The More Italies, the Better
"The industrial zones of the north will go to Great Britain."
"Hmm. Sicily and Naples will go to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Then, naturally, does Germany take the rest?"
"That is correct."
Great Britain, Germany, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire had completed negotiations to carve up Italy in the blink of an eye.
Britain took the highly advanced, heavily industrialized, and incredibly lucrative territories of Milan and Genoa. It was a shame, but... Britain had to be appeased. If the British got fully involved, there was no telling how disastrously chaotic this war would become.
Germany, on the other hand, secured eastern Italy, including Venice near Trieste, giving them a crucial bridgehead to the Mediterranean. This was also a bit of a bitter pill to swallow. The port cities near Trieste had always been a source of territorial disputes for Austria-Hungary. Regardless, Germany could now project power directly into the Mediterranean through their puppet state, the Venetian Republic.
Rome was to remain a pro-Austrian neutral zone. From the moment Italy was split into five pieces, there was no telling what kind of chaos might erupt, so a buffer and mediator was necessary. Furthermore, since Rome housed the Vatican, it was a hot potato that no single power wanted to touch directly.
And finally, what about us?
Naples and Sicily. Though they lack industrialization, there is no better place when it comes to geopolitical strategic value.
That wasn't all. This was an Italy before the massive wave of rural-to-urban migration had fully taken hold. Although millions had already emigrated to the United States... in terms of sheer population, southern Italy boasted an immense pool of manpower.
"...But will this truly be alright? Dividing a single nation into multiple states is no simple task. Even if their unification was relatively recent, their transportation, industry, and energy grids are all interconnected."
The skeleton spoke. Ah, no, my mistake. Prime Minister Herbert of Great Britain spoke.
The conference regarding the partition of Italy was currently being held in Rome. In attendance were Prime Minister Herbert of Great Britain, Chairman Eduard Bernstein of the German Social Democratic Party, myself, and Mussolini.
Prime Minister Herbert... looked so utterly decrepit that it was impossible to believe he was only in his sixties. At a rough guess, he looked about a hundred and forty years old. Had he perhaps died at eighty, been buried in a coffin, and then resurrected?
"Indeed. Unless the entire country is reduced to ashes and rebuilt from scratch, the process of partition itself will bring immense chaos," Chairman Eduard agreed.
He wasn't wrong. The reason I had gone out of my way to claim the underdeveloped regions of Naples and Sicily? Because they would cause the fewest headaches. To begin with, southern Italy had never been particularly integrated economically with the north. It was a place where separatist movements flared up constantly anyway. Thus, while it wasn't the most delicious cut of meat, it was a safe dish that wouldn't give us food poisoning.
In any case, Herbert and Eduard's concerns were valid. The fallout from this might be even worse than the post-war division of Germany. Post-war Germany had been a ruined wasteland that could barely be called a state, whereas Italy had suffered massive casualties, but its infrastructure remained largely intact.
...As much as I wanted to gleefully ignore it since it wasn't my problem, I couldn't do that.
"Yes. Well, the issues of infrastructure and mutual dependence can be resolved one way or another, provided we invest sufficient resources. The real problem is the threat of someone attempting a reunification."
"Indeed."
"Quite right."
Eduard, Herbert, and I all turned our gazes to Mussolini at the same time. Mussolini was... well, he was playing the role of a silent totem, a useless sack of barley left in the corner. We only included him because if we didn't, he might throw a massive tantrum, screaming that we were treating Italy like a colony.
"At any rate, I have devised a solution. We restructure Italy into a federation."
"Pardon? A federation?"
"I must object."
Did that not mean Italy would still remain as a single entity? The victorious powers, seeing their potential spoils shrinking, frowned.
"It is not the kind of federation you are thinking of. What I am proposing is a system with a level of autonomy that far exceeds even that of the United States."
"Hmm?"
"In terms of law, diplomacy, and every other field, each region will possess complete self-governance. However, Italy will still be bound together as a single economic zone centered around the lira."
The solution I brought to the table was a confederation modeled after the European Union. A unified monetary policy, the abolition of tariffs, and the unrestricted movement of labor. This alone would eliminate most economic friction. Of course, the Eurozone system itself had plenty of flaws. In the real EU, didn't all the wealth and labor of developing nations like Romania get sucked straight into Germany?
"Therefore, the finances of each member state will need to be partially integrated."
"And what of the military?"
We could simply follow the EU and NATO models for that as well. And... honestly, did they even need a military?
"Let each state maintain its own local forces, while establishing a small, integrated defense force to serve as the central military."
And so, the fate of Italy was decided by the hands of three great powers: Great Britain, Austria-Hungary, and Germany. The reaction? Surprisingly, it wasn't terrible. Although those near northern Sardinia—who had originally unified Italy—foamed at the mouth and rolled their eyes back while screaming about national self-determination... honestly, they were the ones who had sympathized most heavily with National Revolutionary ideology. They had to take responsibility for the war.
But in other regions, especially Naples and Sicily, they welcomed the news with open arms. Despite all the talk of colonization, none of the three great powers actually had the capacity to manage Italy like a true colony. It was closer to gifting them broad autonomy and independence in exchange for minor economic concessions and the right to establish military bases.
Of course, Mussolini was definitely a problem. The atmosphere in Rome was highly volatile.
"Mussolini, you son of a bitch!"
"You traitorous bastard who sold out our country!"
"How dare you show your face in public after what you've done?!"
"How much did Shtal pay you?!"
The mounted police struggled to suppress the crowd, but... true to Italian fashion, I got to witness tomatoes flying from all directions in real-time. Would Mussolini be alright? Naturally, sensing his impending doom, Mussolini's face had completely soured.
"...Mussolini, are you alright?"
"Representative Shtal, does this look alright to you? I regret my actions from the very beginning to the absolute end."
"Still, you made a significant contribution to our victory in the war, so let me offer you a piece of advice."
"What advice?"
"You are near Rome, are you not? Go beg the Vatican for mercy on your hands and knees."
It was the only way Mussolini would survive.
As soon as the conference concluded, I returned to Sicily. Our mafia associates had been released from custody, but they remained under house arrest.
"Vice Chairman, they are... surprisingly competent."
"Pardon?"
"They are the ones who have ruled Sicily, after all. From intelligence gathering to administrative capability... they are much better than expected."
Since they were an underground criminal organization, I had assumed they ruled Sicily in a haphazard, disorganized fashion. And indeed, they had at first. The situation changed dramatically, however, after a massive influx of educated elites from the Naples Agricultural Cooperative. Structure had finally been introduced to those who previously possessed nothing but raw power.
"Vice Chairman, what would you like to do with them?"
"Hmm... Bring them to me."
Before long, Croce was brought to my office. Having fully expected to rot away in some dark corner as a mere mafioso for the rest of his life, Croce now wore an expression of absolute defeat.
"Ha. Getting in bed with those mafia bastards was my mistake from the start. No matter the circumstances, there are some things one must never compromise on."
"...Do you truly believe that?"
"I don't know anymore. Do with me as you please, whether that means life or death."
This... felt a bit like playing the victim. Of course, it was true that the Sicilian Mafia had originally been nothing more than thugs extorting protection money. Even so, they were just country bumpkins playing gangster. Their business had mostly consisted of acting like medieval lords collecting taxes. But ever since the Naples Agricultural Cooperative fled to Sicily, the situation had transformed entirely. We had uncovered evidence suggesting that their reach might extend across the entirety of Europe. Just look at the sheer volume of counterfeit bills we seized. Assuming they intended to circulate all of it, they were undoubtedly running an underground enterprise of staggering proportions.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at Croce. The lie detector in my mind was ringing off the hook.
Subject is attempting to play the victim. Discrepancy detected in statement.
"Stop lying."
"What do you mean?"
"Honestly, Croce, didn't you enjoy it?"
"..."
"You must have harbored a deep resentment after being hunted down by the Italian National Revolutionary Party. To think you ended up crossing paths with the mafia after that—what a twist of fate. You had probably grown thoroughly disillusioned with the current international system. That is why you printed counterfeit bills to your heart's content, ran smuggling operations, and toyed with the system as you pleased. Am I wrong?"
"Regrettably, you are. I was merely waiting for your Austro-Hungarian Empire to rescue me. Though I ended up getting stabbed in the back instead."
"If that were true, you would have done everything in your power to stop these illicit crimes. No, considering the sheer incompetence of the mafia before you arrived, the Sicily Agricultural Cooperative wouldn't have been able to pull off anything of this scale if you hadn't lent a hand. Isn't that right?"
Croce couldn't bring himself to deny my words, but his pride as a scholar and a revolutionary prevented him from admitting to them either. I smirked and continued with my proposal.
"Those French bastards are still holding out, stubborn as ever. It seems they are determined to take Frankfurt, even if it means tearing out the very foundations of their own nation."
"And?"
"Normally... a sentence of this length would be appropriate."
I wrote a large '40' on a piece of paper and showed it to Croce. Then, I ripped the paper to shreds.
"Now, it is time to bring France to its knees once and for all. I need the assistance of you, the Sicilian Mafia—no, the Sicily Agricultural Cooperative."
A fire ignited in Croce's eyes.
Following the conclusion of the Battle of Corsica, our submarine fleet seized the opportunity and immediately mobilized. Due to the prolonged war of attrition, France had no stockpiles left. Ultimately, they stripped their civilian economy bare to feed the war machine in Frankfurt.
"Hey, do you have any spare razor blades?"
"I've been scraping by with a single blade for over two months myself. By the way, why does your breath smell so godawful?"
"Because we're completely out of toothpaste. Damn it, I've been resorting to brushing with salt, but now even the salt is about to run out."
Daily necessities had long since been rationed. Not only were basic manufactured goods facing severe shortages, but the most critical issue of all was, of course, food.
Currently, the world's top food exporter was the Russian Black Army, with the United States coming in second. Naturally, relying entirely on the massive influx of food from Russia and America, France had converted all of its fertilizer factories into gunpowder plants. No matter how vast France's arable land was, modern industry was required to sustain a massive population.
First, there was no fertilizer to supply the fields.
Second, there was no labor to work the fields.
Third, there were no tractors to farm in their stead.
Fourth, not only were agricultural materials like plastic sheeting unavailable, but even basic iron farming tools had been requisitioned for the war effort.
It took no time at all for a massive famine to sweep through the French civilian population.
"I'll give you a gold necklace—pure gold! Please, I beg of you, just give me a single can of food!"
"This tiny bit of gold won't buy you a single can. Bring more."
"Then what about medicine? Do you have medicine?"
"Medicine will cost you at least three times the value of that necklace."
Of course, Germany was experiencing similar issues, differing only in degree. Thus, it was only natural for the French government to cling to a sliver of hope.
"Just a little more! If we push just a bit harder, we can crush Frankfurt!"
"Besides, Germany doesn't have a navy either. Their coastal blockade is only temporary. It's not like those bastards would dare sink an American merchant vessel, right?"
If they could just hold out a little longer, they could recover. France still had five battleships left. Once repairs on them were complete, they could break the coastal blockade and return things to normal.
But war was never that simple.
"What?! Wasn't butter ten francs per kilogram just last week? Why on earth has it jumped to twenty francs?!"
"Don't think too much of it. We are in the middle of a war, after all. It's only natural for prices to rise."
Prices began to creep upward. The climb was a bit steep, but surely it was just some minor issue arising from the chaos of war.
But when a single kilogram of butter skyrocketed to a hundred francs in a mere forty-five days, everyone finally realized that something was catastrophically wrong.