Americans refused to budge an inch.
A ceasefire now would actually favor southern Italy, to be fair.
Though "favor" might be the wrong word.
Large swaths of southern Italian territory were now contaminated by chemical shells and nuclear fallout.
"Now, now, let's calm down and talk something both sides can accept. Restoring the Italian People's Republic sounds unreasonable even to me."
"So what mediation proposal does the Prime Minister offer?"
The Soviet side grumbled.
"Here's my plan."
I proposed splitting along the Po River: north to Northern Italy, south to Southern Italy.
Considering how territories were intermingled on both sides of the Po, I thought it was a fair compromise.
"Absolutely unacceptable."
Predictably, the Soviets shot it down.
Of course, I hadn't expected a deal from a few words.
My proposal was a starting point.
Maybe they could negotiate around it and find common ground.
The ceasefire talks didn't collapse, at least.
Both sides were war-weary.
The Soviets had jumped in expecting a quick win; the Allies were exhausted bleeding for a non-member state that wasn't even theirs.
As I steered the talks, I watched their attitudes.
Barking tough from the mouth, but secretly hoping someone would rein them in.
A negotiation of pure bluffing, each side praying the other would fold.
What kind of talks were these?
But then, I recalled Panmunjom.
"Your Excellency, this negotiation looks like it'll drag on for a while."
I thought so too.
It wouldn't budge until one side's leader cracked.
"About two years, I'd say."
"Pardon?"
That was about how long Stalin had left.
Once he was gone, everyone would breathe easier.
Of course, I actually benefited from Stalin sticking around longer.
No other Soviet leader stood up to the West like he did.
"No big deal. Don't stress over it. It'll sort itself out in time."
A war that wasn't nuclear or world-spanning was just a local European squabble—none of our business, whatever happened.
What mattered more was the urgent issue waiting for me.
"Your Excellency. The First Lady is pregnant."
My wife was pregnant.