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Finally posted this week's update. Sorry if it's short, have end of term exams coming up so a ton of revision has been going on. After the tests have been taken, I'll be free to write thanks to the easter hols.

Progress Tracker:

Writing: January '38

Playing: February '39

Posting: December '38
 
Last edited:
Primo Settembre, 1938
Palacio di Venezia, Roma

“We rot. With every minute that passes, we rot. The lands of Venice, the great Italian state for who we must thank this great palace for, are split between us and the Slavs. In Africa, territories once Roman are now held by the Britons and the Franks. Though we may have secured many of the barbarians under our control, we must act. The time is now.” Benito held the gaze of his most trusted ministers.

“We all know war is coming. Our fascist brothers to the north also feel the need to breath, to unite their kinsfolk.” Cesare Amé held his hand up to speak. The Head of Intelligence, he felt inpuit was needed on positions.

“We must follow in their path and increase intelligence missions in our neighbouring countries, so we can liberate oppressed Italians. While this is going on, the Fuhrer requires a stronger force to place on the French border. Though Chamberlain is happy to hold his French puppets in check, there are murmurs that war should come sooner rather than later. I would recommend, if you don’t mind Alberto, sending an army north to buff up the borders. That is of course your department though.” Cesare looked out to Alberto Parvani, who nodded at the words.

“I must agree. With the 8th army under German command, we must focus on our own military. It is outdated and I doubt it will stand up in war. If I may, could I take you through a bill I have been working on to stop our decline in power?”

2938ItalianNews_zpsaf962724.png


With the Italian Empire being forged in Africa, Mussolini could once more afford to relax. He had taken steps to ensure co-operation with the Germans, hoping the Fuhrer would appreciate another army to threaten the allies with. Hopefully no war would come until the end of September, when the army had been put back into line. Even later would suit the Italians better, as the economy fumbled to stand on its feet. Meanwhile, in Ethiopia, the people needed to be silenced. Only a native figurehead could do that. To invite Selassi back would either force him to co-operate with the occupying troops or make him be seen to abandon his people. It seemed an obvious choice, though a hard one at that.

The next day,
Fairfield House, Bath (UK)


Haile Selassi strolled through the garden. Surrounded by exotic plants, he enjoyed the sweet smell when combined with the cool breeze of British autumn. He stopped by a tritoma and bent low to sniff at its scent. The Europeans called it a Kniphofia or red-hot poker and the plant was a beautiful sight along the lowlands of Ethiopia, his kingdom. His kingdom. Haile’s eyes watered slightly, before the weakness was wiped away.

He entered the house and sat down at his typewriter. May a westerner had looked upon its strange characters and been intrigued, yet confused. Amharic was his link to a lost land and it would be the language in which he wrote his tale. He was about to begin, when there was a knock on the door. Speaking in heavily accented, yet fluent, English he answered.

“Come in.” The servant was of African origin, as were all in Haile’s house. He held an envelope, likely another bill or honour from the Rastafarians as far as Haile was concerned.

“A message from Rome, your majesty.” The servant bowed and left. Haile picked the telegram up from his desk solemnly. What could Rome want?

Dear Mr Selassi,
God incarnate of the Rastafari movement and former Emperor of the Ethiopian Empire

Your people have fallen upon hard times. Though the Duce’s men have attempted to enlighten them, they resist and call for your return. We, the Grand Council of Fascists, have decided to comply with these calls and ask for your return on these conditions:
- You shall not be known as an Emperor, only a King or Ras depending on which is to your liking
- You shall rule as the joint head of state with King Victor Emmanuel of Italy
- The head of government will be called the Governor of Ethiopia
- The Grand Council of Fascists reserves the right to elect and depose the Governor of Ethiopia at our will
- The Royal Italian Armed Forces and their commander reserves the right to enter and be stationed within Ethiopian territory

I thank you for your time and hope you consider this proposal carefully.

Gian Galeazzo Cuano,
Foreign Minister of the Kingdom of Italy
Member of the Grand Council of Fascists

Haile sighed. He knew this was the best he would get without military support and, despite his campaigning against the Italians, at least he could oversee that his people were not harmed.

6938ItalianNews_zps130c34db.png


21st September, 1938
Dear our most glorious ally Duce Benito Mussolini,
Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Italy,
Leader of the Grand Council of Fascists

I, Emperor Akihito of Japan, solemnly request that you join the Japanese Empire in their war against the People’s Republic of China and the Republic of China. It would be to our satisfaction if you would officially declare war against the Chinese and aid the Empire of the Rising Sun in our conquests, by embargoing all enemy Chinese States and even sending military aid.

I thank you very much,
Emperor Hirohito of the Great Imperial State of Japan

22938ItalianNews_zps3fa2f343.png


Though Italian involvement would be small for the near future, it was a friendly gesture and appreciated by their allies. The declaration of war also allowed Guido Jung, Ministro deigle Armamenti, to press new economic laws and production focuses with support from the council.
 
Very nice !

Btw, is this Latin in the newspaper ?
 
No, i think it is Italian, it means The Roman Newspaper ( Thanks, Google translate)
 
Subscribed.

(BTW the newspaper title is in Italian but most of the text is in Latin; it is commonly used in templates)

Indeed, I just noticed that the same text is repeated.
 
Yeah, it's a filler. I considered actually writing something which made sense, but i decided it would be unreadable anyway.

It's about the hero and founder of Rome, Aeneas, his descent from the gods and his grief about... ehr... something. ;)
I really like this AAR so far - will the style stay the same or is this but an introduction?
 
Dusk, 2nd October,
Tirana, Albanian Kingdom


Marco walked briskly through the alleys. Keeping low, he manoeuvred past them and closed in on his target. Turning the corner, he halted suddenly. No one. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted an Albanian. Now alert for policemen, he spun on his heels and made to leave.

“Looking for someone?” Marco cursed. If the man wasn’t needed so badly, he’d find a bullet in his head by the morning.

“Yes, I was hoping he might make it easier for me to find him.” As Marco spoke, Mustafa emerged from the shadows. He held a briefcase in his hand.

“This is your ‘evidence’, if you can find me something.” Marco’s eyes flickered from left to right, as an object concealed in black cloth emerged from his pocket. The two exchanged gifts and Marco made to leave, only to be interrupted.

“Was it real? The a-“ Marco sighed.

“Of course not. He’s one of your kind, the guy who did it. Wouldn’t do it on a real one for the world.”

Morning, 3rd October
Rome, Albanian Ambassador’s Office


“Ciao, please take a seat.” The Albanian ambassador owned a broad smile, though inside he was a wreck. He had never wanted to deal with the Italians, though it was the only job available when he finished his training. They only ever meant bad things for Albania.

“Thank you, I think we have business to discuss. Have you heard much about your king lately?” Cesare Amé smiled as the young diplomat looked confused. As the diplomat opened his mouth, Cesare answered his own question.
“Of course not. However, I can tell you something. Read through this.” Cesare handed the Albanian a document. As it was scanned, he continued.

“You will tell your King to resign as head of state immediately and hand over his kingdom to King Victor Emmanuel III, or we will release this to the public.” The diplomat looked up, horrified.

“But… He would never… This is blackmail!” As he spoke, two soldiers wearing their distinctive black shirts entered the room. Cesare leaned back in his chair.

“Blackmail’s such an ugly word. I’m just giving you a choice. Suit yourself if you won’t take it.” Cesare took back the documents and left the room, followed by the two blackshirts. The diplomat stared after them, before rushing to call home. He cursed as the phone spluttered and died. He knew there was nothing he could do.

61038ItalianNews_zpsf84739c3.png


Evening, 5th October,
Palacio di Venezia


Benito strode through the door, Albanian newspaper in his hand. Planting it firmly on the table, all eyes were on him.

“This is our chance. I have spent the past days reading through reports, assessing the situation and discussing our capabilities. The lands of what is now Albania were once a stronghold of the Roman Republic and then Empire, holding the Adriatic gateway firmly shut to barbarians. Those who this very building was laid down, stone by stone, for held Durres in the north as an important strategic port. Whether we attack to retake the lands of Rome and Venice, whether we attack to liberate Italians or Muslims, now is our chance. Cesare, take it away.” Benito turned to the mentioned politician, who leant forward.

“On the 1st of October, I was contacted by a pro-Italian citizen of Albania. He, as a Muslim, claimed that Zog had been seen tearing the Quran in his local Mosque. Surprised, I enquired further, only to be laughed at. He said he could fabricate evidence in return for funding of Zog’s assassination and the Italian occupation of Albania. He believed the monarchy would ruin the country with socialism. The next day, our agent in Tirana exchanged the “evidence” for cash and a murder weapon. As soon as I could, I presented this to our Duce. After being cleared, I negotiated with the Albanian ambassador. He refused to accept Albania’s entry into the Italian Kingdom, forcing me to publish the information. Now, the country is enveloped in violent riots. Anti-dynastic and government sentiment is at an all time high. From what I have been told, many Albanians would not resist an Italian invasion, providing it restored order. If Zog dies, killed by an Islamic fanatic completely disconnected from us, the only option left will be to attempt to form a new nation through the chaos or let us take over. The military is stretched, with most units trying to control rioters. It was this information which I passed onto Alberto, our Army representative here.”

“And I formulated a plan, alongside Domenico’s navy. At 1400 hours, on 8th October, 35,000 troops will board the 2nd Transport Squadron. They are the Truppe d’Albania, an elite corps formed with soldiers of Albanian descent only. They will land in Tirana at 1800 hours with heavy naval bombardment to cover them and should, if Cesare tells me the truth, meet little resistance. After dispatching of the Albanian military, our troops will move to halt rioters in their tracks and defeat any resistance. If none object, this operation will commence at the planned times.”

Evening, 8th October,
South Adriatic


Dardan clutched his Beretta as the boat rocked. The eyes of the men around him were nervous, but many clenched their teeth and steeled their gaze. The gun in his hands was Italian: a new model, designed as a sub-machine gun and it now faced its first test with Albanian fingers on the triggers. Many other special units had been given the gun and as more were produced there were plans to integrate into the normal infantry.

As they got closer to the landing points, he could see the capital of Tirana far inland. Something stirred in him at that sight. The rotten government had held its grip for too long. Now his country would rise again at Italy’s side, into a new era of Fascism.

“Eci!” The Lieutenant’s call was accompanied by his pistol and the landing craft’s ramp fell. Dardan found himself running blindly, towards the building they had been told to take. Reduced to a shell by bombardment, it was now home to roughly a platoon of Albanians. Dardan threw himself into a shell crater as they opened fire, but the soldier next to him was not so lucky. His body was torn apart by the rattle of machine gun bullets, the sand beneath him stained to a dark red.

Dardan cursed. Moments later and that could’ve been him. With a cry of anger, he crouched and sprayed a burst of fire. The drop of three Albanians satisfied him and he ducked again to change magazines. Looking along the beachhead, the defenders were crumbling. Few Italians seemed to have died, compared to the blood drenched bunkers. Another yell from his officer and Dardan forced himself out of the crater. With a now or never attitude, his platoon charged forwards. Under heavy fire, the platoon of Albanians threw down their weapons and surrendered.

111038ItalianNews_zpsc9ab17c4.png


The Albanians had fallen within days. Zog’s disgrace, before he was murdered by an Italian-backed Islamic extremist, had swayed the population towards Italy. Nonetheless, Italian soldiers were forced to put down riots with force. The total casualties of the invasion summed it up: while only a hundred and twenty-four Italians died, six hundred and seventy two Albanian soldiers were killed in action and thousands of civilians were suspected to have died from bombardment or soldiers from both sides shooting protesters. Luckily for Mussolini, the majority of the international community had decided Italian intervention was the only way to stabilise the region.

October began to fly away, as autumn set in its ways. Mass production of the new Beretta was overseen, backed by a booming Italian economy. The Italian military began to set out its plans for recruitment: while Italy still only maintained a one-year draft, Parvani asked for the creation of militias in major cities, focusing on the African territories mainly. Mussolini met regularly with Hitler and Hirohito, discussing plans for the future. It was later when they came into action. Though Mussolini had been working on a strategy with his council for the last month, it seemed they would not be the aggressor.

Evening, 30th October,
Near Idrija, Italian side of the Yugoslav border


Andrea almost drove past the two men. They were wearing green shirts and, from a distance, looked like they might as well be farmers.

“Halt!” His brakes skidded in reaction to the rifle pointed towards his car. The younger man held it, as the older watched.

“Please step outside. Are you Andrea Bullegin?” Andrea complied with the orders. Both soldiers wore uniform with a Yugoslavian badge and the older man had two stripes on his shoulder.

“Yes, yes I am.” What were the Yugoslavians doing in Italian territory?

“Are you Andreas Bullegin, member of the National Fascist Party of Italy?”

“Yes…”

“Please do not resist.” The soldiers grabbed Andreas. Ignoring his cries for help, the younger held him down while his officer delivered the final shot. They took his car and drove off, leaving stunned residents to find the corpse. Little did the soldiers know, a young journalist had been interviewing a business manager nearby. Ripping the camera off his tripod, the image taken would go down in history.

311038ItalianNews_zpscf9484ea.png


Mussolini declared war the day afterwards. Despite the assassination, which the Yugoslavian government had denied, Italy was still seen as the aggressor by the west. It was true enough: Mussolini would’ve happily declared war anyway without provocation. They were prepared for conflict and immediately the Italian plan took place. Garibaldi’s Albanians stormed over the border, while the 2nd Army and 6th Army marched forward to meet the Yugoslavs in battle. The war had begun.
 
the newspapper is written in classical latin
 
Morning, November 1st
Zaga, near Bovec, Yugoslavia


Toni kept his finger pushed to the trigger, firing in short bursts from his position on the second floor of a small house. The group he was aiming at had been forced to retreat to an old farmhouse further away from the river crossing.

The II Armata, 2nd army, had attacked the north of Yugoslavia as a part of the invasion. While Yugoslavian troops south of Bovec had been barely holding on to their territory, the city held. Its surrounding forests and mountains had slowed the attack and now the Yugoslavs countered. Toni’s division, the 14a Divisione had taken up a defensive position on the Soča and now sought to retain it.

Toni’s concentration was broken by an explosion beneath him. The floor shook, followed by a flurry of rifle fire. To his alarm, the Yugoslavians had advanced on the right flank and were bearing down on the houses. He adjusted the bipod on which his Breda M30 stood, putting the new targets in his sights, and changed the magazine.

Afternoon, November 2nd,
Skopje, Yugoslavia


“Papa, papa! Soldiers!” Jurij put his down and turned to see where the boy had been pointing. In the distance, he could make out a large tricolour flying over the buildings in the distance.

“Hovno – Get us inside and tell your mother the Italians had come. Remember, daddy loves you. Ok?”

“Yes papa.”The little boy toddled off down the street, as Jurij paced in the opposite direction. As he approached the high street, he began to enter a large crowd. Pushing through to the front, Jurij found his friend.

“Is it real? Are they-“

“Yes Jur, they’ve come. Bože, pomôž nám.“ The last words were spoken to the sky by Bogdan. God help us. He looked back at Jurij and continued.

"Where are your boys?“ Jurij looked around nervously.

“Jan joined a division going south as they marched through. I haven’t heard from him since... Lojze is at home with Marija.“ The Italians were closer now, the sound of their feet audible.

21138ItalianNews_zps88b1f9f4.png


That was what Jurij saw, proud Latins marching forwards with their flag. In reality, this was Gariboldi’s Albanians. They’d advanced quickly, splitting in two. Winning battles at Ulcinj and Gostivar, the corps moved north and east. They had two objectives: take Belgrade and secure the port of Cetinje. The latter was almost completed, as a single infantry crumbled against the combined attacks of the Truppe d’Albania[/b]

Early morning, 4th November,
Yu’an, China


Mao walked forward briskly, flanked by his Generals. Even in defeat, the man was confident. Each footstep on the crisp ground brought him closer to his Japanese adversaries until only a small table seperated the two parties. Mao bowed.

“Hello. May I see the agreement?“ A small pile of paperwork was presented to Mao, who passed it behind to his lawyer. After the lawyer was satisfied, he returned the papers and Mao signed it. Both sides bowed and left, confirming a truce between the Empire of Japan and the Communist Party of China.

Afternoon, November 4th,
Bovec, Yugoslavia


Toni advanced slowly. After the noise of battle, Bovec’s streets held an eerie silence. Following his Lieutenant, the platoon turned another corner.

Suddenly, the Sergeant cried out and collapsed. Toni dived to the ground and spun around, just in time. His platoon’s firepower ripped into the group of Yugoslavs. Within seconds, most were dead and the others were running. The Italians gave chase, only to find their path blocked as the walls around them exploded.

The next seconds were a blur. Toni’s feet were swept away by the shockwaves, leaving his coughing and spluttering on the floor. He could hear his Lieutenant shouting orders and both sides opening fire. Trying to scramble to his feet, a bullet pierced his thigh and sent him down again. A large block of bricks cracked the side of his head, before the blackness enveloped him.

Evening, 8th November,
Belgrade, Yugoslavia


Another Molotov exploded as Spiro watched on. The rioters had attacked police HQ just an hour earlier, after looting and burning the town centre. Many wore badges bearing a Swastika or Fasces, screaming insults at the police who had been fighting to contain the violence. Meanwhile, Spiro and his personal guard toured safely behind the lines of police. Having surveyed the situation, the group left.

It was almost an hour later when he returned. Following Spiro Kitinchev, Minister of Security, were the Yugoslav Royal Guards. In the time since his examination many of the rioters had left, but there was still a large number. That would soon be sorted.

“Fire at will!“

Dear Mr Adolf Hitler,
Fuhrer of the Greater German Reisch and leader of the NSDAP

As your most faithful allies, we must request assistance in our war against Yugoslavia. I, Alberto Parvani, believe that the Yugoslavian will fall in a matter of weeks if they are forced to also deal with an attack from the north. If you would be so kind as to dedicate an army to that purpose, we would be most grateful.

Alberto Parvani,
Commander in Chief of the Italian Armed Forces and member of the Grand Council of Fascists

Signs of unrest were growing Yugoslavia. The Italian invasion had split the population, many siding with the fascists, but a large amount more branding those individuals as traitors. It was this attidute that had sparked the riot in Belgrade, fighting between fascists and nationalists turning into general anti-police violence.

Mussolini’s forces had capitalized on this. The 3a Armata was advancing quickly after taking Split. They aimed to pull Yugoslav forces away from the main assault, while securing the Adriatic coast and therefore strangling the country. As the 2nd and 6th slowly advanced in the north, Bovec finally fallen, and the Albanians raced towards Belgrade, practically unchallenged, Yugoslavia looked set to fall.
 
0800 hours, November 9th,
High-Security Prison, near Ljubljana


“Hostiles sighted in prison. Permission to engage? Over.” Mario sat patiently with his company’s operator, as they sheltered below the hill’s crest. A similarly sized group of Yugoslav soldiers had been sighted taking defensive positions around the prison’s perimeter.

“At your own risk. I want minimum casualties, so just force them to hold position until I get armour in. Permission granted, over.” Mario smiled grimly, then called his platoon commanders over.

“I want to get all our mortars on them, while we make a frontal assault. Victor, take your platoon around the edge and hit them from the side. That should keep them occupied. Understood?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and picked up his gear. Raising his pistol high, Mario fired a single shot. Barely seconds later, the pounding of mortars started. Roughly a hundred troops streamed over the hill’s ridge, before adopting more tactical formations and picking off the defenders.

Taken unaware, a volley of cries came from the Yugoslavs. They panicked and began to fight, what for a moment looked like themselves. However the lack of uniform forced the thought to dawn on Mario. The prisoners were trying to escape. Another thorn in the side of the doomed defenders. He picked up a rifle and moved forward, following the company.

Paolo lined up the Slav in his sights and took the shot. Though in the depth of battle any audio confirmation evaded him, the soldier collapsed. With no time to take pride in his shot, Paolo looked to his commanding officer. Sure enough, the Lieutenant bellowed the expected orders.

“First section, find cover! Halt! Covering fire! Second section, move!” Paolo jumped to his feet and sprinted forwards. His eyes darted, looking for cover. Eventually, he settled in a small ditch and poked his rifle muzzle over the top. As the other section advanced again, he fired as quickly as he could towards the enemy position.

Suddenly, without any warning, a mortar shell took down the wall in front of his platoon. Not waiting for confirmation, Paolo rushed forwards.

“Platoon, into the gap! Go, go, go!” Fumbling, Paolo managed to fit his bayonet as he ran. Among the first exploiting the gap, it was every man for himself. Paolo speared a Yugoslav crawling out of the rubble, before taking another as he moved round a corner.

In the distance, the rumbling of tanks could be heard. Before another life could be taken, the Yugoslavian officer emerged with a large white flag.

Following new orders from his officer, Paolo walked into the prison complex. A single bullet was enough to burst each lock and the majority of prisoners burst outside singing praise of the Italians. They would be sent back to raise trouble in the nationalist cities. Meanwhile, those who resisted were shot.

Late night, 9th September,
Comando Adriatic Sede Centrale, Trieste


Vincenzo nodded slowly as he took in the information. This was it. They had been waiting for this news all day.

“The 131st are within fifty miles of Belgrade!” A round of cheers went up from the room, as others looked to the operator. Pariani, however, barely let his eyes move from the map of the Balkans. His Generals whispered in his ear and he nodded gently, moving a small counter forwards.

“Unfortunately, the Yugoslav Royal Guard seems to have decided to show up, making defences twenty miles outside the city. Our recon planes say that is the last thing stopping them though.” Pariani’s gaze finally moved to look at Vincenzo, his hands moving forward a different coloured counter.

“How far back is their support? What’s the estimate for that?”

“The 19th and 53rd had to clear up behind, but they catch up within a couple of days Gariboldi reckons. The battle should be won easily enough; it’s just a matter of time.” Pariani nodded gently, before turning to his Generals to speak.

“Pursue a full offensive. If the Yugoslavs manage to reform, this war could take another month and ten thousand good men with it. I want to double all ground gained in the north and completely cut off their coast. Understood? Get that message out to your soldiers and the war is ours.”

101138ItalianNews_zps3bd71f21.png


Since October, the northern front had been going smoothly for the Italians. While Bovec had held out for four days, the rest of the front crumbled. Novo Mesto was the first to go and since that defeat, the Yugoslavian army had been on the retreat. In the south, the Italian troops had advanced with no opposition, taking Cetinje and Skopje. The 3a Armata, landing in Split on the4th, then advanced. By the 10th, the coastline had been seized and the Italians were faced with the option to starve out Yugoslavia. However, the government decided against such a costly action. As troops neared Belgrade, a major offensive began at 0500 hours as Yugoslav troops fell back from a counter on Cetinje. In the north, the enemy was destroyed with ease, a mass retreat to Ljubljana forcing the fight for the city to be the next major battle. As Ljubljana fell, the 19th and 53rd managed to catch up with their armour. A joint assault smashed the Yugoslav Royal Guard and the road to Belgrade was open.

Early Morning, November 16th
Belgrade


The cabinet stood in a stunned silence as the doors were kicked open. Two soldiers, clad in olive green fatigues and metal helmets, entered the room.

“Where is his majesty, King Peter?” The king made to run, but was seized. Together, the soldiers dragged him outside. They were soon replaced by roughly twenty more, who knelt in front of the politicians and levelled their rifles.

“Fire!” A single volley ripped into the politicians. Though some survived initially, they were left to bleed out their wounds.

In the streets outside, tanks rolled through. They bore not Italian flags, but Yugoslav banners with the fasces boldly splattered across the tricolour. The procession was lead by a group of politicians, most noticeably Milan Stojadinovic and Ante Pavelic. With them marched the Italian infantry of the 53a and 19a Divisione Fanteria, while the crowd was held back by a mixture of police and assorted fascist militias, mainly the Green-shirts and Ustaše.

Meanwhile, King Peter was held at gunpoint. His hands shook as he took the pen and, under the watching Italian eyes, signed the agreement. Immediately he was thrown onto a chair and the soldiers relaxed, to look more as guards then kidnappers. A group of Yugoslav cameramen rushed in and set up. Finally, he was given the clear.

“I, King Peter II of Yugoslavia, officially announce my abdication. I ask my former subjects to co-operate with Italian troops and not to resist them in their actions. The once proud kingdom of Yugoslavia will be restored to its full strength, under my successor King Victor Emmanuel.” The message was cut off and the soldiers seized him again. It was enough. That would be broadcast all over Yugoslavia and in many Italian homes.

The war was lost and won. Though King Peter had called for surrender, an official announcement was only made on the 18th. Even that was at its best temporary, allowing Italian soldiers to occupy Yugoslavian territories until a permanent treaty was worked out. The armed forces exploited their permissions as much as possible, crushing nationalist resistance and touring the country as a show of strength. They began to co-operate with fascist partisans, slowly closing down terrorist operations.

181138Italiannews_zps0a3539e5.png


Politically, the destruction of Yugoslavia had created a void though. Despite King Victor being crowned on the 18th, there was no government but the Italian army. Mussolini consistently lobbied Hitler to oversee negotiations and, on the 21st of November, the Conference of Ljubljana began. The Italians were insistent on the city being returned to them, while Yugoslav fascists protested. With the exception of the Ustaše, most Yugoslavians favoured an independent state subservient to Italy.

Afternoon, November 24th,
Magistrat, Ljubljana


“And what do you want? A series of blood thirsty, feuding states, which you Croats can exploit? You disgust me! Yugoslavia will only stand as one state or it will fall divided!” Milan slammed his hand onto the table, silencing the protests of Ustaše members. He looked to Ante Pavelic, who rose to the challenge. He shot a look of disgust at Milan, before turning to Alberto Pariani.

“If you allow our friend here to form a united Yugoslavia, it will be too large for Italy to control. Could you sustain another war as costly as the last, while you fight elsewhere? The moment your forces turn their back, Milan here would happily strike.” Pavelic had used his words wisely. However, it was Benito Mussolini who paused, before answering.

“If that was so, then I could, with a flick of my hand, limit your armed forces. This is, as of this present moment, an Italian city. I intend to keep it that way and take Split with it. You know what that would do? Allow me to consider the proposal of a united Yugoslavia. Mr Stojadinovic, would you like to re-consider your words?”

“I would request, in exchange for a border redrawn by the Duce yet approved by me, the permission to form a government to administer the territory of Yugoslavia.” Milan looked towards Benito who nodded.

“We will draw up the details tomorrow, but we have established the facts today. You shall form the government, headed by your party, and hand over the north. Any objections? None?” Benito ignored Pavelic, instead to looking to the German foreign minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop.

“Herr Ribbentrop?”

“None. We shall reconvene tomorrow, at ten in the morning, as usual. Goodbye.” Ribbentrop left, followed by a largely silent Fuhrer. Neither was particularly interested in the agreements, providing they didn’t threaten Germany. Their presence was more ceremonial.

251138Italiannews_zps9548b353.png


With the Treaty of Ljubljana over, the war with Yugoslavia was finished for good. Peace had come, at least for the moment. However, there were more pressing matters. Peter II of Yugoslavia had a certain godfather: King George VI of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. The British public had been outraged by the Italian invasion, but Britain did not believe itself strong enough. Czechoslovakia had announced to France that it would be interested in forming an alliance, shortly after Yugoslavia’s capitulation. The resulting Prague conference resulted in the Czechs joining the allies, alongside New Zealand and, more importantly, the United States of America. That increased tensions further so, that by the end of November, all nations were preparing for war.
 
However, that conference had further reaching effects than a mere talk.

Dear Il Duce,

I, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, write this letter to you at a grave time. We have tolerated Italian actions for far too long. Your invasion of Yugoslavia, a country we retain close ties to, was the last straw. The people of Britain deplore you and your state. I must hereby inform you that at nine hundred hours, after debating through the night, that his majesty’s parliament voted to deliver you the ultimatum below.

To avoid a declaration of war, the Third Reich and her allies must comply with the following provisions:

- The ultimate surrender of the Kingdom of Italy, Greater German Reich and Kingdom of Yugoslavia
- The surrender of all arms of the aforementioned nations to British or French forces
- The disestablishment of all military forces and organisations of the aforementioned nations
- The disestablishment of all parties of fascistic or similar ideology within the aforementioned nations
- The re-instalment of Peter II as King of Yugoslavia
- The ceding of all territories given in the Treaty of Ljubljana to the Kingdom of Italy Italy, back to the Kingdom of Yugoslavia

All parties involved must reply to this letter before the end of this day, December 2nd 1938 AD, and comply with the provided terms to avoid the declaration of war.

Yours Sincerely,
Neville Chamberlain
The Right Honourable Neville Chamberlain MP,
Prime minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

11:04, December 2nd,
Via Icilo, Rome


“Maria, turn the radio on!” Francesco rushed into the flat.

“Are you ok Fran? Is something bothering you dear?” Maria walked into the hall to greet her boyfriend.

“I’m fine thanks.” Francesco paced straight past her and turned on the radio. After a small crackle of static, the newsreader’s voice became clear.

“As you may know, Benito Mussolini is currently preparing to give the nation an emergency speech. We do not yet have confirmation of the subject, but it is assured that there can be no good from it. And he’s on the balcony now, slowly looking over the assembled crowd. I will bow out, so Il Duce can speak.”

Balcony of the Palazzio de Venezia, Rome

“To my people, I speak. Men and women of Italy, our great kingdom, pay heed. Blackshirts of the revolutions and of the fascist legions, pay heed. Solder, sailors, pilots, pay heed. For this is a day that will either be remembered as full of joy or full of sorrow. We are, against the wishes of myself, at war.” The crowd froze at that. War. There had been increasing tension through the past years; but when it came, it came unexpected. Slowly though, a group of blackshirts on the perimeter of the square below began to clap. It spread and the crowd started to cheer. Mussolini smiled. Though they were not prepared, the Italian people would not mourn the news. He waited for them to reach their peak volume and then held out his hand to silence them.

“And to war we shall go! It is those who have hindered our people the most who have taken their arms against us and we shall meet their challenge, with bullet and bayonet. The Anglo-Saxons and Franks have conspired against the Italian people for years, plotting to destroy both us and our German allies many times. This is our chance to strike back. Their challenge we shall meet!” The crowd erupted in applause again. Mussolini was a great speaker and he had managed to hold the crowd on each word.

“For those men brave enough, the battle awaits. Each and every human who hears this speech, or of this speech, must commit their lives to this war: whether with weapon or writing, I do not care. From this very second, this has become not just mine, but your war. The war of the Italian people! Alongside your King and captains, you will fight for your freedom!” The crowd’s roars could be heard for over a mile away. War had come and Italy was prepared to through itself straight into the conflict.

1200 hours, December 2nd,
Comando Superiore Sede Centrale, Rome


Graziani laughed.

“You would have me ‘hold out’ against the French? For what? I have twice the number of Italians to Frenchmen and, with god on our side, will win easy victories. An early attack is what is needed, to draw pressure from our slightly less prepared German friends. With the Alpine Corps attacking near the Swiss border, the egig and efhwi can smash through south of that.” De Bono raised an eyebrow at that.

“Do what you think is necessary, but I am refusing to accept casualties. The French are heavily fortified along the ‘Little Maginot’, so do your damned best not to lose men attacking it. I don’t want to send out to many letters to their loved ones. You know what that can do to a nation? It can destroy it. Each man killed, another ten mourn. An army won’t fight if it doesn’t want to.” His rant finished, De Bono now turned to his other Generals.

“Caviglia, any plans for Africa?” The old General looked up from studying the map and nodded.

“The French and British will be too hard to crack in Ethiopia. In the north though, we have the upper hand. If I was allowed to conduct unrestricted submarine warfare throughout the Mediterranean, we could starve Africa of supplies for the allies. Tunis should fall easily enough and an extra army or two would make Egypt simple.” There were some nods of approval, before the meeting looked to finish.

“Just one more thing.” De Bono stopped any of the officers from leaving.

“As far as I’m concerned, we should take Corsica at some point in this war. It’s our land anyway. They practically speak Italian, whatever they call it.”

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The Azure Offensive began at 13:00, on the Franco-Italian border. The French still saw Germany as the greatest threat and had neglected manning the “Alpine Line” of defences from Switzerland to the sea. However, the initial Italian thrust was halted with reinforcements, maybe just hours before the French would have otherwise broken.

Just an hour after the order to attack came on the continent, Africa too was plunged into war. Both the French and British were overwhelmed from the start, though the battles of Zorzis and El Iskandayra lasted until the 7th and the 12th against French and British forces respectively.

It would take until 17:00 for the Grand Council of Fascism to mobilise the economy and allow unrestricted submarine warfare in the Mediterranean. These were the final measures for war, while the army began to put a heavy emphasis on recruitment.

1800 hours, December 3rd,
Albertville, France


“Neutralise enemy bunker, a hundred metres on twelve o’ clock. Over.” Carlos cursed. So far, his company had found it easy enough.

“I want our Artillery Support Platoon aiming for the bunker a hundred metre north east. Get our rifles to go on a frontal assault. We need to secure that bunker with everything we’ve got.” Carlos watched the operator twist dials on the radio as they knelt behind a small barn. They’d need to move quickly, before a different French unit managed to tie them down.

“All to assault bunker a hundred metres twelve o’ clock. AS to proceed with commencing fire on bunker, with the objective of neutralisation. Over.” The operator lay down his equipment on the ground, having relayed orders.

“… Over.” Giorgo broke his cover as soon as the message was finished. He ran forwards with his section and made it to some rocks a few metres from the bunker.

“Grenade out! He lobbed the projectile over, in the vague direction of the bunker. A moment later, there was a satisfying burst of smoke and rubble. Giorgo rolled over and began to fire rapidly through the small hole in the bunker. For something so powerful, the grenade had unfortunately made little impact on the solid concrete walls, creating only a small gap to aim through.

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The first battles of the war had been fought and won by December 8th. Perhaps the most important was victory at Albertville, in the north of the “Little Maginot”. For a week the Italians had been pressing to break that line and, though the victory was not much, it created a gap to exploit.

The Germans, however, did not look so good. Taken by surprise, the Third Reich was stunned by a Czech attack on German soil and lost thousands of square miles in their panic. The French capitalised on this, convincing the Dutch to join them in the fight. The Fuhrer must scramble to present arms not only at the true “Maginot”, but towards Amsterdam.

In Africa, the battle of Zorzis and the subsequent retreat on the 7th had handed Italy the road to Tunis. The Brits didn’t fare better, with a heavy defeat at El Iskandayra beginning their decline. However, reserves were being mobilised and flooding in from Palestine to check further advance.

To take Egypt, a storm is needed. The Italians know that storm is coming. That storm is coming, to take Egypt.
 
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