The Godfather's Prelude
Gabriele D'Annunzio, the ruler of the Italian military, also received the news of the crushing defeat in the Mediterranean. For Italy, at least, it was a defeat that left absolutely no room for excuses. The French Navy had at least managed to escape with enough battleships to save face. But the Italian Navy? Every single ship had sunk. Every last one!
If one were to ask whether France was a continental or a maritime power, the answer would lean toward the former. Though they possessed the second-largest colonial empire after Britain, the national strength required to maintain those colonies ultimately stemmed from the vast, fertile plains of the French mainland. Italy, on the other hand, was a quintessential maritime nation. Its strategic advantage lay entirely in its position as a crucial choke point right in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea.
"How do you intend to resolve this disaster, Prime Minister D'Annunzio?!"
"T-the French... Those bastards must have played us false in the end!"
"Is that what matters right now?! You swore we would win this war! Even if we somehow crush the Austro-Hungarian Empire and seize hegemony over Central Europe, what then? Our entire navy is gone! What are we supposed to do?!"
"Y-Your Majesty..."
Vittorio Emanuele III roared in fury, lashing out at Gabriele D'Annunzio. The King of Italy was so incompetent that he made Wilhelm II look like a genius. Yet, in some ways, he was still better than the German Emperor.
Vittorio Emanuele's first saving grace was his objective self-awareness. He knew he lacked the ability to stabilize a chaotic political landscape, and he possessed neither the charisma nor the decisiveness of a warrior king. To compensate for these shortcomings, he simply handed the reins of power over to subordinates like Mussolini. In a way, he was much like Emperor Liu Shan of Shu Han, who surrendered all authority to Zhuge Liang and Huang Hao.
His second saving grace was his masterful ability to evade responsibility, reminiscent of King Seonjo of Joseon. And that particular talent was on full display right now. Only a few months ago, Vittorio Emanuele III had readily given his blessing, saying, "Do as you wish, Marquis." Now, he was throwing documents and throwing a massive tantrum.
Gabriele D'Annunzio bit his lip in silent fury at the King's utter lack of accountability. But what could he do? Unlike their counterparts in Russia or Serbia, the Italian National Revolutionary Party had no real grassroots foundation. Their entire rise to power was built solely on the King's absolute delegation of authority. Without the crown's backing, their influence was no different from that of common street thugs.
"Y-Your Majesty... I will resolve this, without fail. Please, trust this humble servant just once more."
"How? How can you resolve this without a navy?!"
"Your Majesty! The war is far from over!"
"What?"
"The Mediterranean... is now completely wide open."
"So what? Even that ragtag Russian Black Army managed to defeat the British Royal Navy, didn't they?"
"The situation is entirely different. The major port cities bordering the Adriatic Sea might be secure, but... southern Italy is by no means a fortified body of water like the Baltic Sea."
If the Austro-Hungarian Empire were to launch an amphibious assault, one would naturally assume they would strike the Adriatic coast. It was close, and for the modest Austro-Hungarian Navy, it seemed like the only viable option. Unlike the narrow Baltic, Italy lacked the funds to fortify the entire length of its massive peninsula. Consequently, Italy had concentrated its fortifications along the eastern coast facing the Adriatic. As for the rest of the coastline? The plan had been to block any incursions with the Italian Navy. That was Italy's entire coastal defense strategy—and it had just been utterly shattered in the decisive fleet battle off Sardinia.
"I highly doubt Stahl will throw his fleet against our fortified eastern coast. Liguria, Tuscany, Naples... not a single one of those regions is safe now!"
Only now did Vittorio realize the sheer gravity of the peril facing the Kingdom of Italy. His mouth fell open in a dumbfounded gasp.
"H-how..."
"While Mussolini holds the mountain passes tight... we must redeploy our forces from the front lines immediately!"
In just a few days, the Austro-Hungarian forces might descend upon Italy. This was no time to be bickering with D'Annunzio.
"...Wherever they strike, you must stop them at all costs!"
Unfortunately for Italy, it was already too late.
Adolf Hitler, returning to the battlefield after a long absence, boarded a transport ship in Greece—a place that held fond memories for him—alongside roughly 150,000 troops of the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard. The soldiers chatted excitedly, eager for their first taste of combat in a long while.
"Are we heading to Italy this time?"
"It feels like our Revolutionary Guard only ever sweeps through empty houses..."
"It's not cowardly; it's a 'strategic victory.'"
They needed to seize Sicily swiftly before the massive Italian army in the north could redeploy. The moment they secured Sicily, the tables would turn: Italy would be forced to play the role of the invader, and the Hungarian Agricultural Cooperative would be the ones defending the beaches. Furthermore, with the Italian Navy wiped out, the Austro-Hungarian Navy—though small—was fully intact and functional. A mere two battleships would be more than enough to completely seal off the narrow strait separating Sicily from the mainland.
"What about the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard...?"
"Hmph! Who cares about Stalin's lackeys? Tell them if there's any room left on the transports, they can squeeze themselves in!"
The undisputed core of this operation was the Hungarian Revolutionary Guard. Since Joseph Stalin, the leader who championed the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard, was currently away in Poland, their chances of claiming any glory had vanished along with him. The Bosnian Revolutionary Guard had indeed joined the campaign, but they consisted of a mere two battalions—albeit the elite of the elite who had distinguished themselves in Serbia and Poland. They had to console themselves with the bitter comfort that since each of their men was worth a hundred, their two battalions were practically equivalent to two hundred.
"Cooperative Leader Hitler is keeping a tight leash on us."
"...Who can we blame? If Comrade Stalin were in Cooperative Leader Hitler's shoes, he would have done the exact same thing."
In any case, Josip Broz Tito—a genius of guerrilla warfare and the establishment of liberated zones who had won great renown in the previous war—could only offer a wry smile. Under normal circumstances, a greenhorn like him would have remained a low-ranking private. But in times of war, it was common for such novices to distinguish themselves and rise rapidly through the ranks. Having performed brilliantly in Poland, Tito had ascended to the position of deputy commander of the expeditionary force.
"What can we do? Comrade Stalin's absence is proving to be a heavier blow than we anticipated."
"In that case... Comrade Stalin might not be re-elected as Cooperative Leader in the next election."
"That is true."
At that moment, a sharp gleam flashed in Tito's eyes. While he respected Stalin, he was also fully aware of the man's true motives.
Comrade Stalin is no orthodox Stahlist. To him, Stahlism is nothing more than a tool to seize power.
Tito, however, was different. Even back when he was tightening bolts in a Czech factory, he had spent every spare moment devouring Stahlist literature.
Marxism has clear limitations in its methodology. Its critique of capitalism is undeniable, but in the end, it cannot match the sheer efficiency of capitalists driven by profit.
Tito had read Marxist texts before, and though they occasionally stirred his heart, they always left him with a lingering sense of unease. For him, Stahlism was the perfect fit. To Tito, Stahlism was the bible of the new era. Thus, he felt that he, far more than Stalin, was the rightful candidate to lead the cooperative.
I will distinguish myself with the Revolutionary Guard in this campaign, and then I will run in the next election.
Of course, compared to Stalin, who had spent years orchestrating military operations, Tito lacked both experience and raw talent. Even the Bosnian Revolutionary Guard under his command would find it difficult to achieve any major military breakthroughs in this campaign. Yet, Tito possessed a different kind of strength: an boundless devotion to Stahlism, coupled with the ideological creativity to adapt it to practical reality.
As deputy commander, Tito bellowed to his men.
"The Stahlists of Sicily are waiting for us! All hands, board the ships!"
"...Send troops to southern Italy?"
Gabriele D'Annunzio was, at his core, a poet. Quite literally, in fact. He was a politician driven by the poetic fantasy of 'Roman glory,' much like the Hitler of another timeline. Benito Mussolini, however, was cut from an entirely different cloth. Mussolini was a wolf, a jackal, a beast of prey.
A dandy who could easily be called a trendsetter of his era, Mussolini possessed an uncanny ability to read the room and catch the latest trends. Armed with this talent, he was prepared to risk everything to grasp power. Granted, when it came to actual warfare, he was... severely incompetent, with a bad habit of letting romantic notions dictate his actions. Even so, compared to his fellow fascists, he was far more pragmatic, moderate, and politically astute.
"So, the navy is completely obliterated, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire is looking to land in the south, is that it?"
Mussolini pondered for a moment, and then, the reality of the situation clicked perfectly into place.
Ah, Italy is doomed!
If they detached troops now, how were they supposed to hold off the Austro-Hungarian forces in the Alps? Even if they managed to defend the north, they would never be able to stop a landing in the south. Having fully grasped the situation, Mussolini had only one logical course of action.
"Send word to Rome. Tell them that stopping the Austro-Hungarian landing is of the utmost urgency, and that I will personally head south to handle it!"
"What?! If General Mussolini leaves the front, who will take command in your stead?"
"You can hold a vote among yourselves to decide. I have absolute faith in you all."
"G-General...!"
Of course, his inner thoughts were entirely different. Have fun getting crushed by the Austro-Hungarians, you absolute morons.
Italy suffered from the exact same structural flaws as the Austro-Hungarian military: the curse of a deeply divided army. Although they all spoke the same language, the regional animosity between the north and the south, and even between individual cities, was severe. For such a fractured force to function as a cohesive unit, it required an overwhelming, singular charisma that transcended mere military talent. And now, Mussolini was abandoning his post. No matter how competent his successor might be, the Italian army would soon crumble like a house of cards.
Step right up, gentlemen! Hahaha!
In high spirits, Mussolini began his march toward Rome. Yet, despite his cheerful mood, his movement was far from swift. In fact, "painfully slow" would be a much more accurate description. This, too, was a calculated move on his part.
Stahl will undoubtedly seize Sicily faster than anyone expects. The place is practically a breeding ground for Stahlists, so the landing will be a breeze.
There was no point in rushing to a fight they couldn't win. Instead, he would let Stahl take Sicily, use that catastrophic failure to shift the blame onto Prime Minister D'Annunzio and the King, and then sweep them both aside.
But I still need a proper justification... Hmm. What would work best?
If he launched a coup with a weak pretext, the nation might fracture into several warring factions. He needed a way to prevent that...
Mussolini did not have to ponder for long.
Stahlism! Whether that bastard Stahl intended it or not, his ideology is incredibly versatile.
And what did versatility mean? It meant a ruler could mold and shape it however they pleased. The original Stahlism was akin to social democracy and a cooperative economy. Once Lenin got his hands on it, it mutated into a rural revolutionary strategy heavily influenced by Marxism. When the Germans adapted it, it transformed into something resembling militarism and a "military-first" policy.
Exactly. I will overthrow the King who lost Sicily, and announce that I am introducing a new brand of Stahlism tailored specifically for the Italian people!
Why was it that Stahlism always seemed to fall into the hands of aspiring dictators, with the sole exception of Stahl himself? Then again, Stahl had no right to complain. After all, by reducing the imperial family and parliament to mere puppets while ruling from the shadows through his personal network, Stahl was practically a dictator in all but name. It was only natural, then, that dictator-wannabes like Hitler, Stalin, Tito, and Ludendorff looked up to Stahl as their ultimate role model.
No more groveling under an incompetent Prime Minister and a spineless King. Stahl seized power in his early twenties, didn't he? If he could do it, why not me!
And so, the grand ambition of the young Mussolini—roughly the same age as Stahl—began to unfold!