Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Disposing of Italy (1)
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“Definitely, this is the right way to revise the setup.”
I recolored Italy’s postwar landscape once more.
After finishing postwar planning with my subordinates, one realization hit me.
My new Cold War structure lacked events to amplify tensions between the two camps.
We needed something like the Korean War to properly sharpen the divide between the blocs, but there wasn’t a suitable spot for that here.
That was why—instead of a four-way split, or even a two-way one—I needed something to replace the Korean Peninsula.
I wanted a place of just the right size, perfect for proxy wars between both sides.
And conveniently, Europe had a peninsula about the right size to stand in for Korea.
Italy.
So I changed my plan.
Split Italy in two.
“If the Allies don’t touch North Italy, the reds will ultimately seize that region.”
Even in the original timeline, Italy’s Communist Party had no small influence. Giving the reds this kind of opening, it wouldn’t be strange if they carved out a state-like foothold.
They wouldn’t get international recognition, of course, but reaching de facto regime status, tacitly accepted by the world, wouldn’t be hard.
Just like North Korea before the Korean War.
The setup was similar to Korea’s, too.
Communist North Italy, holding most of the nation’s industry, facing poor agrarian South Italy.
Sound familiar?
Of course, it’d take some hothead like a mini Kim Il-sung to push the button for war to break out. But with ideologically opposed states staring each other down, local skirmishes would erupt constantly.
That was enough to ramp up the conflict.
“Your Excellency. The British Prime Minister wishes to speak with you.”
“The British PM?”
I had the telegram prepared.
Anthony Eden’s business was straightforward.
“They say Germany’s preparing a puppet regime in North Italy with Mussolini at its head. Shouldn’t we set up a counterpart regime in South Italy?”
Fair enough.
To absorb the remnants of the Italian military into the Allied forces, we needed a government structure to command them.
I didn’t harbor enough grudge against Italy to dismantle their existing government outright, so I proposed using the “current Kingdom of Italy government” as is.
“We were thinking the same. Then let’s hand over civil administration in our occupation zones to the provisional ‘Southern Kingdom.’”
“Agreed.”
The deal was struck easily.
The next day, Navy Minister Won Young-guk came by to discuss the Italian Navy.
“Your Excellency. Now’s the time to claim the Italian Navy ships as reparations. What better war trophy than battleships?”
Well, no.
The age of battleships was already over.
Carriers hadn’t had a chance to show their full power yet, but the era when battleships ruled the seas was done.
Only our big-ship-big-gun enthusiasts hadn’t realized it.
Anyway, the battleships.
I’d already thought it through.
I figured handing those useless hulks to the Soviets as reparations would be ideal.
Ah, that way we could shut down Soviet whining about their share, secure our own slice more easily, and as a bonus, nudge them toward cost-effective options like subs and destroyers.
Perfect.
“Hyung-nim.”
“Ah, yes, Prime Minister.”
“I’ll handle the Italian battleship issue myself, so the Navy should take its time preparing carrier construction plans.”
“Y-yes. Understood.”
Won Young-guk backed off without a peep.
Seizing the moment, I wired Stalin.
“Secretary Stalin. If Your Excellency wishes, I’m prepared to reflect Soviet intentions in the Italian Navy distribution.”
Stalin responded instantly.
True to the man building four Sovetsky Soyuz-class battleships, the Secretary jumped at it without hesitation.
“Prime Minister Yi Seong-jun. The Union is ready to receive Your Excellency’s generosity.”
With Soviet intentions confirmed, it was time to consult Britain.
“Prime Minister Eden. Your Excellency, I’d like to discuss dividing the Italian Navy, spoils of this war.”
Anthony Eden replied promptly.
“I’d like to hear Your Excellency’s thoughts.”
I casually floated giving about four Italian battleships to the Soviets.
All for the sake of your mighty empire’s future, Britain.
Eden erupted immediately.
“Absolutely not. If we must give battleships to the reds, we’ll hand over a few of our outdated Royal Sovereign-class instead.”
Typical. The British Empire isn’t happy unless it’s screwing over Russia.
They’re scheming sabotage against the Soviets on their own, and we’re supposed to stop them?
“Shouldn’t we consider postwar shares?”
I persistently hammered “shares,” convincing him we needed carrots to placate the Soviets.
This time, we didn’t reach a compromise easily.
The British Empire viewed battleships as strategic assets, so they wouldn’t budge an inch.
“Cheapest thing would be to just give them away.”
No helping it.
“Then let’s go with the Royal Sovereigns.”
Stalin would be disappointed, but oh well.
I did my best, commie.
That aside, it was time to gather the Allied leaders for a serious sit-down.
Telegrams and envoys had their limits.
British PM Anthony Eden agreed to my proposal.
So did Stalin.
Just no airplanes for him—he wanted somewhere reachable by rail.
Thus, Turkey’s capital, Ankara.
A bit of a hassle, but doable.
We set a loose schedule.
After a few plane changes, I landed in Ankara, where Turkish President İsmet İnönü personally greeted me.
“You’ve suffered much on account of the Italians.”
“Without Korea and Britain forcing Italy’s surrender, there’d have been far more casualties. On behalf of the Turkish people, I offer my deepest gratitude.”
The Turkish president maintained a friendly demeanor throughout.
İnönü escorted me around like a tour guide, showing off the best spots.
“Well, gotta treat myself sometimes.”
With my wife, I visited Atatürk’s mausoleum, ate well, and played tourist for a bit.
That night.
“How do I look tonight, honey?”
Intoxicated by the new place and mood, my wife launched a surprise attack.
Her lingerie was aggressively modern for the era.
Her flushed face and expectant eyes left no room for retreat.
“W-wait a sec.”
“No.”
After an all-night bed battle with my wife, my face was half-pale.
Meanwhile, she—who’d unleashed the furious assault—seemed as fresh as ever.
No, she looked younger.
A blatant violation of military science principles.
After two full days of rest(?) in Ankara, Stalin arrived by train.
Having met a few times, I felt more at ease with him.
We posed for photos, dined, and talked battleships.
Stalin griped nonstop about not getting the Italian ones.
I wanted to dump those scrap heaps.
Right there at the table, we trashed Britain appropriately.
The Secretary roared with laughter at my 21st-century quip: “The British invented every evil in the world.”
“Quite right. The more I hear, the more I realize Your Excellency and I see eye to eye.”
I’d heard that before, but nah.
I hadn’t done the Great Purge (?), hadn’t terrorized the people (?), hadn’t run gulags (?).
The next day, British PM Anthony Eden arrived.
Five hours later, we kicked off the historic Ankara Summit.
The main agenda: Italy’s disposition post-surrender.
We sliced up Italian territory on the map.
Stalin’s demand got through first.
“Dalmatian coast and part of Istria must go to Yugoslavia as war reparations.”
We agreed easily.
From a national self-determination view, it was reasonable.
Britain made its ask.
“We’ll annex Italian Somaliland as British Somaliland.”
Stalin and I agreed.
They deserved that much.
“I propose restoring the Kingdom of Ethiopia and merging Italian Eritrea into it as reparations.”
My proposal.
Not out of some sentimental payback for Korean War favors.
Long-term, we needed an ally in Africa we’d done a solid for.
Pure strategic play.
“Agreed.”
With staff-level coordination done, talks proceeded smoothly.
Now for the big ones: Italian mainland, Libya, Tunisia.
Britain proposed again.
“Return Tunisia to France. Split Libya for trusteeship.”
“How so?”
“Eastern Cyrenaica to British Egypt, western Tripolitania under Italian trusteeship for now.”
Italian?
Suddenly?
Stalin openly showed his displeasure.
“Why leave the Italians with colonies? What’s so pretty about them?”
Eden’s scheme to swallow Libya whole via Italy proxies fizzled.
After three days, the Ankara Summit yielded this on Italy:
Dispositions for Italian colonies.
Libya → International trusteeship.
Ethiopia → Independent.
Eritrea → Merged into Ethiopia.
Somaliland → Merged into British Somaliland.
Tunisia, Corsica, French mainland east of the Rhone → Returned to France.
Half of Istrian Peninsula, Dalmatian coast → Ceded to Yugoslavia.
Postwar Italian government → To be decided by Allied Supreme Command.
With the agreement reached, we shook hands with smiles.
But the deal hid a few traps.
Postwar Italian government.
Would it really go as planned?
I’d deliberately left it vague: “to be decided by Allied Supreme Command.”
No apologies to the Italians, of course.
The nation I was responsible for was Korea. So what if Italy got screwed?
In an era where no one bothered with conscience, why should I be the goody-two-shoes rule-follower?
I was too stained with filth for that.