Taking a Duce (A Benito Mussolini SI)

[Alenco98]

December 15, 2023
Rwanda
A few miles outside Kigali

I should have stayed in America

That same thought I had for the last year during my time in the peace corps assailed my mind once again as the trunk of the Toyota Hilux I was riding in shot past another pothole on the way to the capital and my ass slightly jumped a few inches.

Join the peace corps, it'll be a nice break from the office.

My mental health I admit had been relatively improved, working in an office would drive anyone insane. And I figured I was in my 20s, my student loans were paid off and I was stagnating in my career, so what the hell? Let's drop everything and join the peace corps in the other side of the world and teach my host village how to do community savings and operate a small business.

It wasn't so bad I admit, I'd learnt enough French to hit on any French women or UN workers I stumbled onto while I was in the city doing my weekly grocery shopping. And my village was only a one hour truck ride from the city so I had semi consistent running water and almost 24/7 electricity.

Right now however my mind was on the diet coke and medium rare steak they served at the Hilton where I usually went to for lunch during my shopping trips.

On my right I spotted one of the people riding next to me pulling out a cigarette and trying to light it up. Unfortunately for him his lighter didn't seem to work.

"T'as besoin d'un briquet?" I pulled out my lighter and offered it to him.

"Oui merci." He pulled out another cigarette. "Tu veux?"

"Oui, merci." I took the cig from him then I lit up his cigarettes first. Once that was done I went for mine, unfortunately for me the truck seemed to have hit a massive pothole and thanks to my dumbass sitting near the edge of the trunk I flew off for a second then seemingly hit the ground head first.

September 1, 1939
Italy
Palazzo Venezia within the city of Rome

I opened my eyes, I looked around for a moment and found myself within a very unfamiliar room. I sat up on my bed, at my side I found what looked to be a middle aged woman sleeping soundly.

I was so confused by what was going on. Maybe it was some sort of fucked up fever dream or pre death illusion. I realized there was a window nearby and got out of my bed. I went over to the window and looked out onto a city.

Where the fuck am I?

I looked down onto the streets and saw a few people stopping and looking up at me. A few of them seemingly began to wave at me. I didn't want to be an asshole and ignore them so I waved back to them. A few of them started cheering, "Duce! Duce!"

Duce? That was not my name, I looked down at my hands for a moment then realized these weren't my hands.

I waved at the gathering crowd for a moment then went back inside. Fortunately there was a mirror in my room and I looked at it.

Who the fuck am I?!

This wasn't my body, this wasn't my little peace corps shack. I took a deep breath and called down. I needed to get my bearings straight. I went to a nearby wardrobe and opened it, finding a mix of military clothes, day to day clothes and fancy suits.

It seemed I was someone important if people automatically waved at me when they saw me, so I put in a military looking suit.

Once I was done I looked at myself in the mirror. I was so different, my long hair, my tan skin, hell my face was all different. It was like I was in some sort of knockoff of Face Off except it wasn't just my face that was switched but my whole body.

"Benito?" A female voice called out.

I looked back for a moment and saw the middle aged woman sitting up and looking at me.

"What is it?"

She seemed confused. "Why are you speaking English?"

I realized then she was speaking Italian. Duce. Italian. Benito.

Why was I dreaming that I was Mussolini?

 

[Alenco98]

September 1, 1939
Italy
Palazzo Venezia within the city of Rome

"Apologies, it was just a joke." Internally I thanked god for Italian Duolingo and my mastery of french. Then I prayed the Duolingo owl wouldn't kill me for losing a streak.

Then again I was apparently Mussolini so the owl didn't exist yet. What was more pressing was that I was FUCKING MUSSOLINI.

Now, fortunately I paid attention in school so I knew the basics of the axis. But I wasn't like one of those people who poured themselves into world war 2 knowledge. I was better than that, I was a byzantiboo, I cursed whatever put me here for not placing me as Basil the Bulgar Slayer or Justinian. Then again they had no toilets while I probably did so I shouldn't complain too hard.

I just needed to play it cool and keep going. Maybe it was all a fucked up dream and in reality I was in a coma in some hospital in Kigali while being tended to by nurses while the peace corps ran around frantically to see where I was.

"You sound different."

I rolled my eyes internally. No shit I do. "I have a sore throat. I have a country to run so I'll be going now."

I hurriedly left the room and forgot to shut the door, I wondered about the building I was in for a few minutes. The guards and the servants continued to salute me with what looked to me like Nazi salutes and so to blend in I saluted them as well.

I didn't want to seem like I was a total fraud and I needed to get to whatever Mussolini used as an office so I approached one of the servants, a young woman that seemed to be around her 20s. "Excuse me." I said as I tapped her shoulder.

"Duce, what can I do for you?"

"There's something wrong with my office, there's a weird smell. Could you come with me and see what's going on."

"Of course."

"Lead the way." I tried to sound as nonchalant yet in charge as possible and the servant led the way until I found the office. It was an ornately organized office with a large table that seemingly dominated the room, with an empty space in the center. I walked past the servant and looked around for a moment.

"Nevermind, it seems the smell is gone. Run along now......sorry what was your name?" I turned back to her.

"Claudia. Is there anything else I can do for you?" She seemed to be expecting something and was smiling.

My felt rumbled for a moment and I realized I was hungry. "Some breakfast, Milk and 2 eggs."

"Will that be everything Duce? It's not what you usually eat."

This was my peace corps breakfast so I didn't care. "Um.....no that will be all. Thank you, I have a country to run."

She nodded then left the room. I was finally alone and could gather my thoughts. I went to the chair at the back/center of the room and sat down to gather my thoughts.

I was El Duce, Benito fucking Mussolini. The laughingstock of WW2. Fucking Hitler's ally of all people. I sighed and leaned back, first of all I needed to know what year it was let alone what day. If we were in the middle of the war we were downright fucked. If it was before, maybe I could sit back and do nothing, steal a little from the treasury then resign and live in luxury once the war was gone.

Then again, this was all a dream. I was in a coma, nothing really mattered. I'll be here all day today then tomorrow I'll be awake.

Right now however I needed something to do, there was nothing in this room except a bare table. Fortunately a few minutes later another servant came in with a plate of 2 eggs and some milk. "Stay for a moment, I'll be done soon."

I ate the eggs within 2 minutes then gulped down the milk while the servant looked at me in surprise. "Take this back, thank you." I wiped my mouth with the napkin I was provided with. "When will my councilors arrive along with my work?"

"They should be here soon. It's only 7 in the morning."

"Very well. Thank you." The servant left the room and I was alone once again. I laid back on the chair and looked up at the ceiling.

What the hell am I doing with my life?

My train of thought was interrupted by the door opening, this time a young woman with short hair entered the room and approached me. I assumed it was my daughter or something until she started passionately kissing me and groping my private parts. "Ben." She moaned softly. "Where were you this morning? I was worried."

I was both confused and aroused by this. Unfortunately before I could continue this I needed to know what was going on so I gently pushed her off me. "Ben, what's happening?"

I assume this lady was my mistress so I had to play it smooth. "Apologies, but it seems today will be a busy day."

"Is it because of what's happening in Poland?"

I stopped for a moment and gently nodded as I wanted to thank her for this information. "Yes......Hitler said he was going to attack soon."

"He did? When?"

I racked my brain for a moment. "September 1st, 1939."

The young lady's face went pale white. "Duce that's today."

I said nothing and only looked at her. On the one hand shit, I was right at the start of world war 2. But on the other hand, maybe I could be neutral and not worry.

"Which is why we cannot be together today. I need to get to work ensuring we're not caught up in the madness that failed painter started."

"Failed painter?"

"You wouldn't get it. Run along now."

She left the room, clearly very disappointed while I was relieved I wasn't going to get bombed to shit or killed. I started making plans in my head, how could I profit from this war, how I could run the country, but most importantly what kind of steak to get once I woke up from this coma?

A few minutes later, several people began streaming into the room, all of them saluting me as they addressed me by Duce. Once they all sat down they looked at me. "Gentlemen," I began. "It seems Germany has gone to war with Poland."

The whole room was silent.

 

[Alenco98]

September 1, 1939
Italy
Palazzo Venezia within the city of Rome

The whole room was silent as I dropped the bombshell of information I held within my head. A lot of the people sitting around the table seemed to be on the brink of panic.

"Let me reassure you all right now." I stood up and raised my right hand then began. "I will not be sending Italians to fight in a war between Germans and the Polish."

That seemed to calm a lot of nerves in the room so I continued. "Especially because Britain and France are sure to declare war on Germany. My goal for these next few years is ensuring our country profits from this war."

Now the room was in a much better mood, and it was time to begin operation profit. "Someone get me a map of Italy and her colonial possessions please. There are some things we need to address."

One of the staffers accompanying the people in what seemed to be my cabinet left the room then returned with a map a few minutes later and laid it on the table in front of me. I had Italy, a place called Libya to the south, most of the horn of Africa, Albania, Rhodes along with a few surrounding islands, and a small concession near Beijing but that was irrelevant. Not too shabby. I nodded to myself then I guessed Italy lost it all in world war 2.

"We must continue our work on fully integrating the colonies into the Italian mainland. While the great powers drain themselves in pointless bickering we will grow stronger. Send Hitler a message, tell him to send all his Jews within Germany and all territories he will occupy over to us. We can use them to develop the colonies, and if they and the natives kill each other all the better." I shrugged as I feigned disinterest so my council wouldn't think of me as being soft on my colonial subjects.

I also figured since Hitler was going to conquer all of Europe and he was going to do the Holocaust I might as well prevent it to make Italy look good. Not only would I save millions of people from the holocaust, I would get millions of settlers in the colonies. And once Israel was established most of them would leave, but as long as they developed the colonies it would be a win win.

I should probably give the natives more rights so they and the Jews don't kill each other. I was trying to think of a plan to appease the natives in the colonies until someone interrupted my train of thought.

"Duce." One of the men interjected who I later found out was a man by the name of Italo Balbo. He was a man with a beard and a full set of hair. "The Leggi Razziali (Racial laws) you established a few years ago restricts the Jews from travel and various other activities including membership in our party. Laws which I remind you I opposed. Why the change in course?"

That was new knowledge to me, I didn't know he did that. Then again Duce was a piece of shit so I wasn't that surprised. "Those laws aren't needed anymore." I shrugged. "It was done with the expectations Hitler wouldn't act so foolishly and start a war before we were ready. Discard the laws from the books."

"Do you truly mean it? We will not align with Hitler?"

"We won't align with anyone. Why should Italy align with a bunch of barbarians? 2000 years ago our ancestors conquered most of the known world while 2000 years ago Hitler's ancestors were shitting in makeshift shacks." This casual racism made me very uncomfortable but I had to play up the national pride for these assholes. A few of them even nodded in approval, fucking sycophants.

"We will strike these laws from the books then." Another man who I assumed was my minister of justice interjected and I sat back down.

"Someone give me a summary of the current laws regarding the rights of natives in the colonies once again." It was time to figure out how to not get the Jews and natives to kill each other for the next few years.

My minister of justice stood up and cleared his throat. "Under our current Racial Laws, sexual relations and marriages between Italians, Jews, and Africans are forbidden. Jews, Slavs, Greeks, and Africans are banned from positions in banking, government, and education, and we have confiscated Jewish properties. Though with your interest in disbanding them we will of course change course."

I nodded and maintained a disinterested look but was disgusted inside. "Good, Italy needs to use all her human resources to their full potential. Which is why I am proposing a new set of laws. Italian citizenship is to be granted to all our subjects subjects in the colonies on the condition they learn the Italian language. They are to be given the same rights and privileges as our brethren here on the mainland. The only exception will be all positions in the government and prime minister, within the government and colonial administration. Those positions will be reserved for Roman Catholics. Should our subjects choose to convert they merely have to have a priest sign a document stating their conversion and submit those documents to their nearest government office. Children of Italian citizens are to be automatically granted citizenship even if one of their parents isn't."

The justice minister and pretty much half the room was shocked at hearing what I just said while others seemed to somewhat approve of my decision. Meanwhile I kept up my indifferent facade. "Now then, may I have a summary on the internal status of the colonies? We must ensure all our opposition within the colonies are pacified."

The justice minister sat down, and another person I assumed to be in charge of internal security stood up. "Duce." He cleared his throat. "Libya has and remains fully pacified, more people are slowly trickling into the colony and settling it. The main concern right now is East Africa. Though we've repressed most of the guerrillas a few bands of them remain. We have tried to open negotiations for a surrender but they haven't been too receptive."

I nodded as he gave me this information. The situation wasn't so bad it seemed. Honestly I didn't care too much for Ethiopia, too far from Italy and not a part of the Roman empire as my Byzantiboo feelings and knowledge informed me. But if I unilaterally gave up on it I'd be crucified and deposed, I'd look like a jackass, I wanted to rule while this dream went on and not get overthrown. "If he is not willing to negotiate then simply order the troops to continue hunting him. No atrocities on civilians, find local leaders who are willing to cooperate and give them military as well as financial support to enforce their authority."

"Yes duce. I will send the orders out."

The rest of the morning was basically me asking each of my ministers to give me a summary of what was going on in their specific sector. Everything was going on, until I spoke to the finance minister. We were in short, pretty fucked. Ethiopia alone was costing us billions of Lira a year, we spent billions backing Franco in Spain, we were subjected to sanctions and Embargos from Great Britain and France, the economy was very isolated on the international stage, our army was comically sized but severely under-equipped yet we were still planning on further expanding the military.

"Gentlemen," I began after being given the size and scale of our debt and our army. "I think 1.6 million men is enough for our army. Instead of expanding it I believe we should consolidate and ensure our troops are well equipped and ready for whatever any of the hostile powers will throw at us. Which is why I am proposing a half to military expansion. We will instead focus on ensuring all 3 branches of the military are well equipped and we will build up our military stock that we used up in Spain."

That got approval from almost everyone in the room. "It seems however, that our economy is in need of restructuring. We shall begin to privatize some of our state owned industries, liberalize the economy, and begin to reopen ourselves to international markers. Save of course for those of strategic military use. Gather a few economists have have a plan submitted to my desk by the end of the month for a plan that we can use to begin liberalizing the economy. I also want diplomats sent to the United Kingdom and France. With the war started I'm sure they'll want us to remain neutral, perhaps we can acquire a few concessions from them in return for our continued neutrality."

By the time I was done consulting with all my ministers it was almost evening and I was mentally exhausted. I needed a cigarette and a heavy dinner.

I sat as I watched all my ministers leave for the day then left last. I went to another servant and tapped her on the shoulder. "There's a funny smell in my personal office, can you come with me?"

"Of course Duce."

"Lead the way." The servant led the way like I ordered and soon enough I was in my private office. Inside, that lady I was making out with before my meeting was waiting for me.

"You can go now." She commanded.

As soon as she said that the servant left the room and I was alone with her. She went ran over to me and began to make out with me. I figured since this was all a dream I'd make the best of it.

 

[Alenco98]

September 1, 1939
Italy
Palazzo Venezia within the city of Rome

My mistress Clara helped me put my clothes on after our little tryst which was very nice of her. Once I was done I looked at the clock, it was 7 PM, we had basically gone at it for a few hours which was funny though I was hungry as well.

"Go and have a servant get me dinner, spaghetti with Bolognese sauce." I figured when in Rome.

Clara meanwhile looked at me like I had just groped a nun. "That's not what you usually eat."

"I like a little variety every once in a while." I shrugged as I sat back down on the couch next to her.

"I'll go and call a servant," she stood up and left the room while I laid down on the couch. It was a decent enough first day, the sex was nice too. But my main priority was the war. I stood up and went over to my desk and opened the drawer, fortunately for me I had pens and blank sheets of papers inside so I began to write.

I wrote furiously, writing down every detail I could remember in world war 2. I knew a few dates, Barbarossa, the fall of france, Stalingrad, Pearl Harbor, D-Day. And I wrote down what I knew about the cold war and afterwards, which again was really all just basic knowledge as I'd been out of school for a while and I was basically a Byzantiboo. And I also wrote everything my councilors and ministers told me about the state of italy, debts, our army, foreign relations, even alleged support for Ethiopian rebels from Britain and France which honestly didn't shock me.

By the time I was done 10 minutes later I hid the paper in my desk under another stack of documents.

A few minutes later one of my servants came in with Clara and dropped off a plate of spaghetti a la Bolognese which I was so happy. I'd learnt how to cook in peace corps but my cooking was ass. Now I got some good Italian cooking.

"Ben," Clara said just as I grabbed a fork. "Can I stay?"

"I want to be alone right now. I need to think."

She seemed disappointed but she left along with the servant. Meanwhile I dug in and savored every bite of that glorious Bolognese. But I had to think, the war was just starting, millions were going to die with or without my intervention. But it was all a dream anyways, I'd enjoy this imaginary food, set this Italy down the right path then I'd wake up and maybe get medevaced back to America if my injuries were serious.

I opened the drawer again and took out the paper I wrote. I re-read everything up to the fall of France and an idea popped on my head.

I finished eating in a hurry then left the office immediately. I found the nearest servant and went up to her. "Duce?"

"Get my foreign minister and have him come to my office at once."

"Yes Duce." She nodded slightly then left my presence. I returned to my office and sat back down at my chair while I waited. In the meantime, I had another servant come and bring me wine which I gulped down greedily. I really wanted a coke, but wine would do so I wasn't going to whine about it.

Ciano came in just as I was halfway done with the bottle. "Duce. You called for me."

"Yes Ciano, sit." I pointed to the chair in front of me while thanking Clara on the inside for giving me the names of all my cabinet members under the pretense of testing her knowledge in between rounds.

"It's a bit late Duce, why call me at this hour?"

"I need you to organize a meeting between me and both the French and English Ambassadors."

Ciano only nodded, "the Germans might see this as us trying to double cross them. They're bound to be upset once they realize we won't join them in their little war in Poland."

"We're their allies, not their vassals. How soon can we schedule this meeting? I don't care if I have to go through a sleepless night."

"I'll make some calls, standby in the meantime."

"Perfect, have someone come and get me once everything is done." Ciano stood up and left me alone in the office. I went over to the couch where I'd made love to Clara on. It smelled a little funny but at least it was dry, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, hoping to wake up in a nice hospital in Kigali.

September 2, 1939
Italy
Palazzo Venezia within the city of Rome

Unfortunately that wish of a Kigalian hospital didn't come to be. I woke up a few hours later by one of my servants. A few minutes later after changing into nicer clothes I was sitting in my office with André François-Poncet, french ambassador to Italy and Sir Percy Loraine, British ambassador to Italy.

"Sir, Monsieur." I began by addressing both of them in English then french. "I won't waste your time with pleasantries. Germany has declared war on Poland as I'm sure you and all the world knows by now. While I admit I am allied to Germany. That alliance in my point of view is purely defensive." That got both ambassadors listening. I said the same thing to the french ambassador in french while thanking God for choosing Rwanda for the peace corps.

"You will not declare war on Poland?" Andre asked in french.

"That will depend of course on what your countries can do for me." I said in a very rough french accident.

Both ambassadors seemed worried now. "What are your demands?" Percy asked.

"An end to embargos and economic sanctions on Italy, your country handing over Haile Selassie to us and ceasing to back rebels in Ethiopia, recognition of our conquests in east Africa, the handover of french Djibouti, British Somaliland, Malta and Tunisia. I assume you speak English right monsieur Andre?"

"These terms are outrageous!" The french ambassador said angrily while Percy looked aghast.

"I am of course, open to negotiations." I smiled. "Shall we begin?" I thanked god for my buddy Dylan who taught me that negotiation trick, when wanting 5, ask for 100.

Except from Christopher Hibbert's 2008 novel Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce.

In the last few years leading up to the war, Britain and France had tried courting Italy to their side via actions such as the Stresa front. However, that agreement fell through once Italy invaded Ethiopia and fell deeper into the German sphere. It was now both British and French policy to ensure Italy remained neutral during the second world war.

Shortly after midnight on September second 1939, Mussolini met with both the French and British ambassadors to italy. Both ambassadors were nervous, with the war having just started the previous day, none of them were certain as to why Il Duce wanted to personally meet with them. Was he declaring war in person? Was he declaring his neutrality?

Fortunately for them however, Mussolini had decided to change his course in regards to the German alliance. Though it wouldn't be for free.

Mussolini started out with outrageous terms, the handover of various territories in Africa and the Mediterranean, an end to sanctions and embargos, an end to support for the Ethiopian rebels, handing over Haile Selassie to his government, and recognition of his conquests in Africa.

Both ambassadors were outraged by these exorbitant demands and according to an interview of Ser Percy he was on the brink of walking out until Mussolini started his openess to negotiation for these terms.

In a round of negotiations that lasted for the next few days and involved frantic telegrams to both the British prime minister and french president, Mussolini managed to secure an end to economic sanctions and the embargo placed on them by the league of nations. Though his terms for territorial concessions and an end of Ethiopian support were flatly rejected, it was a good first round of negotiations for Mussolini. For the war would soon turn even grimmer for the allies and he would extort more from them and Europe over the course of the war.

But that was not all Mussolini did in that first frantic week of the war. He also set in motion the events that would make him a hero to millions.

 

[Alenco98]

September 4th, 1939
Italy
Palazzo Venezia within the city of Rome

Mondays, I hated Mondays, even as the supreme dictator of Italy I still had to show up for work on Mondays.

At least I'd gotten those negotiations done, and even got to speak to historical figures like Chamberlain and french president Brune over the phone which was neat.

I sat back down in my chair within the main office I shared with my cabinet, or the grand council of fascism as they called it.

I saw them slowly stream in, my sycophants and servants. I admit the deference they showed me was moving. No wonder all dictators went mad with power.

Right now however, I didn't know what to feel. I was really hoping I would wake up after the second day. Instead all I got was being in this body. I was worried about my family, my brothers, my friends. Were they ok? How would they take my accident? I knew it wasn't healthy but after the third day I just decided to throw myself into work, if I was so busy I couldn't worry about it perhaps I might eventually wake up or realize one of lamps was shaped funny and it was all fucked up and very vivid dream.

"Gentlemen." I addressed them as the last of my council members sat down. "Today has been a victory for italy." I yawned. "After days of intensive negotiations and sleepless nights, Ciano and I have managed to negotiate an end to all sanctions and embargos unjustly imposed by the league of nations and the great powers. Our days of being an economic pariah are over, and the necessary economic reforms to ensure the property of our nation over the coming can begin to be implemented."

The cabinet nodded in approval after my current message. "Now then, how goes the negotiations with Germany in regards to our request for Jewish settlers?"

"Duce." Ciano said as he stood up. There were bags under his eyes as well. He was my point guy for all these recent negotiations and he was the one that basically put it all together after my insane terms. "Hitler has contacted us and requests to meet. He is upset with our negotiations with France and Britain and confused about our requests for Jewish settlers."

Great. I was going to meet the CEO of racism and one of the worst mass murderers in history face to face. What could go wrong? "How soon can we be in Berlin? I'd rather go by train if possible."

"We can go by train tonight and arrive in Berlin by tomorrow afternoon."

"Make arrangements then, let us move on to the next item in the agenda in the meantime, do we happen to have a map of our East African colony? Preferably one that shows the ethnic make up of the colonies? And one consisting of our provinces."

"Yes Duce." One of the aides came over to me and laid the maps out on my desk. I looked over at the ethnic map first. There were 5 main ethnic groups in Italian east Africa, the Amhara, Somalis, Oromo, Afar and Tigray.

According to the various reports I'd read the last few days. The Somalis and Afar for the most part were Muslim and were highly supportive of my regime. The Tigray, Oromo, and Amhara were more split; with some being Muslim and some being christian, though even then it varied as the Amhara were for the most part orthodox while the Oromo were more 50/50 just like the Tigray. However, the Tigray were for the most part supportive while the greatest resistance came from the Amhara and Oromo, and it wasn't too surprising, the old emperor of Ethiopia was Amhara. It was time for divide and impera it seemed.

"Have the provinces reorganized. Split it among ethnic lines, the afar will get everything in the northeast of what used to be Abyssinia including those territories that compose our province of Eritrea, the Somalis will be left as is, with the addition of them getting everything east of Dire Dawa, the remaining Eritrea province will be reorganized into the governorate of Tigray, the Oromo will get Addis Ababa and everything south of it along with everything west of Dire Dawa that isn't occupied by the other provinces. Everything else will go to the Amhara."

"This is a vast reorganization of our affairs in Africa Duce. I am curious to know why do it right now?" My minister of the interior asked.

"My intentions are to divide the people of Ethiopia. It is a land filled with vast and diverse people. So in order to harden our rule and crush resistance we must split them by ethnicity, we can start by beginning to integrate some locals into the administration. Once we do that only the Amhara will be troublesome as that's the emperor's ethnicity. But that will take care of itself once the Jews begin pouring in. Divide et Impera as our great roman ancestors once did."

Two birds in one stone, I justified why I wanted the Jews to come to Italy and I could actually begin to crush resistance in Africa. And the displacement/conflict between natives and Jews would only be temporary until Israel was established, as long as I stayed out of the way of the allies this was all doable.

"I shall inform the governor of these changes then and have him go forward with your proposed reforms then."

With that, my interior minister finally shut up and we moved on with the rest of our items in the agenda. Another thing which was encouraging was my minister of finance informing me they were in the middle of drafting an economic reform packet which they would submit to my office next week. Everything was coming together, I just needed to ensure I didn't fuck it up too much.

The rest of the day went as normal, meetings, briefings, and signing orders. Fortunately for me I had the good sense to order a lunch break at noon which we all gladly took then went back to running the country.

Unfortunately I didn't have time to see Clara or my family before running off to Berlin as I was in a hurry.

It was around 7 PM when me and Ciano were escorted out of my palace and towards Stazione Termini by over 3 dozen heavily armed guards.

We entered an Alfa Romeo 6C 1750 SS, apparently it was Mussolini's own personal vehicle which he liked to drive, fortunately for me I had some experience driving in manual. What was different however was that I was driving while escorted by several vehicles filled with heavily armed guards.

Fortunately for me I didn't have to deal with Roman traffic, my goons did me the courtesy of clearing the streets for me as well as a section of the Stazione Termini so I wasn't greeted by cheering crowds, only a few onlookers who had trains to catch and who were waving at me to which I of course waved back as I was escorted onto my private train.

Once me, Ciano and my contingent of bodyguards were in the train it began it's journey to Berlin. Dinner was gnocchi soup with a Calzone for the main course which was delicious and which Ciano also enjoyed.

Once that was done I retired to my private cabin where I began to read. I had some reading material with me, first and most crucial was the current standard school history textbook used by all Italian schools. Then there were briefings on German Italian trade relations.

I sat down and opened the textbook and began to read the section on world war one and resolved to read everything up to the present.

Fortunately for me it was a highschool textbook and I knew for the most part what happened. My goal primarily was to see what the state wanted specially, I only really knew Mussolini was a dictator like Hitler and he took power but I didn't know why. Hell, I didn't even know Italy fought in world war 1, in the US they only really covered it once we entered the war.

Once I finished I sighed and cursed the British after closing the book. Supposedly they promised Italy territorial gains but gave them a pittance, all while Italy fought and got beaten in the Alps and only barely stopped the central powers from capturing cities like Venice.

I of course would have to check British history textbooks along with American history textbooks to double reference this as a lot of what I read was probably propaganda but still. It somewhat made sense why Mussolini got in, he promised Italy glory and land which he delivered so far with his pacification of Libya as well as conquest of Albania and general bullying of minor powers like Greece.

In my mind I realized I would have to at the bare minimum secure some gains in the Balkans. I guess it was time to partition Yugoslavia. My interior minister did mention we were funding this guy named Pavelic, maybe I'd have to meet him to have him sow dissent in Yugoslavia while invaded.

But knowing how badly Italy was required I knew this would go badly. I needed allies, allies not named Hitler.

I closed the textbook and picked up the briefings on German Italian economic revelations.

 

[Alenco98]

September 5th 1939
Berlin
Reich Chancellery

I sat in the reception room of the Reich Chancellery with me and my translator in front of the man himself, the CEO of racism, one of the most evil men in recorded human history.

All I felt right now was the urge to smoke a cigarette to take the edge off cause I was 90 percent sure he was displeased with my actions.

Hitler said something to my translator which he then said to me. "He said he is surprised on your use of a translator. You do speak German after all."

I tried to not tense up, now I really needed a cigarette. I didn't know Mussolini spoke German what the fuck?!! I had to think of something quick, I leaned back on my seat and began to speak Italian. "I am rather displeased by the course of action Germany has taken. I fear if I speak in German I may come off as too uncouth or belligerent."

My translator gave me a weird look and repeated what I said to Hitler who seemed very pissed at what I said and his voice seemed to match it. "He says you signed a treaty of alliance. Yet you're speaking to the French and British, you even reached terms with them."

"Italy is a sovereign nation, not a puppet like Slovakia Herr Hitler, and if I recall the treaty referred to external threats per article 1." I tried to not be too disgusted at myself for treating this piece of shit deferentially and thanked god I read a copy of the treaty I signed with Germany. I was going to lawyer my way out of this. "My armies though large are unfortunately ill prepared for a conflict. I fear if I declare war on England and France right now we would be more of a burden to your cause. Which is why I have spoken to the British and French to ensure they don't drag us in. You will find the treaty I just signed with them very useful for your goals. With our embargo being lifted, we have access to international markets again, and should you continue trading with us you'll have indirect access to world markets as well. And as both you and I know war is expensive." I smiled and waited as my translator spoke to Hitler. He seemed to mellow out a little a little once my translator finished.

He said something to him in a calmer tone. "He says he understands the point you're making. But he is still upset by your apparent double dealing, it's too reminiscent of Italy's actions during the previous great war. He is also confused as to your request for Jews."

I locked in, millions of lives were at stake and I needed to sound nonchalant. "I need them to settle the colonies. I mean to turn Africa European. But not enough of my people are coming from the mainland. Which is why I have need of them, they can come in, settle the land, build it up and even help clear the natives out. Once they're done we can just shove them into little ghettoes and let true Italians settle in the rest of the colonies. Our Lebensraum is Africa and the Jews will build it." I hoped that was racist enough to please Hitler, though I felt dirty saying all that racist drivel.

My translator took what I said and Hitler nodded along, especially when I mentioned Lebensraum. He spoke to the translator then the translator turned to me. "He says he is open to the offer. Though he is displeased at your easing of the racial laws."

"Italy is a sovereign nation, what we do in our borders is of no concern to anyone but me. Why would the Jews you send me be willing to build up my colonies if they felt unwelcome? Let me take them off your hands, it's clear you don't want them in Germany anyways."

The translator spoke to Hitler and he seemed very displeased. He then told something to the translator.

"He wants to know how you would put them to use?"

"In Lybia allegedly there's plenty of oil reserves. I plan on using the Jews with engineering degrees to prospect the land then use the uneducated ones as labor and to build up Libya for settlement." I had no clue if Libya had oil, I guessed since it was in the middle east it might have oil. I made a mental note to have my future citizens prospect the land. "In Ethiopia meanwhile I plan on settling them in areas where the natives are offering the most resistance. They can fight it out with the natives while building up the appropriate infrastructure for Italian settlement."

My translator told Hitler my plans and he nodded along. He then said something to my translator. "He wants to know how soon you can have them off his hands."

I felt like Light Yagami after recovering the death note. I resisted the urge to smile. "Immediately if he wants. Germany, what used to be Czechoslovakia, Poland, and anywhere else Germany happens to occupy in the future. Have him send me every Jew he can, not just the men, but the women, and the children too." I felt a little cheeky making a star wars reference but I needed to lighten the mood.

Hitler spoke again, his casual speaking voice I thought was much more relaxed and less crazed than in his speeches. "Hitler says he will begin the transfer of Jews from Germany and all its current territories. Polish Jews will begin to be transferred after Poland has been pacified."

"Perfect." I smiled. The acquisition phase was complete. "Shall we begin discussing the details then? I think we can also reach a favorable deal in regards to Germany's access to international markets now that France and England have agreed to end sanctions against Italy. How about we have Ciano come in and help us hash out the details? That and if we find oil I'm sure you'll have use of it."

Excerpt from the Wikipedia Page of Benito Mussolini

Thus, when World War II began with Germany's invasion of Poland on 1 September 1939, Mussolini took immediate action by holding an emergency meeting with both the French and British ambassadors the night of September 1st. For the next few days, frantic negotiations occurred between Mussolini and the French and British governments. The results of these negotiations were the removal of all economic sanctions and embargos placed on Italy, removing Italy's status as a pariah in Europe.

Subsequently on September 4th, Hitler requested a meeting with Mussolini, having been informed of his dealings with the allies as well as his request for the deportation of Jews to Italy.

The next day on September 5th Mussolini met with Hitler. It was a tense meeting, with Mussolini purposely snubbing Hitler by refusing to speak German and using a translator instead.

Mussolini informed Hitler of his displeasure at his starting the war. While Hitler expressed his own displeasure at this double dealing. Soon enough, Mussolini proposed two treaties with Hitler. The first called for the total deportation of all Jews from Germany as well as all it's occupied policies in order for them to be resettled in the Italian colonies. While the second treaty involved the selling of German goods to other countries via Italy as well as German assistance in Libya in regards to the oil industry.

Hitler agreed to both treaties, over the next few days Ciano along with Mussolini negotiated on the exact details. On September 7th, the Italo-German Economic Cooperation treaty was signed. The terms were as follow:

1. The deportation of all Jews from The Greater German Reich as well as all territories contested by Germany and nations aligned with Germany to Italy.

2. Germans with Jewish spouses and children by them would also be deported.

3. Germany would export all their goods via Italy and via Italian marked ships and would pay the government a fee of 1/5th of the value of whatever goods being exported.

 

[Alenco98]

September 8th 1939
Rome
Palazzo Venecia

I sat in my private officer shortly after coming back from Berlin then lit up a cigarette. It wasn't a menthol like I preferred, but after meeting, negotiation with and then spending time with Hitler it was a relief.

In front of me sat Mr. William Phillips, he was the American ambassador to Italy. And fortunately for me he was also a smoker and gladly took a ciggie after I offered him one.

We had just finished a decadently delicious classic italian dinner consisting of gnocchi soup, spaghetti with Bolognese sauce, a lot of fucking bread sticks all topped off by fine wine directly from my personal cellar. We had mostly shot the shit, talking about our families and how we were doing. The real business would begin now.

"Mr. Phillips. It's been a pleasure to have you as my guest this evening. But given the state of the world right now after my northern neighbors actions I believe it's time we switched to talking business."

Phillips finished a puff of his cigarette and placed it in the ash tray. "And what would that be Mr. Mussolini?"

"On the issue of the Jews."

Mr. Phillips gave me a look, it was a mix of both confusion and disgust as far as I could tell. "And do tell Mr. Mussolini, what exactly entails this issue of the Jews as you put it?"

"On their resettlement of course." I replied. "I met with The German Chancellor a few days ago. And we reached an agreement."

"What sort of agreement?"

"The chancellor has agreed to expel all Jews from Germany and all territories it currently occupied or is in the process of invading. All these Jews will be resettled in our African colonies. We have even signed a treaty regarding their resettlement."

The ambassador was surprised, then again, I only signed the treaty a few days ago. "How would this affect us?"

"I've heard that within the US, there is sympathy for the Jewish cause. More specifically for the creation of a Jewish homeland. An opinion I share as well." In my international relations class it was pointed out how the US favored Israel no matter which party was president. I personally could care less, I just didn't want a holocaust and for Italy to look good. That and to wake up from this weird dream and go home. "I was hoping you would get me in contact with any of these organizations within your country, be they lobbying groups, charities, or even American lawmakers. Resettling millions of people is expensive, and I hope my nation can acquire financial assistance from abroad for this enterprise."

He looked at me and only nodded, "I will have to send this up towards the secretary of states, perhaps even the president."

This was good, maybe I might be able to get some money from this. "I hope they are as receptive to the opinion of a Jewish state as I am."

"But I am shocked Mr. Mussolini, didn't you just have racial laws specifically targeting Jews? Why the change in plans?"

"Those laws? They were just politics, I needed Germany, now I don't. That is all."

"Do you even support the creation of a Jewish state?"

"They will be beneficial for my goals in the middle east."

"What goals?"

"That my friend, is a secret." I smiled and took a drag from my ciggie.

September 14th 1939
Italian-German border
Val di Vizze, South Tyrol

Mattias Berg hated rainy days, his uniform would always get soggy despite being inside his watch post and it would be almost impossible to light a cigarette with all the wind and rain blowing in.

At least I'm not in Ethiopia.

He always told that to himself in order feel better. His father was a higher up within the local branch of the fascist party and he was able to pull enough strings to get him a spot as a border guard once his mandatory military service came up. It was nice, since his post was technically in his hometown he could go home instead of going to the barracks which earned him the envy of the unit he was with. But he easily earned their love by pointing them out to the best restaurants in town and sneaking in the occasional bottle of wine he sweet talked either his neighbors or parents to give him.

He checked his breast pocket and realized he was out of cigarettes. "Damn it." He muttered.

He glanced outside at the other watch post on the other side of the road. He put on his jacket and exited the post, he walked over to the neighboring watch post?

"Mattias what the hell are you doing?" His buddy Giustino asked.

"Do you have a cigarette?"

"Are you out already?"

"I was out with Sofia last night, we used them up."

"How the fuck did someone like you ever get engaged with her?" He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"I have my ways." He smiled slyly.

"And your family is connected you lucky fuck."

"Fuck off. If you're so desperate I can introduce you to a few girls here when we're on leave."

"Whatever." Giustino pulled out a cigarette and urged him to step inside.

He pulled out a lighter and took the cigarette from Giustino. He lit it up and began to take a drag from it. As he blew his first puff he realized he heard something in the distance.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Giustino asked him.

"You don't hear it? Like something coming towards us."

"What are you....wait, I hear it too."

He focused for a few moments and realized a vehicle was coming. Of all fucking times. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "This better be fucking serious. I'm going back to my post. I'll be back. Thanks for the cigarette man."

"You got it."

He went back to his watch post. Covering his cigarette to protect it from the rain. He stood at attention and waited. He saw the vehicle come in sight, he realized it was a military truck. What the hell are they doing?

As it got closer he realized it wasn't just one truck but at least a dozen. "Giustino!" He called out.

Giustino looked at him and nodded, mostly likely having realized what was happening. He got into position as he pulled out his rifle and got ready to pull the alarm.

The trucks stopped short of the border. In the truck at the front man with a black uniform stepped out. The German walked up to the border.

Me and my big mouth. He sighed as he stepped out of his post with his rifle to face him. "State your name and intentions." He said in his best German.

"SS Sturmbannführer Ottofried Hansen."

"May I know why there are military trucks at our borders?"

"We're just dropping off cargo, as agreed to between the Fuhrer and your Duce." He said in a calm and collected voice.

"Cargo?"

"Yes." He looked back and snapped his fingers. "Get them out here!" He barked. More soldiers stepped out of the truck, all armed with rifles, he was tense now and was close to surrendering, that was until the civilians stepped out.

Hundreds of them flooded out from the trucks and went towards him, and formed a line at the border. Men, women, children. "What the hell is this?"

"The cargo." Ottofried said.

He looked at Giustino who was more confused than alarmed now. "This is way above my pay grade, I need to go and make some calls to my superiors."

 

[Alenco98]

September 14th 1939
Rome
Palazzo Venecia

I was in a pretty good mood today, for the last several days I hashed out a Jewish resettlement plan with my grand council of fascism. I'd also been put in contact with the Jewish Agency for Palestine by the US ambassador.

This led me down a rabbit hole in which I was introduced to various other Zionist organizations such as the Zionist Organization of America and the Hadassah. I basically glazed the fuck out of them, stating my support for a Jewish state in all of British Palestine and my willingness in recognizing one and establishing a military alliance.

Once I mentioned I was willing to resettle all European Jews in Africa to protect them from German atrocities in Poland which were on the news already they basically went 'ok, how much do you need?' and I asked for a blank check to which they agreed. My nascent financial troubles with resettling the jews were basically gone. All I needed now was to wait for the cash to come pouring in.

My grand council was another headache to deal with though. They were very hesitant (and rightfully so) at the idea of resettling Jews due to Poland alone having over 3 million Jews. But once I mentioned the prospect of having billions of dollars in aid from abroad to help us resettle them as well as millions of potential recruits for our fascist party who if indoctrinated could serve our purposes to dominate the middle east.

As I finished sending another Telegram thanking the Hadassah for their pledge of aiding us in resettlement I heard a knock from my office. "Enter."

A maid entered the room, "Duce." She said in what sounded like an urgent tone. "The chief of staff of the army wishes to see you. He says there's a situation in the german border."

This of course interrupted my good mood, however I had a sinking feeling as to what the situation was about.

"Bring him in."

A few minutes later, Alberto Pariani, the chief of staff of the army entered the room and he seemed pretty nervous. "What's happening?" I asked him as he sat down.

"The Germans have dropped off the first batch of refugees on the German border."

"That soon?" I was honestly pretty surprised, I expected them to at least wait until they finished conquering Poland. I guess they're in a hurry. "Very well then," I nodded. "Implement the resettlement plan we've drafted and begin to set up the processing camps for the Jews. Contact the Navy to ensure they have the appropriate ships up and ready to send them to Libya and Ethiopia. I'll go ahead and call up the head of the ministry of propaganda and begin sending party members to the border to begin indoctrination of our new subjects."

"Yes Duce." He saluted and left the office.

I opened my desk and got out some papers I'd recently scribbled on. I thanked god for paying attention in high school English class as I was going to rip off a particular book to indoctrinate all the refugees I was going to get. I smiled as I looked at the first words I wrote on top: STRENGTH THOROUGH DISCIPLINE.

I got my phone and began to dial my ministry of propaganda. As I fidgeted with my phone I reminded myself to have someone come up with a better design. Once I input the last number I could hear the ringing in the line. A minute later Dino Alfieri, my propaganda minister and fellow member of the grand council answered.

"Who is this?"

"Good evening Mr. Alfieri, how are you doing today?"

"Duce? To what do I owe the pleasure of conversing with you today?"

"I have some urgent matters to discuss."

"What matters?"

"Remember the new logos and mottos I sent you a few days ago for a new propaganda blitz I'm pushing for?"

"The strength through discipline piece?"

"Exactly." I nodded. "Send these pieces down to our party activists and begin sending them north to the German border. The Jewish refugees have begun to arrive. I need them to be ideologically educated." I tried to not barf at this blatant brain washing but I had to do what I had to do in order to save millions. Once I was finished with that I ended the call.

I sat back on my chair and looked at the stack of letters. I always got letters, primarily letters sent by admirers, organizations, and the occasional death threat which I found amusing. One of these letters seemed to have hebrew letters on it. Out of curiosity I opened it up and began to read it.

It was apparently a letter from a Jewish Guerrilla organization in British Palestine called the Irgun which praised my decision to repeal the racial laws and my willingness to resettle Jews in the colonies along with a thank you for my friendliness to the jewish people.

I finished reading the letter and saw it came from a certain Avraham Stern. I figured I might as well write back to him, maybe I could get in contact with these guys and establish some sort of fascist party in Israel and fuck over the British.

Excerpt from the Wikipedia Page of the Falag (Falangist) party of Israel.

The roots of the Falag party can be traced to September 1939. At the beginning of the war, Mussolini in a surprising decision repealed the racial laws he had only recently implemented a few years ago.

Subsequently, Mussolini expressed his intentions to allow European Jews to resettle Italian Libya and Italian east Africa. He proceeded to meet with Hitler less than 2 weeks after the start of the war and subsequently Germany agreed to expel all its Jews to Italy.

Within the first 6 months of the war, over half a million Jews began to pour into Italy, being placed into Internment camps where they were 'politically reeducated' by fascist part members, then subsequently granted Italian citizenship and sent off to the colonies.

At the same time in September 1939, Avraham Stern, a member of the Irgun high command began a correspondence with Mussolini.

 

[Alenco98]

September 21st 1939
Rome
Palazzo Venecia

In front of me sat one of Yugoslavia's most wanted men. A man by the name of Ante Pavelic. One thing which I found rather convenient was that as the days passed with me as Il Duce a trickle of what seemed like his memories slowly trickled in. And this trickle revealed that this Pavelic was the head of the organization responsible for killing the king of Yugoslavia. Conveniently for me and him I was planning on invading Yugoslavia, not out of genuine belief in Italian nationalism but to deliver a win to my supreme council of fascism. Though that win would cost a mountain of corpses, I wanted that mountain to have the least amount of Italian bodies as humanly possible.

What was inconvenient about this trickle of memories though was that I also got what seemed to be Il Duce's feelings as well. Like when I basically negotiated with the allies for sanctions relief as well as with Hitler to get the Jews out it was as if something within me was both disgusted and dismayed at my seemingly irrational decisions. If Il Duce was inside me then fuck that idiot for siding with that failed artist.

I ignored this feeling of being watched as Pavelic sat down in front of my desk. "You wanted to see me?"

"I did." I nodded. "I believe the liberation of your homeland is at hand. It doesn't mean it will come for free however."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" I did everything I could to not laugh like a maniac, his Italian was comically bad. Though understandable.

"Well, France and England are too busy handling Germany. I believe this will give us enough room to move into Yugoslavia without them declaring war on me. Isn't this what you want? A homeland for Croatians?"

He said nothing as he nodded.

"Good, a man who sees things the way I do. Lets discuss terms shall we, I will be annexing a few lands off of what is Croatia as your country's compensation."

That got him moving. "Compensation?" He seemed angry.

"Nothing in this world is free. If you want freedom for your people, you need to pay the price." I pulled out a map of Yugoslavia, it was an old one with all its oblasts before they reorganized it into Banates. I then pointed at Split and Dubrovnik "Here. That's all you'll need to give to us. That as well as a personal union with your country and ours like we have with Albania. And financial compensation for our assistance in the struggle for liberation. Shall I continue?" I gave my smugest smile.

"These terms are outrageous!" He slammed his hand into the table in front of me.

"What is outrageous is your tone with me." I could feel some sort of approval coming from inside me, seemingly urging me on to put him in his place. "Should I have you removed and sent to Yugoslavia? I'm sure they'd love to have the man that killed their king. What about your family? Do you think they'd be safe there?"

That got him to shut up. "Good. Now Mr. Pavelic, I am not an unfair man. While these are my initial terms. I am more than willing to negotiate with you. Now, if you'll stop acting so insolent, shall we begin?" I smiled and looked down at the map of Yugoslavia then at him.

-

I sat back in satisfaction as Pavelic marched out of my room. The negotiations were much easier than say, negotiating with the French and British ambassadors. Then again, Pavelic basically depended on me and I was the only one willing to even invade Yugoslavia to create his little state.

Pavelic would become supreme leader of Croatia. Though he would be under a personal union under Italy which meant Croatia was basically going to be my bitch. And I got a good chunk out of what was going to be the Croatian coast. Well, the Italian coast now to be honest.

It didn't mean he wasn't compensated. I basically promised to give him all of Bosnia. Well, all of Bosnia according to the administrative map of Yugoslavia from 1918 that I pulled out. I even got him to chill with his anti Serbian and Jewish rhetoric. He was still a rabid racist but he wasn't going to kill them all which was a step in the right direction.

Now however, I needed to meet with the leaders of Hungary and Bulgaria. There was no way I could invade Yugoslavia on my own. I had seen some of the after action reports from Ethiopia and if the army struggled against a backwater nation like them there was no way we'd have an easier time in Yugoslavia. It seemed I would need to carve up the country like a cheesecake. I pulled out another map from my desk. It was another map of Yugoslavia with it's estimated ethnic layout. I looked at it then at the other map of Yugoslavia from 1920 and doodled around it, coloring certain regions with certain colors. Hopefully it would be enough to notice Hungary and Bulgaria.

Finally, I picked up the phone and began to make some calls to my ministry of the interior.

"Hello?"

"Guidi, it's me. I need you to do something for me."

"What would that be Duce?"

"I just spoke with Pavelic regarding his country's independence. I managed to hash out an agreement but I have a feeling he'll try to betray us. Monitor the Ustashe and send envoys to them. Find anyone who is seemingly ambitious and-or disliked Pavelic. If there's even a hint ot betrayal coming from him I trust you know what to do."

"Understood Duce." The call ended and I immediately began to make another call to Ciano. I swear work never ended when you're Il Duce.

"Ciano speaking."

"Ciano, it's me."

"Duce." He said in a jovial tune. "What can I do for you?"

"I need you to set up a meeting between me and both the King of Bulgaria and the Regent or Hungary."

"Understood Duce, but may I know why?"

"It's time we answered the Yugoslavian question. I think they'll like what I offer them. Don't you think it's time to expand our influence in Europe? We can't let Hitler carve up Europe for himself."

"Understood." I heard a click and the call ended.

 

[Alenco98]

October 1st 1939
Rome
Pallazo Venecia

I put down my newspaper on my lap with a feeling of disappointment at both France and England. I knew hindsight was 20-20 and all, but the fact they basically did nothing and watched as Poland fell made me feel both angry and disappointed.

I had panicked around a week into the war when France began to invade Germany out of nowhere. There was no way I could have changed the timeline in the short time I was here. But instead, the french withdrew after advancing barely a few kilometers like a bunch of pussies. No wonder people called them cheese eating surrender monkeys.

But that wasn't important now, Poland would eventually find itself under new Soviet management in a few years and that was not my problem. Right now I had a table set up in my office, on it was a decadent assortment of Italian food along with wine. Emphasis on the was as the food was almost gone thanks to my two guests.

Sitting to my right was Admiral Miklos Horthy. It was ironic that he called himself an admiral, Hungary was basically the Bolivia of Europe right now, landlocked after losing a major war so I was rather amused by Horthy's title. He was however a really nice guy, he kind of reminded me of the chieftain in my village when I was in the peace corps, grandfatherly and a seemingly great guy face to face who was always seemingly there for you. I'm sure in another life we'd be great friends.

On my left meanwhile was Boris III, the Tsar of Bulgaria. Nice enough guy but unlike Horthy he was kind of a snob at times and loved to nitpick about the alcohol, saying it wasn't strong enough for his taste. Too bad for him his country wasn't strong enough for his taste in the last world war according to Il Duce's memories. I watched as the both of them finished their meal, thankfully these two spoke french so I didn't need a translator.

"Gentlemen." I began. "I trust you both enjoyed this succulent Italian meal?"

"It was delicious." Horthy said. "Give my compliments to the chef."

"Likewise." Boris interjected. "I just wish we had stronger alcohol."

Fucking alcholic. "We can get drunk later. Right now we need to discuss something of vital importance."

"The yugoslavians yes? Your minister Ciano mentioned that to my ambassador." Boris said.

"Precisely." I nodded. "With Germany at war with both Britain and France. Yugoslavia is alone and surrounded by us. That fake state can no longer rely on Britain and France for protection. And I'm sure you two have claims on Yugoslavia don't you?"

That got them interested. "Yugoslavia isn't the only country Hungary has interests in."

"Romania as well correct admiral?"

"Precisely."

"And I think Bulgaria has claims in Romania too. Isn't that right your majesty?" I glanced at Boris who only nodded.

"I acknowledge your claims, but for now we'll deal with it one country at a time gentlemen. I believe it's time we begin to carve this one up shall we?" I clapped twice and a few servants came in. They cleared the table out in only a minute, once they were done one of them laid out several maps on the table, "Let's get started."

-

October 2nd 1939
Rome
Pallazo Venecia

Dawn slowly creeped into the room as the agreement we hashed out through the night was delivered by a very tired staffer of mine and laid out on the table we dined in along with a treaty establishing an alliance between our nations. There was a lot of screaming and cursing throughout the night of course. And I had to rush my plans and carve up Romania for them to cool their nerves and agree to me getting the bulk of Yugoslavia. Fortunately for me, I was the stronger country and they couldn't really say no to free territory. Well, not free but very favorable terms

Hungary would get everything Serbia had north of the Danube like I intended as well as northern Transilvania from Romania. And Bulgaria would get all of Macedonia and every bit of Romanian territory south of the Danube. There were of course, a few Bulgarian and Hungarian villages and territories within both the rump state and Italian vassal that Serbia would be as well as within my future vassal croatia. But with Romanian Territory as well as my personal guarantee that these minorities would be treated well they calmed down.

"Now then gentlemen." I said as I grabbed a pen. "Shall we sign this alliance?"

"Gladly." Boris of Bulgaria said as I finished signing the treaty. I gave him my pen and he signed it, as did Horthy. Now of course, this alliance treaty between Italy and both Bulgaria and Hungary would be public. It would certainly ruffle some feathers in Europe and especially with Yugoslavia but with France and Britain too busy it wouldn't matter, they were free real estate. Our other treaty dividing up Yugoslavia and Romania would be a secret for now until we invaded. I proceeded to sign that other treaty as did Horthy and Boris.

"When shall we begin the invasion?" Horthy asked.

"Next summer. If we invade now Britain and France might intervene. We must ready our industrial might and armed forces, and we must wait for the conflict in Europe to intensify so that neither Germany or the British and French can intervene in our designs."

"Won't Yugoslavia begin to mobilize should they notice us?" Boris interjected.

"We have begun to place Croatian nationalist elements within Yugoslavia to stir up dissent within their territory as well as their armed forces. Believe me when I say they will not stand a chance." I snapped my fingers and another servant came in with a wine bottle and 3 glasses. She opened the bottle and poured wine into our glasses. "A toast shall we?" I raised my glass. "To our victory."

"To our victory." Boris and Horthy raised their glasses and we drank our cups.

 

[Alenco98]

October 14th 1939
Rome
Palazzo Venecia

I was in another meeting with the supreme council of fascism as always. The war in Europe meanwhile had basically slowed down to a standstill, there was the occasional report of a bombing raid or naval attack but nothing major like another country being invaded.

But today the primary topic of the day was on the economy. Alberto De' Stefani, my former finance minister was currently addressing the grand council. He was basically urging them to agree on the economic reforms I urged my advisors and current finance minister to draft and implement at the beginning of my new life as Il Duce. It was funny really, I was in theory basically the supreme dictator of Italy, but the grand council had the ability to override and push back against me. It both surprised and disappointed me that these idiots even allowed Il Douchebag to go to war in the first place.

Then again, Duce didn't just suddenly change his mind and agree to take millions of refugees out of nowhere to Italy use them settle the colonies as well as almost repudiate his alliance with the funny moustache man. They were probably scared I was being impulsive and pushing back.

Stefani continued on, "these massive public works spending have only created government jobs and the illusion of prosperity, all paid for with debt that has skyrocketed since the beginning of Mr. Mussolini's tenure. We must restart the process of deregulation, with measures such as simplifying the tax code, cutting taxes, curbing spending, liberalizing trade restrictions, abolishing rent controls as well as various other price and currency controls. We must implement them as soon as possible so as to put Italy on the path to long term economic recovery and stability."

He was basically describing neoliberal shock therapy, which to be honest sucked ass. But it had to be done. Unfortunately instead of the radical Millei chainsaw economic reforms I envisioned I decided to do a more gradualist approach. My governments social programs were literally the only thing keeping hundreds of thousands of Italians from starving/ending up unemployed on the streets and thus ending up as both dissidents and target practice for my lads in the army, blackshirt militia and police.

"Thank you very much for your presentation." I interjected and Stefani went quiet. "As Mr. Stefani here states these reforms are vital so as to ensure the long term success of the Italian economy. I admit, some of the measures we have implemented over the last decade have been erroneous. That being said, we will begin undertaking some of these reforms." I started. "But we cannot simply suddenly cut spending on most of our social programs. I for one wouldn't like it if tens of thousands of angry and unemployed Italians showed up on the streets to protest and we had to shoot them. And with war in Europe, I believe it's best if we keep the economy somewhat on a war footing in case we're forced to intervene. Which means we will be begin by privatizing some of the more unprofitable industries and factories, except for the ones used to procure materiel to the military as well as ending some price controls and starting the process of freely floating the Lira."

"Duce." Ciano interjected. "If I recall you said we would be neutral for the duration of the war when Germany invaded Poland is that right?"

"I did say that." I nodded. "But, if say Germany found itself on the losing end of things. Or if England finds itself on the verge of defeat, perhaps we could jump in to gain some spoils for ourselves."

The council seemed very concerned now. But it was fine, I knew the overall details of what was going to go down over the next few years. Once the Americans, Russians and British jumped in it was pizza pizza time for Germany, and not the little Caesars type, God I missed little Caesars. "Now then, shall we put this to a vote?"
-

About an hour passed and I entered my private office and breathed a sigh of relief as I laid down on my couch. It was a narrow vote but we agreed to begin some gradual economic reforms. I heard the door open and saw my mistress enter the room. "Ben." She said as she closed the door behind her.

I admit I found her quite attractive, short hair on women was always my weakness even in my last life and we basically screwed like rabbits whenever I had the chance. Though with me running the country and keeping fit by using Mussolini's gym which was aesthetic as fuck (note: Look it up his home gym was pretty sick) our trysts were few and far between.

She came and sat next to me just as I sat back up and began to make out with her. A few moments later she pulled back. "Ben, tell me the truth."

"About what?"

"You? The way you've been acting ever since the war started. You're different, colder, you even speak differently now, it's like someone else seemingly controls your body. Are you ok Ben? Did something happen?"

She had such an innocent look in her eyes, something within me felt relief. As if it was finally being seen and heard for the first time and was calling out for help. "Ben?"

Nosy bitch. I sighed in frustration, the part of me that wasn't Duce wanted to grab my gun and shoot her but that was both morally wrong and would draw too much attention. "I'm fine." I went and kissed her. "And I love you."

"Don't change the subject." She gently pushed me back. "What's wrong with you? Even your kids and servants tell me you're acting different."

"I don't know what you're talking about Clara. I am me, I've always been me. And I advise you to stop acting so insolent with me unless you want me to cast you out. There's always someone younger, more beautiful out there. Now get out of my sight before I do cast you out and come back when you've learnt to stop being so insolent with me young lady."

She backed off immediately and began to cry and ran out of the room. Probably not the best tactic but I could care less. I had millions of lives to save, what's one emotionally hurt woman worth compared to those millions?

Speaking of millions, I had millions of Greeks to deal with. I hadn't planned on what to do with all the Balkans yet as Greece was still an issue. Because of that I had Ciano arrange a meeting between me and the Greek ambassador to Italy Petros Metaxas.

I thus called a servant and asked her to prepare a dinner for 2 between me and the Greek ambassador.

A few hours later I was face to face with Mr. Metaxas. They had the same last name so maybe he was related to the big boy Metaxas down in Athens. However I didn't want to ask him that, I had more pressing issues. And thankfully for me this Malaka spoke french, I kind of wanted to call him that but that wouldn't be very nice.

"Its a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mr. Metaxas. I trust you enjoyed dinner with me today?"

"It was delicious I admit. Though being away from home makes one yearn for more familiar flavors."

"I agree, I find Greek food rather appealing." God I missed Greek food, there was this little gyro place in my hometown I always hit up with my brother. I would kill for some right now, then again I could kill someone but I wouldn't get shit so it wasn't the wisest phrase to say. Metaxas meanwhile looked at me in surprise.

"I didn't know you were fond of Greek food."

"I enjoy the occasional Souvlaki and Moussaka. It's very good I admit."

That got a smile out of him, "what a coincidence, my chef in the embassy cooks a very good Souvlaki."

"Really?" I nodded in approval. "I will declare war on Greece if you don't bring him over one day then." I briefly chuckled at that then immediately went to serious mode. "Of course that's obviously a joke, one in poor taste due to the history between our nations. A history I mean to remedy. I believe it is time for an alliance between our nations given the atmosphere in Europe. I would like to invite your nation to the Rome pact." That was the tongue in cheek name I gave to the alliance between me and the Hungarians and Bulgarians. I figured I might as well plagiarize the Warsaw pact brand and make it my own. Well, it's not plagiarism if time travel was involved. Which made me think maybe I could invent city pop in Italy but that was another idea, a stupid one but an idea cause man I missed my Spotify playlist full of city pop, especially singers like Yuki Saito and Toshiki Kadomatsu.

"You really mean it?" Mr. Metaxas asked.

"I do." I nodded. "In fact, I wish to personally speak to Mr. Metaxas about this, I am willing to go to Greece to see him. Would it be possible to arrange a state visit between me and him?"

The ambassador seemed to be very relieved. Which was understandable, Italy had basically been bullying Greece since Il douchebag took power. Fortunately I was the ultimate Byzantiboo, I had hours of EU4 playtime and browsing wikipedia on obscure emperors ranging from Andronikos Kommenos that fucking maldad to the GOAT Justinian. Which of course resulted in the rabbit hole of me also researching into Greek history and some eastern European history. Though only up until the end of the Greco Turkish war cause that was basically the last chance to recreate Byzantium for them. But with Il Dulce, ohh boy I was going to larp so fucking hard, I was going to fucking take Constantinople. And I would tour Greece in the meantime because I always wanted to see Greece, it was actually my plan after my peace corps service ended.

"Yes." Mr. Metaxas replied, I would love to set up a meeting between you and the prime minister.

"How soon can it be done?"

"I need to send a few telegrams and make some calls. I will inform you in a few days."

"Perfect. Please, let me know as soon as possible."

We exchanged some pleasantries and Mr. Metaxas left. It was late at night by then, I went to bed where my wife was soundly sleeping and slipped in. I closed my eyes and fell asleep instantly.

I woke up in what looked like my old peace corps shack back in Rwanda. I got up from my bed and looked at the mirror and saw I was back in my old body. I got my phone out from the nightstand and saw it was the date I went to town and had my accident. What the fuck.

I got out of bed, got my clothes out and headed to the shower, but as I stepped into my room I spotted a bald man that seemed shorter than me and looked a lot like Mussolini, and he seemed pissed. "You." He hissed. "You ruined everything."

I couldn't help but start laughing my ass off at his goofy ass accent.

 

[Alenco98]

November 1, 1939
Athens
Greece

I felt rather underwhelmed as I stepped off the Regia Marina ship in Athens. The city had looked awesome from afar, but up close, I couldn't shake the feeling of having been ripped off. I could have flown in, but my fear of flying—and the shit state of aviation safety compared to modern standards made that option unthinkable.

Awaiting my arrival was a contingent of the Royal Guard accompanied by a modest crowd of civilians. There were no cheers, which was understandable considering Italy's long history of bullying Greece—occupying lands inhabited by ethnic Greeks and playing an indirect role in Greece's loss during the Greco-Turkish War.

I offered a brief wave to the onlookers in acknowledgment before being escorted to the waiting car. I was driven directly to Prime Minister Metaxas' residence.

During the journey, I mused to myself how fortunate it was for both Greece and Italy that Il Duce and I had reached an agreement. In my dream, he had attempted to physically attack me, but after a well-placed nut shot and neck punch, I managed to subdue him.

Once we sat down to have tea, I laid out all the knowledge I possessed—details about Italy's impending defeat in the war, the fate of the Jews and the Holocaust, and even the onset of the Cold War. Mussolini, of course, was skeptical, but the situation was so extraordinary that I managed to persuade him to at least consider my point of view.

Since that fateful night I have met Duce every night. Each session primarily involving me consulting Il Duce about the events of the day and taking into account any advice or input he had.

Today, however, was different. I refused to heed his advice. I was a devoted Byzantiboo, and he was a die-hard Romaboo—our ideologies were worlds apart. Yet, I was in control, and my decision was final.

The car came to a stop, and as I stepped out, I found myself in front of the Greek Prime Minister's residence. Well, technically, it was his private home in the Kolonaki district of Athens.

I stepped inside, leaving my bodyguards waiting outside, and made my way to the living room, where an opulent Greek feast awaited me.

"Prime Minister," I greeted in a calm tone. Fortunately, we both spoke French, so there was no need for interpreters.

"Please," Ioannis Metaxas gestured toward the table. "Sit down."

I took my seat and glanced down at the meal before me. The fact that I had fasted the entire day before only made the sight more tempting—I had been saving my appetite for this moment.

Once Metaxas sat down and began eating, I wasted no time in digging in.

-

"That was a delightful meal," I said, wiping a few stray crumbs from my mouth with a napkin.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Mussolini," Metaxas replied. "But we both know we're not here to discuss pleasantries."

"Indeed, Prime Minister." I nodded. "As your ambassador has likely informed you, I intend to invite Greece to join the Rome Pact and to sign a formal alliance—just as I have with Hungary and Bulgaria. For too long, an ugly history has stood between our nations. A history that, I will admit, has largely been our fault. And for that, I extend my deepest apologies."

Metaxas was visibly taken aback. I could also tell that Il Duce was fuming inside.

"To show our sincerity, we are willing to discuss the return of the Dodecanese Islands to Greece. Furthermore, I am also open to negotiations regarding Northern Epirus."

Now, Metaxas looked even more stunned. "Mr. Mussolini... do you truly mean this?"

Inside, Duce was cringing. He was furious—livid, even—and, honestly, he had a point. But I was a Byzantiboo. I didn't care.

"I do." I nodded, then allowed a small smile. "But, of course, this won't come for free. As I said, I am willing to discuss it. Shall I lay out my terms? Naturally, this assumes you agree to an alliance and Greece's entry into the Rome Pact."

Metaxas leaned forward. "What are your demands?"

"Full military access and fleet basing rights throughout Greece. The establishment of Italian military bases in Rhodes, Crete, and Naxos. Additional bases in Northern Epirus, near Thessaloniki, and outside Athens. The removal of British military advisors and their replacement with Italian ones. And lastly, the replacement of your current king with a member of the House of Savoy." I leaned back, letting my words settle as Metaxas' face twisted with rage.

"This is outrageous! You would turn us into your vassal!"

"Mr. Prime Minister, I said I was open to discussion. These are merely my initial terms." I let a moment pass before continuing. "Let me sweeten the deal. I am also willing to buy out your country's debt to Britain and decrease the interest you pay on it. Additionally, I am open to helping you revise the Treaty of Lausanne and assist you in acquiring Cyprus by various means—should that interest you of course."

I paused, watching him closely before delivering my final blow.

"Tell me, Mr. Metaxas, wouldn't you like to hear Mass in the Hagia Sophia? Wouldn't you want to be remembered as the man who restored Constantinople to the Greeks?" I spread my hands. "So, shall we continue our discussions? I am very open to discussing these terms."

Metaxas' crossed his arms and exhaled sharply. "Fine." He scoffed.

An Excerpt from Nikolaos G. Michaloliakos' 2010 Novel: From the Ashes of Smyrna to Constantinople

Although Britain and France publicly guaranteed the independence of Greece and Romania on April 13, 1939, the British remained hesitant to commit to any concrete undertakings for Greece. They hoped to keep Mussolini neutral in the looming conflict with Germany and viewed a Greek alliance as a potential drain on their already limited resources.

Mussolini, harboring ambitions of a Mediterranean empire, began making overtures toward the Metaxas government. He initiated diplomatic contact through a meeting with the Greek ambassador to Italy, followed by a personal state visit on November 1, 1939. During this visit, Mussolini met face-to-face with Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas and shared a meal with him.

Mussolini proposed Greek accession to the nascent Rome Pact. Given Bulgaria's irredentist claims on Greek territory, the Balkans remained Greece's primary security concern. An alliance with Italy, Hungary, and Bulgaria could provide a protective network, but not without a significant cost.

Italy's demands were extortionate. Rome sought military and naval bases in Greece, the expulsion of British military advisors, and even the abdication of King George II in favor of a member of the House of Savoy. In essence, Mussolini aimed to reduce Greece to an Italian vassal.

However, Italy's proposals extended beyond military cooperation. Rome also offered to return Greek-inhabited territories under Italian control, such as the Dodecanese and North Epirus. Additionally, Mussolini pledged support for Greece's acquisition of Cyprus and a revision of the Treaty of Lausanne.

Though Greece's defeat in Anatolia and the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923 had seemingly ended any realistic pursuit of the Megali Idea, nationalist elements within the country still yearned for its realization. The dictatorship of Theodoros Pangalos (1925–26) had sought to revise the Treaty of Lausanne through war with Turkey. Even after his downfall, many Greeks—especially the millions of Anatolian refugees expelled from Turkey—remained committed to this nationalist dream.

Metaxas understood the gravity of his decision. Rejecting Mussolini's offer risked significant political turmoil. Italy threatened to leak details of the negotiations, and public outcry would be inevitable if it became known that the government had refused territorial reunification merely to protect the monarchy and avoid antagonizing Britain. The risk of unrest—even an outright coup—was real.

Fortunately for Metaxas, Mussolini was open to negotiations. After a week of intense discussions, including heated debates and shouting matches, the Greco-Italian Treaty of Alliance was finalized. Its terms were as follows:

1. The transfer of the Dodecanese Islands to Greece, with Italy maintaining a naval base in Rhodes indefinitely.


2. The transfer of North Epirus to Greece, with Italy retaining a naval base in Himara and a military base near Argyrókastro indefinitely.


3. Italo-Greek military cooperation, including the deployment of Italian advisors to assist in modernizing Greece's armed forces.


4. Greece's immediate entry into the Rome Pact, pledging mutual defense among Greece, Italy, Hungary, and Bulgaria in case of an external invasion. All signatories also committed to refraining from military action against fellow Pact members.


5. The forgiveness of one-third of Greece's debt to Italy, along with a reduction in interest on the remaining debt.



King George II vehemently opposed the treaty, both due to British pressure and his own strong Anglophile inclinations. However, several factors forced its ratification. The prospect of Enosis with the Dodecanese and North Epirus united Greece's fractious political factions. Even the banned and heavily repressed Communist Party of Greece urged Metaxas to sign.

Venizelist elements within the military threatened a coup if the treaty was rejected. On November 17, when rumors spread that Metaxas might refuse, radical officers occupied the Hellenic Army Academy. Only the personal intervention of former dictator Theodoros Pangalos—who reassured the troops that the treaty would be signed—prevented further escalation, ending what became known as the Academy Putsch.

The shifting geopolitical landscape during World War II further cemented the treaty's inevitability. With Britain and France preoccupied by the war against Germany and eager to secure Italian neutrality, they allowed Greece to fall into Italy's sphere of influence. To London and Paris, an Italian-aligned but neutral Greece was preferable to one potentially occupied by Germany.

On December 1, within the Palaiá Anáktora, Ioannis Metaxas formally signed the treaty of alliance with Italy. The signing ceremony was attended by Admiral Miklós Horthy, Tsar Boris III, and a visibly distressed King George II. It was publicly a treaty of alliance between Italy, Greece and the other members of the Rome pact, but it included a secret protocol in which the treaty of Laussane would be revised in favor of Greece by any means necessary, including military action.

 

[Alenco98]

December 3 1939
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I sat down at my desk, feeling incredible. One month—a one month vacation filled by negotiating, eating, touring, and nearly causing a coup in Greece—and I had done it. Greece was now allied with me. I was one step closer to restoring Byzantium. I made a mental note to contact the Pope and arrange a meeting between him and the Patriarch of Constantinople.

Now, I didn't expect the churches to reunite overnight. That would be a dream come true—one that would allow me to maneuver things just right, launch a coup against the Greek royal family, and install Victor Emmanuel as King of Greece. But that was unrealistic. Still, mending relations between the two churches seemed like a worthy goal. Why not start the process?

In the meantime, it was back to work. The Grand Council had done a solid job running things while I was away. One of my first moves after taking over as Duce was learning to delegate. One of my earliest decisions was to officially appoint Guido as Minister of the Interior instead of keeping him as an undersecretary. I never understood the obsession with centralizing power as a dictator. Sure, it lowers the risk of a coup, but I cared more about running an efficient government. And since I was relatively popular among the people, I could afford to take risks.

That, and I was planning on democratizing. I figured a decade after the war ended and the cold war was in full swing, I was basically saying: fuck it—free elections. Not that anyone knew that yet.

Right now, the biggest issue was yet another foreign policy snafu—Finland. The Soviet Union had just begun its invasion. Honestly, I had no idea this was even a thing. They never covered it in school. Then again, it was an American school, so I guess it wasn't exactly a priority.

Still, I did what I did best—trying to make Italy look good. I had a speech prepared, condemning Soviet aggression and offering to host peace talks between both countries. I sent it out to the ambassadors of Finland and the Soviet Union, then followed up with a brief radio address.

Now, I was waiting. I was about to meet my generals, mainly to discuss how we could help Finland. A part of me wanted to send troops immediately—if only to suck up to the U.S. once the Cold War started. That way, I could say, "See? I was fighting communists before it was cool."

But there was one major problem stopping me from fully backing Finland: Spain.

The reports were sitting right in front of me. We had sent 75,000 troops, 660 aircraft, 150 tanks, and 800 armored vehicles to Spain. We had supplied them with so much ammunition that it was part of the reason our own army was under-equipped. And what did we get in return?

On paper, Spain was aligned with Italy. But in reality, their economy was in ruins, and Franco had gone full autarky—just as Duce had before I took over. Thus, I couldn't take over Spain's economy and turn it into a de facto vassal state. That, was unacceptable.

As such I made a mental note to deal with Franco personally once I had Finland sorted out. I helped his ass win that damn civil war. I spent billions of lire on it. One way or another, he was going to pay up.

As I continued seething and coping over Spain, the door swung open. Rodolfo Graziani, Chief of Staff of the Royal Italian Army, swaggered into my office.

"Duce." He saluted as he took his seat in front of me.

"Graziani, gentlemen," I acknowledged them with a nod. "As you can already tell, I called you all here to discuss what we can do about the Finnish situation."

Graziani met my gaze. "Duce, as the reports on your desk indicate, our options are limited. Even if we could overcome our current shortages in equipment and ammunition, the logistics of sending troops and supplies to Finland would be prohibitively expensive and stretch our resources thin."

I nodded. "I understand. But we can still do something, right? Could we send military attachés to assist their forces? Maybe a brigade of soldiers?"

Graziani hesitated for a moment before replying. "If it's only a brigade and some attachés, we could arrange that. But anything beyond that would strain us significantly."

"Done," I said decisively. "Graziani, make the arrangements. Issue a call to all branches of the military, army, navy, air force—anyone who volunteers to fight in Finland will receive a year's salary in advance and double wages. Make the arrangements with the treasury."

"As you wish, Duce," Graziani responded with a sharp nod.

I reminded myself to then speak with my ministry of finance. On paper this was a stupid idea. But I needed some cred for the cold war, and it would be a good opportunity for my army to gain some experience.

 

[Shaedy Hoe]

Damn. I didn't realise you were here as well!

 

[Alenco98]

January 16, 1940
Mannerheim Line
Finland

Benito Albino Mussolini shivered, rubbing his hands together as hard as he could. He didn't dare peek over the edge of the trench. Even in the pitch-black Finnish winter, you never knew if a sniper's scope was trained on you.

I shouldn't have said I was Duce's son.

His mother—God rest her soul—had told him the truth long ago. She never spoke much about him, but Benito had gone to Rome, had seen him speak. When he looked in the mirror, he could see it—the resemblance was unmistakable. A younger version of Duce.

And because of that, he'd been voluntold to fight in Finland. Now here he was, shivering in a trench in a foreign land, the last survivor of his squad. There had been twenty of them attached to this regiment. Ezio, Patricio, Cesare, Emilio, Emanuele, Claudio, Virgilio—gone.

A tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned to see Gustav settling beside him.

"Cigarette?" the Finn asked.

Benito's Finnish was poor, but he knew that word. With stiff fingers, he pulled out a pack, opened it, and handed one over, struggling not to shiver.

"Thank you," Gustav muttered as he took the cigarette and lit it, cupping the flame with his hand to keep it hidden. If the Russians spotted even a flicker of light, it could mean death. He finished it within a minute, then flicked the stub to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot.

Gustav said something to him. Benito caught only a few words—friends.

"Ezio? Claudio?" he asked hesitantly.

Gustav nodded. He was asking where they were.

"Dead." Benito made the sign of the cross as he spoke the Finnish word for it, his accent thick.

Gustav nodded solemnly. He crossed himself as well, then reached into his belt and pulled something out, holding it toward Benito.

"Eat," he said.

Benito took it. Hardtack. He hesitated for a moment, then remembered Claudio's words: You have to eat to keep your strength up.

So he bit down.

Then, bullets whizzed overhead, and shells began to rain down. The sudden shock nearly made him choke—he coughed, gasping for breath as he scrambled for his rifle.

Around him, Gustav and the other Finnish soldiers sprang into action, taking their positions in the trenches and returning fire. He didn't hesitate—instinct took over as he raised his weapon and joined them.

The shells and gunfire lit up the cold Finnish night. He spotted them—hundreds of Russian soldiers and dozens of tanks. Raising his Carcano rifle, he took aim and fired. The shot struck a soldier square in the chest, sending him crumpling to the ground. By now, it felt natural. He had been doing this for weeks, ever since he arrived.

More of them came. He kept shooting, unleashing bullet after bullet, loading and reloading his rifle with practiced speed. Then he heard it—that familiar, hollow click.

Empty.

He crouched to reload, reaching into his ammo pouch—nothing. His stomach tightened.

"Out of ammo!" he called, but no one answered. They were too busy fighting, too busy dying.

He glanced to his right—and froze. Gustav lay still on the frozen ground, lifeless eyes staring at nothing. There was no time to grieve. He rushed to the body, rifling through his belt until he found a handful of bullets.

Pausing for just a moment, he traced the sign of the cross over his fallen comrade. "See you soon."

Then he reloaded, took his position, and opened fire once more.

He heard a rumbling sound—one he knew all too well.

Instinct took over. He abandoned his position, dropping into the trench and spotting a heavy log. "Help!" he called out.

Another soldier rushed to his side, and together they hauled the log back up to his position. They crouched, waiting, as the others prepared for the ambush—Molotov cocktails in hand, another pair gripping a second log.

The rumbling grew louder, shaking the ground beneath them. The tank was almost upon them, its massive treads grinding toward the trench. The moment it began rolling over, they shoved the log deep into its tracks, jamming it tight. On the other side, the second pair did the same.

A metallic groan tore through the night, and the tank lurched to a stop.

From the trenches, rifles rose in unison. Then came the sound of a hatch opening—followed by a burst of gunfire. A scream rang out from the top of the tank.

He grabbed the tracks, hoisting himself up with his sidearm drawn. A soldier handed him a Molotov cocktail, and without hesitation, he hurled it into the open hatch.

The night exploded with screams.

A figure emerged—a young man, engulfed in flames, gripping a machine gun. For a fleeting second, he looked less like a soldier and more like a demon clawing its way out of hell.

He didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol and fired.

The burning man crumpled. He took the machine gun from the corpse and dropped back into the trench, ready for whatever came next.

He set the machine gun down in position, his hands steady despite the chaos. Dozens—no, hundreds—of Soviets surged forward, an unrelenting tide of bodies. He opened fire, letting the weapon roar as men crumpled under the withering barrage.

Yet they kept coming. No matter how many he cut down, there was no end to them. He ran out of ammo, reloaded with practiced speed, and resumed firing. Around him, his comrades fought just as fiercely, their rifles cracking in defiance.

Time blurred. He had no idea how long he had been shooting until he slammed the last magazine into place—only to find the trench more filled with corpses than living men.

Then the artillery shell hit.

The blast threw him backward, knocking the air from his lungs. The world dissolved into chaos—screams, shouts, the sickening pop of shrapnel tearing through flesh. Dust choked the air, blinding him as he stumbled, desperate to regain his bearings. His hands groped for a weapon—any weapon—until his foot caught, sending him sprawling onto a corpse.

He couldn't move. He had nothing left. The cold earth should have bitten into his skin, but the body beneath him felt... warm. And strangely, despite the frigid air, he burned. His jacket felt suffocating, but he lacked the strength to pull the zipper down.

Then—hands. Rough, unyielding. They seized him, yanked him upright. Through the haze, he saw angry faces. They spoke, their voices sharp, unfamiliar.

And in that moment, he knew one thing for certain.

These weren't Finns.

-

February 1, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

As the Soviet ambassador Nikolay Vasilyevich Gorelkin finished delivering his message, I didn't know whether to laugh or slam my head against the desk in frustration.

Duce had another kid from his first marriage. Then, in true Duce fashion, he killed the kid's mother and sent him away. As if that wasn't bad enough, some idiot in charge of handling him thought it was a brilliant idea to ship him off to Finland to die. Instead, the kid apparently had that DAWG in him—an Italian Audie Murphy, tearing through Soviets like a demon. And now? Now he was in Soviet hands, and they were offering to release him in exchange for us cutting off support to the Finns.

Of course, with every crisis came an opportunity.

My own fucking son, captured fighting communists? My street cred with the Americans was about to skyrocket.

I leaned forward, expression unreadable.

"Thank you for the message, Mr. Ambassador. I will take this into consideration with my council."

I dismissed him, watched him leave, then reached for the phone. It looked like I was going to be delivering a speech.

-

February 2, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

It was mid-afternoon, but February in Rome was cold as hell. I barely noticed. I had a speech to give. The Soviets had my kid? Fine. How about I humiliate them in full view of the world?

I stepped out onto the balcony. Thousands of my devoted followers filled the square below, banners waving, eyes locked on me. Time to put on a show.

"My fellow countrymen!" I boomed.

Silence fell.

"Yesterday, I received a message from the Soviet ambassador." I let the words hang for a moment.

"My son. My firstborn. My namesake—Benito—has been captured by the communists. He, along with dozens of other brave volunteers, suffers in the claws of the Bolsheviks."

I scanned the crowd, the tension palpable. Then, with measured intensity, I continued:

"The Soviet ambassador stated, and I quote, 'a release of my son in return for an end to our involvement in the Finnish war.' Here is my answer, Mr. Ambassador—NO! Not merely my son, but every brave son of Italy, every Italian volunteer under your grasp must be returned to our motherland!"

The crowd exploded in cheers. Of course, my party agents had started it, but soon the energy became real, raw, electric.

I raised a hand.

"And I say this to the Soviet ambassador as well! If anything happens to my son or to the other sons of Italy in captivity, then soon you will not be facing one brigade of volunteers, but one hundred brigades of Italian soldiers!"

The cheers surged again.

"As such, I call upon all the other great European powers—England, France, and Germany—to condemn this barbaric invasion of Finland alongside us Italians! To allow the free flow of men and supplies to the Finnish front! For today, it is not merely my son who is a Finn! I am a Finn! We are all Finns! Just as we Italians once threw off the Austrian yoke to free our brethren during the Risorgimento, so too must we stand with our Finnish brothers and sisters! Death to communism! Long live a free Finland! Long live a free Europe!"

The square erupted. The roar of the crowd sent a thrill down my spine.

Damn, that was a good speech. I made a mental note to pour myself a drink once I was alone.

-

Excerpt from Christopher Hibbert's 2008 novel Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce

Mussolini's announcement of his son's capture by the Soviets—and his subsequent rejection of their offer to release him in exchange for Italy ending its aid to Finland—became a cause célèbre across the world. The French, British, and American governments all issued statements of support for Italy, demanding the immediate release of Italian prisoners held by the Soviet Union.

In Italy, posters of Mussolini's son were plastered across cities, transforming him into a symbol of national pride and defiance. The Fascist government, whose popular support had begun to wane after nearly two decades in power, experienced a dramatic resurgence following Mussolini's I am a Finn speech. Internationally, his hardline stance against the Soviet invasion ignited a wave of sympathy for Italy. Even Hitler, who had previously blocked arms shipments to Finland, quietly resumed the flow of supplies and called for a "peaceful and constructive settlement of the conflict."

Meanwhile, France and Britain, already planning a military intervention in Finland, were encouraged by Italy's passionate backing of the Finnish cause. The Allies had scheduled landings in Norway for March 20 and now saw an opportunity to bring Italy into their plans—perhaps even to persuade Mussolini to join the war on their side.

Yet Mussolini, ever the opportunist, saw a different path. Rather than committing Italy fully to war, he summoned the Soviet ambassador and made a dramatic, public offer: Italy would mediate peace talks between Finland and the Soviet Union—on the condition that his son and all captured Italian volunteers be released, and that an immediate ceasefire be declared. "I wish for both sides to achieve peace with honor," Mussolini reportedly told the ambassador.

For Stalin, the proposition offered a much-needed escape from an increasingly disastrous situation. The Winter War, which had been intended as a swift and decisive Soviet victory, had turned into a humiliating quagmire for the Red Army. With Finland still resisting, international condemnation mounting, and the looming threat of Italian and Allied intervention, Mussolini's offer was too valuable to ignore.

Thus, on February 15, 1940, a ceasefire was enacted, and Mussolini's son, along with twenty other Italian prisoners, were placed on a plane back to Italy. Their arrival sparked a nationwide spectacle. A tearful reunion between the Duce and his son became a symbol of defiance and resilience, with images of their embrace making headlines worldwide.

In Italy, the return of the volunteers was celebrated with three days of national festivities. All enlisted prisoners were granted battlefield commissions to the rank of Captain, while officers were promoted one rank higher. Benito Albino Mussolini himself was awarded the rank of Colonel, with the promotions personally bestowed by the Duce in a grand ceremony. The event cemented the young Mussolini's reputation as a war hero and further solidified his father's resurgent political standing.

Meanwhile, the peace talks were scheduled to begin on March 1, 1940, in Moscow, with four key figures in attendance: Joseph Stalin, Benito Mussolini, Finnish President Kyösti Kallio, and Field Marshal Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim.

 

[Alenco98]

March 1, 1940
The Kremlin, Grand Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Russia

Unfortunately, I had bitten the bullet and chosen to travel by plane. Fortunately, as Il Duce, I had the privilege of requesting a seat in the cockpit with the pilots, watching them work. Sure, I was terrified, but at least I felt some measure of control. I had even read a basic flight manual before boarding, just in case something went catastrophically wrong and I had to take over.

But nothing went wrong, and even if it had, book knowledge wouldn't have magically transformed into practical skill.

And now, here I was—the Kremlin. I had to admit, it was beautifully decorated. Another place checked off my bucket list, though ironically I had gotten here only after kicking the bucket.

In the room with me were Field Marshal Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim, President Kyösti Kallio, and of course, Joseph Stalin, accompanied by our respective interpreters.

Stalin was shorter than me, but the way he carried himself, the way he looked at me—if looks could kill, I'd be a dead man. He clearly despised me for my pro-Finnish speech. But I wasn't about to let him intimidate me. I was Il Duce.

"General Secretary," I greeted him in my best Russian as I approached, my interpreter close behind. Over the past few months, I had been studying Russian—just the basics: greetings, asking for directions, introductions, even a bit of flirting. I could hold a simple conversation, but for anything complex, I had to rely on my interpreter.

Stalin responded, and the interpreter quickly translated, "Mr. Stalin also says hello."

"Then I suppose it's time to begin these negotiations, shall we?" I said.

The interpreter relayed my words, and Stalin replied. "So it seems," came the translated response.

With a curt motion, Stalin gestured toward the long table in the grand conference hall. We all took our seats, our interpreters at our sides. I could already tell—I was in for a long couple of days.

It didn't take long for things to go south, just as I had expected. The Finns were willing to make some concessions to the Soviets, offering all of Karelia up to the outskirts of a city called Viipuri. But the Soviets, being the Soviets, demanded far more—including Viipuri itself.

What followed was pure chaos. The negotiations quickly devolved into a shouting match, with the Soviet and Finnish translators hurling accusations at each other across the room. I simply sat back and watched, bemused by the spectacle unfolding before me.

As the shouting finally began to die down, I seized the moment.

"I think we've had enough for today," I interjected, my voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Let's adjourn for now and resume negotiations tomorrow. Chairman Stalin, President Kallio, I would like to have a private meeting with each of you. Chairman Stalin, perhaps some afternoon tea? And President Kallio, a light dinner afterward?"

My translators quickly relayed my requests, and both men agreed without much hesitation. Soon enough, they left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I sighed. In all honesty, I was already regretting making the offer. This was going to be a pain in the ass.

-

I sat across from Stalin at a small table set up on a balcony overlooking the Kremlin, deep within his personal apartments. A cup of chamomile tea rested in my hands—a surprise, given the difficulty of importing such things to Russia. But then again, Stalin was Stalin; he had the means. Our translators stood by, and a plate of bread sat untouched between us.

I took a final sip of my tea and set the cup down, glancing toward the horizon. The city stretched before me, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. It looked like something that belonged on a city pop album cover—perhaps akin to Magical by Junko Ohashi, which showcased 1980s New York in all its neon-lit glory. The thought crossed my mind: I should try to get her autograph if I managed to live long enough as Duce.

I could imagine the stunned reactions of those city pop singers—Junko Ohashi, Yurie Kokubu, Tomoko Aran—signing autographs for a nearly hundred-year-old former dictator of Italy. Or perhaps Akina Nakamori and Momoko Kikuchi, coming to realize that the Duce himself had attended one of their concerts.

"You rule over a beautiful city, Premier Stalin," I said in my best Russian. Stalin gave a curt nod and spoke to his translator.

"Comrade Stalin appreciates the sentiment," the translator relayed.

"Thank you," I responded in Russian before switching to Italian. "But I'm not here just to admire your city. Tell me, Mr. Stalin, what do you want from Finland? What is so important that you've thrown the might of your nation against a country I struggled to find on a map?"

The translator conveyed my words. Stalin frowned slightly before responding.

"Comrade Stalin is merely ensuring the security of our northwestern frontier in light of the European situation," the translator explained. "We were prepared to cede some northern territories in exchange for most of Karelia and security guarantees within Finland."

"But why? Finland is a small nation. The population of Russia alone outnumbers the Finns by more than 30 to 1. They are neutral."

Stalin listened as the translator relayed my words. He nodded before responding.

"That is precisely the issue," the translator said. "Finland is small—too easily influenced. If an outside power forced them to allow foreign troops through their territory, our frontiers would be in danger."

"You mean Germany."

I let the weight of my words settle as they were translated. Stalin gave a slow nod.

"Yes," the translator confirmed. "Germany. Which is why we need this buffer."

Now I understood. Stalin feared that Finland could become a conduit for a German invasion of Russia. Given Germany's dominance in Europe, his concerns made sense. It was time to offer him an alternative.

"Tell me, Mr. Stalin, what if I guaranteed Finland's neutrality as well via an alliance?" I leaned forward slightly. "Italy's army is nearly two million strong. We can easily deploy divisions along Germany's borders. If both our nations guaranteed Finland's neutrality—explicitly prohibiting the movement of foreign troops under the threat of war—even Germany would hesitate to interfere. For them, opening a front near Leningrad would mean exposing their southern flank to my armies. Wouldn't you agree?"

The translator's eyes widened as he relayed my proposal. Stalin, too, seemed taken aback. He mulled it over before speaking.

"Comrade Stalin does not believe you," the translator said after a moment. "Your nation is allied with Germany."

"Of course we are," I admitted. "But look at the way Germany is handling this war. I wouldn't be surprised if they conquer France by next year. If they do that, and then turn against your nation, they'll become an unstoppable hegemon. And I would be left under their boot. I have no desire for that. I would rather... slow their progress. And what better way than making their inevitable war with you that much harder?"

The translator conveyed my message, and Stalin scowled. No doubt he thought I was an opportunist. Too bad for him, he lacked my knowledge of the future.

"Comrade Stalin sees your point," the translator said after a pause. "But he remains skeptical. How does he know you will not betray him as you now plan to betray Germany?"

I nodded, considering the question. Then, an idea struck me.

"A peacekeeping force," I proposed. "I'll deploy 2,500 troops along Finland's border with Norway and another 2,500 to guard its southwestern coast from potential German landings. Additionally, I'll station 2,500 troops along the Soviet-Finnish border to reassure the Finns. Would that be enough of a commitment?

"As for territorial adjustments—Viipuri remains off-limits. But the Karelia region, as well as the shores of Lake Ladoga up to but not including Viipuri, could be conceded. And once the war is over, our alliance with Finland would dissolve. Wouldn't you agree?"

The translator relayed my offer. Stalin nodded. After a moment of thought, he spoke again.

"Comrade Stalin finds these terms acceptable," the translator said. "However, he wishes to add a 30-year lease on all islands in the Gulf of Finland."

"Five years."

The translator conveyed my counteroffer. Stalin frowned, muttered something, and the translator responded. "Twenty-five."

"Ten," I said in Russian.

"Twenty-four," Stalin shot back, now speaking more clearly.

"Twelve."

"Twenty-three."

"Thirteen."

And so the game continued, until we settled on seventeen years. Stalin also agreed to financial compensation for the islands—something I had insisted on.

With negotiations concluded, I thanked Stalin and departed for President Kallio's apartments, where I joined him and Marshal Mannerheim for dinner.

Thankfully for me, all parties involved spoke French—like civilized men.

"It was a pleasure dining with you, gentlemen," I said, taking a final sip of wine.

"Likewise, Duce," Marshal Mannerheim replied. "Though our situation is dire, your moral support means the world to us."

"Of course, Marshal. It is an honor to meet a warrior of your stature." I set my glass down and straightened slightly. "Now then, I have spoken with Chairman Stalin. With tempers cooled, he seems far more willing to listen to reason. His terms are much more reasonable."

"Is that so?" President Kallio asked, skepticism lacing his tone.

"Indeed." I nodded. "For one, Viipuri will remain in Finnish hands."

That revelation alone seemed to lift both Mannerheim's and Kallio's spirits. But I wasn't finished.

"However," I continued, "the new frontier will be drawn five kilometers from Viipuri. Finland will lose access to Lake Ladoga, and the islands in the Gulf of Finland will be leased to the Soviets for the next seventeen years. That said, the Soviets have agreed to provide financial compensation. And finally—your neutrality will be guaranteed.

"Italy will deploy a peacekeeping force to Finland: 2,500 troops to secure your northern borders, another 2,500 to guard the southwestern shores against landings, and an additional 2,500 stationed along the Soviet-Finnish border to provide assurances on all sides."

Mannerheim leaned forward slightly, his expression cautious but not entirely unwelcoming. "How exactly would this work?"

"Simply put, if any nation—Germany, for example—attempts to move troops through Finland or declares war on you for strategic passage, you would be obligated to accept Soviet aid to resist them. In turn, we would declare war on the aggressor to assist you. Once the war ends, however, the alliance dissolves, and Finland retains its neutrality.

"That said," I continued, "though we support the Finnish cause, you must consider logistics. Deploying large numbers of troops and supplies that far is difficult. Germany, despite having reopened supply lines to Finland, could just as easily close them if it suits their interests. And I highly doubt they would allow England and France to march through Scandinavia unchecked. I advise you to choose peace while the offer stands—because if you reject it, I have a strong feeling Stalin will come for Viipuri again."

Mannerheim and Kallio exchanged a long, tense glance before turning to each other in quiet discussion. I understood none of it—Finnish was entirely lost on me—but their body language told me enough. The president seemed deeply displeased, while Mannerheim, ever the pragmatist, pressed his case.

Finally, they turned back to me.

"Duce," President Kallio said at last, his voice heavy with resignation. "It seems we have no other choice."

I offered a nod, masking my relief. "I'm glad you both see reason."

March 5, 1940
The Kremlin, Grand Kremlin Palace
Moscow, Russia

The past few days had been spent in tense negotiations, with me acting as the intermediary. The primary points of contention revolved around defining the new borders and finalizing the details of financial compensation for the islands. There were also some last minute deals regarding the status of the communist party in Finland which almost blew up the whole deal, but after privately reminding President Kallio and Mannerheim there were no other alternatives they agreed.

And so, today was the day.

The treaty had been drafted. President Kallio, Stalin, and I stood before a table, prepared to sign. Around us, journalists and cameramen from various international news outlets documented the moment. I offered a brief smile, waving to the cameras before reaching for the pen on the table.

"Shall we?" I asked, first glancing at Stalin, then at President Kallio.

Neither spoke, only nodding as they, too, took up their pens and signed the treaty.

-

Excerpt from Jules Archer's 1965 biography Man of Steel: Joseph Stalin – Russia's Ruthless Ruler

When peace talks began on March 1, 1940, few believed they would lead to a resolution. Though an official ceasefire had been declared, the reality on the ground told a different story. Both sides used the lull to repair defenses, rotate exhausted troops, and funnel in fresh reinforcements. Each side knew the other was preparing for renewed hostilities, and not a single day passed without a violation of the truce. The term Phony War, popularized by the British and French, soon found its way into Finnish and Soviet discourse.

The Finnish government projected confidence, vowing to fight to the last. Yet despite increased supply lines and an influx of foreign volunteers, they remained outnumbered by the Red Army at a staggering ratio of 4 to 1. Intelligence reports reaching Stalin suggested that, if Germany decided to cut off Finnish supply routes, Finland would run out of ammunition within a month—its domestic industry simply could not sustain the war effort. Worse still, with winter nearing its end, Finland's advantage in maneuver warfare was fading. Soon, they would be forced to dig in, their defenses stretching from Petsamo to the beleaguered Mannerheim Line.

The Soviet Union, meanwhile, had learned from its disastrous early campaign. Political commissars were removed from frontline command. Supply lines were reorganized, logistics streamlined, and hundreds of thousands of reinforcements were mobilizing. Stalin's generals assured him that, with time, they could take all of Finland.

Yet, external pressures loomed. The increasing likelihood of Anglo-French and Italian intervention made the Soviet leadership—particularly Stalin—hesitant to risk further international escalation.

Thus, despite his well-documented hatred of communism, Mussolini's offer to mediate peace was accepted.

Talks began on March 1 but nearly collapsed immediately due to Soviet intransigence and Finnish efforts to extract the best possible terms.

Mussolini, seeing the deadlock, called for an adjournment. Privately, he met with Stalin first.

"What is it you truly want from Finland?" he asked.

Stalin was blunt. His concerns centered on Leningrad's security and the potential for foreign interference in Finnish affairs. With that in mind, Mussolini made a proposition: Italy would deploy a peacekeeping force to Finland, guaranteeing its independence and preventing outside interference—particularly from Germany.

An Italo-Finnish alliance would be signed, ensuring Finland's neutrality and placing an Italian force of 7,500 troops within its borders. In return, the Soviets would receive Karelia up to five kilometers from Viipuri, as well as a 17-year lease on all islands in the Gulf of Finland—on the condition that Finland received modest financial compensation for the islands.

Mussolini then brought these terms to President Kallio. The Finnish leader hesitated, seeking better conditions, but Marshal Mannerheim urged acceptance.

"This is the best we will get," he warned.

The next day, Stalin and Kallio reconvened. The Soviets attempted to introduce additional demands concerning Finland's internal affairs. The Finns resisted, though some concessions were ultimately made in the interest of securing peace.

Finally, on March 5, the Finno-Soviet peace treaty was signed, its terms as follows:

Soviet-Finnish Peace Treaty

1. The Soviet Union would annex all of Karelia up to five kilometers from Viipuri.

2. The shores of Lake Ladoga would be incorporated into Soviet territory.

3. All islands in the Gulf of Finland would be leased to the Soviet Union for 17 years.

4. The Communist Party would no longer be banned in Finland.

5. All Finnish citizens involved with the provisional Soviet-backed government during the war would receive pardons and be allowed to participate in Finnish politics.

But that wasn't the only treaty signed that day, an Italo-Finnish Alliance was signed, with the following terms:

1. Italy would guarantee Finnish independence and enter into a military alliance with Finland for the duration of the European war. Permanent Finnish neutrality would follow after the war's conclusion.

2. Italy would deploy a 7,500-strong peacekeeping force to secure Finland's borders against external aggression.

In the Soviet Union, the treaty's signing was met with muted reaction. Though the government had secured much of what it wanted, it was a hollow victory. Forced to the negotiating table under threat of international intervention, Stalin viewed the outcome as an embarrassment.

Mussolini, on the other hand, emerged as an unexpected peacemaker. His reputation soared globally—everywhere except in Germany.

Hitler, according to NKVD reports received by Stalin, was livid. Mussolini had effectively cut off another potential invasion route into the Soviet Union. However, bogged down with the war against Britain and France, there was little the Führer could do.

Stalin, ever the paranoid, feared that the "humiliating" treaty would embolden opposition within the Politburo. His response was predictable—a purge.

Lavrentiy Beria was unleashed on the government. Those who had even hesitated in supporting Stalin's Finnish campaign were removed. Foreign Minister Molotov was the first to fall—dismissed, then reassigned to a minor role overseeing transportation in Soviet Kyrgyzstan. A few years later, he was arrested and executed for treason.

The Soviet ambassador to Italy, sensing the noose tightening, defected with his family the moment the treaty was signed. His extended relatives, however, were not so fortunate.

The final victims of Stalin's wrath were the leaders of the exiled Italian Communist Party. Within weeks, they were arrested, tortured, and executed following secret tribunals that lasted no more than five minutes.

As for Stalin himself, his private diaries from the time reveal his seething hatred for Mussolini.

"A rank opportunist, a snake, a demon with a human face," he scrawled in one entry.

Unfortunately for him, it would not be the last time they met.

 

[Alenco98]

March 10, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I was in my office when he arrived—a man named Avraham Stern. Once a member of the Irgun, a Jewish paramilitary organization in British-controlled Palestine, he had recently broken away to form his own group: Lehi. His letters had reached me soon after the war began, expressing both admiration for Fascist Italy and a desire for cooperation. Seeing potential in Middle Eastern influence, I invited him for a conversation.

"You wish to continue armed resistance against the British, is that correct?" I asked.

"Yes, Duce," Stern replied with a curt nod. "The Haganah are naive. They believe they can collaborate with the British—the very people who deny asylum to my brothers and sisters. They don't understand that now, while Britain is vulnerable, is our best chance to claim a homeland for our people."

There was a sharp disgust in his voice, one I found... useful.

"I can certainly understand your sentiments, Mr. Stern. I am not fond of the British either," I said as I retrieved a bottle of wine I'd reserved for the occasion. I poured myself a glass, then gestured to the other. "Wine?"

"Please," he said.

I poured him a glass, which he accepted and drank with surprising enthusiasm.

"Now, Mr. Stern," I began, "I have no intention of antagonizing the British openly. However, I would not object to... looking the other way." I saw his eyes flicker with interest. "For instance, if your people began quietly entering our refugee processing camps to politically educate Jewish refugees, I wouldn't interfere. We receive significant funding from Jewish organizations for resettlement across our colonies. If, say, a few thousand dollars were to go missing after I placed some of your men within our refugee agency, I wouldn't be overly concerned. Should you begin smuggling arms and people into British Palestine, I would know nothing. If paramilitary training were to begin in our camps, again—I would remain ignorant."

Stern nodded slowly. "That's quite a bit of leeway. I appreciate it."

"There would be a price for my... blindness."

"What would that be?"

"Following independence, Israel would join the Rome Pact. Your political party would be the only legal one in Israel. The country would enter a personal union with Italy—similar to Albania. We would require a military and naval base within your borders, a free trade agreement, preference for Italian businesses and investors, and full legal protections for Christians in Palestine. Finally, a sector of Jerusalem—your choice—would be ceded to the Vatican for administration."

Stern considered my terms carefully. "Would I retain full control over Israel's internal affairs?"

"You would be the Israeli Duce."

"And how large would Israel be? Would we be granted all of British Palestine?"

"Of course. All of it—and I will throw in the Sinai as well. If the Arabs declare war over this and you manage to take the peninsula, then congratulations—consider it free real estate. With Rome Pact protection and Italian backing, it is well within your reach."

Stern smiled, the first genuine one I had seen from him. "I think this is doable."

"Excellent. You will need to establish a political party for when the time comes. Any ideas?"

"I have a few," he said, eyes gleaming with purpose.

-

Excerpt from the Wikipedia Page for the Falag (Falangist) Party of Israel

In March 1940, Avraham Stern met with Benito Mussolini in Rome. The two men spent hours in discussion, united by their mutual disdain for British imperialism and their desire to reshape the Middle East.

At the time, Stern had already split from the Irgun and founded his own militant organization: Lohamei Herut Israel ("Fighters for the Freedom of Israel"). The group would later be known as Lehi, an acronym of its Hebrew name, officially adopted in September 1940.

Their meeting resulted in what later became known as the Jerusalem Agreement. In exchange for Italian recognition and support for Jewish sovereignty in Palestine, Stern agreed to align Zionism with Italian Fascism. Jerusalem would be declared the capital of the new Jewish state, while the Old City—except for the Jewish Quarter—would be administered by the Vatican. Israel would enter into a personal union with Italy, effectively making it a vassal state.

Following the agreement, Lehi was granted access to Italian refugee camps, where over half a million Jews were already sheltered across mainland Italy and Italian Libya. These camps quickly became fertile recruiting grounds for the Falag Party—Israel's fascist movement. Membership surged to 250,000 within six months, bolstered by Italian funding, effective propaganda, and a mandate requiring all Jewish refugees in Italy over the age of 18 to join as a condition for staying.

The Falag rapidly escalated its operations. Paramilitary training was instituted in the camps, and funds siphoned from the refugee agency were used to acquire arms from abroad. By 1941, Lehi and the Falag had over 2,000 trained fighters in British Palestine and had smuggled more than 50,000 Jewish civilians into the region—setting the stage for the civil war that would erupt in Palestine shortly after the allied victory in Europe.

 

[Alenco98]

March 20, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I finished reading the latest report from my ambassador in Norway. The situation there was tense—understandably so. The recent Altmark incident, where the British boarded and attacked a German ship in Norwegian waters, had deeply angered Berlin. Part of me suspected this was the final push that led to their decision to invade Norway.

As I set the report aside, my servants entered the office a few minutes later, carefully arranging a dining table and setting out the evening's meal. Tonight, I had chosen a carefully curated selection: paella, a side of patatas bravas with aioli sauce, freshly baked bread with olive oil, and a bottle of aged wine. Everything was prepared to impress the Spanish ambassador, Pedro García Conde, who would be arriving within the hour.

A few hours later, I was finishing my meal with Ambassador Conde. Fortunately, my fluency in Spanish—owing to being born in South America in my previous life before my family immigrated to America and my death and reincarnation—made conversation effortless. I took a sip of wine and addressed my guest.

"Mr. Ambassador, I trust you enjoyed the meal?"

He nodded with a polite smile. "It was wonderful. Though I must admit I am not from Valencia, despite that I would never refuse a taste of home."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr. Ambassador. But as you know, this evening isn't just about fine dining and pleasant company."

"Of course." He inclined his head. "You wished to discuss the future ties between Italy and Spain."

"Precisely." I leaned forward. "More specifically, how Italy can assist Spain in rebuilding after your civil war, and in turn, how we can strengthen the ties between our nations. Spain is rich in resources—resources that could be valuable to our industries as we continue our rearmament."

Ambassador Conde listened intently before responding. "I see. And what kind of ties are you envisioning?"

"For starters, an alliance. As you are aware, the Rome Pact currently includes Italy, Greece, Hungary, and Bulgaria. I would like to formally invite Spain to join us. This would be a defensive agreement—should any member nation come under attack, the others would be obligated to intervene."

He took a thoughtful pause. "I believe Prime Minister Franco would be interested in hearing more about this."

"Good. Good." I nodded approvingly. "But that is just the beginning."

"What else do you have in mind?"

I leaned back, interlacing my fingers. "A broad agreement: free trade between our nations, preferential Italian access and investment in Spanish industries, investment opportunities in Spanish colonies, the establishment of military and naval bases across Spain, as well as free military access and fleet basing rights for our forces."

Ambassador Conde's expression darkened slightly. "With all due respect, Duce, Spain has just emerged from a devastating civil war. While we are grateful for Italy's support, these terms sound more like economic blackmail than a fair partnership."

I smiled, unfazed. "8.5 billion lire. That is how much Italy spent supporting your side in the civil war—both in military and economic aid. This is almost three times the amount Germany contributed if we convert the costs to US dollars. And unlike Germany, we are not entangled in a war against Britain and France. So I suggest you consider my offer carefully unless you want me to call in all your debts ar once." I let the weight of my statement sink in before continuing, my tone shifting to one of calculated diplomacy. "But do not worry, Mr. Ambassador, I am more than open to negotiations, these are just my initial terms. Please relay this message to Franco: I wish to meet him here in Rome."

Ambassador Conde exhaled slowly before nodding. "Very well, Duce. I will convey your terms to Madrid."

I smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Ambassador."

The meeting concluded shortly after. As Conde departed, he was visibly shaken—but my message had been received. Soon I would meet Franco.

-

April 10, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I nodded as one of my aides finished whispering in my ear. Just as I had suspected: Germany was invading Norway and had already completed its occupation of Denmark.

"Thank you for informing me," I said quietly.

The aide departed, and we returned to our meal. Francisco Franco had arrived in Rome earlier that day, and I was engaging in the usual tactic—dine and extort.

Tonight's meal was, I hoped, Galician. My advisors had informed me that Franco hailed from Galicia, so the menu was carefully chosen: Androllas—a specialty Galician sausage—followed by filloas, thin crepes served with marmalade. The main course was Polbo á feira—octopus dusted with coarse salt, sweet and spicy paprika, and drizzled in olive oil. To complete the feast, a bottle of fine Italian wine. It was a rich, indulgent meal, and both Franco and I were enjoying it thoroughly.

"I apologize for the interruption, Prime Minister," I said as my aide left the room. "He was relaying urgent news from the front."

Franco looked up. "What kind of news?"

He wasn't in the best mood—understandable, considering he'd only come due to my economic pressure. Still, the meal seemed to be easing his temper.

"Germany has just occupied Denmark. They're currently invading Norway."

His eyes narrowed, surprised. I continued. "I wouldn't be shocked if Germany captures Paris before the year's end."

"You believe they can?"

"I don't believe it—I'm certain. France is woefully unprepared. The only reason Britain won't fall just as quickly is Germany's lack of a capable navy. Still, I believe Germany will lose this war."

Franco raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"The United States is already aiding England indirectly, Prime Minister. Last year's amendments to the Neutrality Act in their Congress? That legislation benefits only one nation—Britain. It's only a matter of time before the U.S. openly enters the war. And I'm sure you remember what happened the last time the Americans involved themselves in European affairs."

Franco nodded silently.

"This alliance is an opportunity for both of us. The British Empire is financially strained after the last war. Now, with Germany pressing them in Europe and Japan growing increasingly aggressive in the Pacific, the British are stretched thin. I'm not suggesting direct action against them. But if we, the members of the Rome Pact, leverage our neutrality wisely, we can extract significant concessions. Perhaps even offer to support the Allies—when the war inevitably turns against Germany."

I leaned in slightly. "Tell me, Prime Minister—wouldn't you like Gibraltar back? Or perhaps a larger share of Africa for Spain to govern?"

That got his attention.

"You make grand promises," Franco said. "But your terms? Military bases in Spain? Free trade and economic concessions? You'd be reducing us to vassals."

I laughed lightly. "Please—I call that my opening offer. Why don't we begin real negotiations after dinner? I assure you, I'm a most flexible partner and ally."

I smiled, speared a piece of octopus with my fork, and savored the taste.

-

Excerpt from Antonio Cazorla Sánchez's 2014 Book: Franco: The Biography of the Myth

By the end of 1939, Spain was a tired, broken nation in desperate need of healing. Out of a pre-war population of approximately 25 million, over 600,000 had perished during the fighting—more than 2% of the country's people lost to civil war.

But that was far from Spain's only problem. Its infrastructure lay in ruins—railways, factories, farms, entire cities devastated. The economy fared no better. Industrial output had dropped by more than 30% during the war, and Spain was now heavily indebted to both Germany and Italy. Both nations had provided significant financial and military support to help the Nationalists win the conflict.

While Spain's debt to Germany was modest and could be repaid through economic concessions—such as providing tungsten to aid the German war effort—its debt to Italy was far larger, nearly three times as much in dollar terms once currency conversion was considered. And unlike Germany, which was increasingly distracted by its escalating war in Europe, Italy—having opted to stay out of the conflict in 1940—was free to exert pressure on its indebted ally.

In April 1940, Franco made his first major international visit since the end of the Civil War, traveling to Italy to meet personally with Benito Mussolini. Over the course of a week, the two leaders negotiated the terms of a new Italo-Spanish treaty. Some of the original demands nearly derailed the talks—such as Italy's call for the annexation of Western Sahara and Spanish Guinea, or even outright military occupation of Spain—but eventually, a compromise was reached. On April 21st, nearly two weeks after Franco's arrival, the treaty was unveiled.

The terms of the Italo-Spanish Treaty were as follows:

1. Immediate Spanish entry into the Rome Pact


2. An Italian-Spanish free trade agreement


3. Reduction of Spain's interest on its outstanding debt to Italy to 1%, with 10% of the debt forgiven


4. Elimination of foreign investment restrictions for all Italian firms


5. Exclusive rights for Italy to exploit Spanish colonial resources and to settle its citizens in the colonies alongside Spaniards


6. Establishment of Italian naval bases in Majorca, the Canary Islands, and Valencia


7. Italian assistance in Spain's post-war reconstruction


8. Coordination between Italian and Spanish intelligence services

While the treaty promised much-needed economic relief and laid the foundation for Spain's recovery, it sparked controversy within the newly formed Movimiento Nacional. Several factions viewed the terms as subservience to Mussolini and a betrayal of Spanish sovereignty.

The primary backers of the treaty were members of the FET y de las JONS and the syndicalist organizations. This support was rooted in ideological kinship—José Antonio Primo de Rivera's Falangist movement, which preceded the FET, had taken clear inspiration from Mussolini's Blackshirts. Mussolini's Fascist Party quickly established formal ties with the FET following their endorsement of the treaty.

Opposition, however, came from two key factions: the Carlists and the Alfonsists. Both saw Italy's growing influence as a threat to Spain's autonomy. They vehemently opposed Italy's demand for colonial annexation, ultimately pressuring Franco and Mussolini into a compromise—Italian citizens would be permitted to settle in the colonies, but sovereignty would remain with Spain. Similarly, their resistance led to the reduction of Italy's military footprint to three naval bases, forestalling the occupation that had originally been proposed.

The National-Catholics took a more neutral stance. Though not entirely opposed to Italian influence—thanks to Mussolini's historically good relations with the Papacy, especially after the 1929 Lateran Treaty—they were wary of the regime's recent embrace of philo-Semitism. Given Spain's deeply rooted history of anti-Semitism, this shift provoked skepticism about Italian intentions. Their support for the treaty remained cautious and conditional.

With only one faction within the Movimiento Nacional offering full support, Franco found himself politically isolated. Accepting the treaty in its initial form risked a severe backlash—some extremist Carlists even hinted at renewed armed resistance. But Mussolini was not one to retreat.

To neutralize opposition, he began negotiating directly with the various factions. He approached the Alfonsists first, proposing a betrothal between Prince Juan Carlos, the two-year-old son of the deposed King Alfonso XIII, and Princess Maria Pia, the firstborn daughter of Prince Umberto of Italy. The move signaled Italian recognition of the Alfonsist claim to the throne over the Carlist one. Alfonsist resistance to the treaty soon faded.

The National-Catholics were similarly placated. Mussolini personally informed them of his discussions with the Jewish Lehi, and of his support for a future Jewish state in the Holy Land—on the condition that the Vatican would gain partial sovereignty over Jerusalem and guaranteed access to key pilgrimage sites for Christians. He also promised to make Catholicism a central element in the evolving fascist ideology, using his influence over the FET to steer the movement toward Christo-Fascism—blending fascist governance with Catholic tradition in Spain.

Franco, for his part, dealt with the Carlists via carrot and stick. He ordered the arrest and execution of radical elements calling for insurrection, then offered the remaining Carlists control over the Ministry of Justice, giving them de facto authority over Spain's national police.

Finally, after a month of complex negotiations, Franco secured enough political consensus. On May 10th, 1940, the Italo-Spanish Treaty was officially signed. Spain became the newest member of the Rome Pact, setting the stage for a new chapter in its post-war transformation.

Coincidentally on May 10th, the German invasion of France and the low countries began.

 

[Alenco98]

May 20, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

Inside my office, I was holding an urgent conference with Regent Horthy, Ante Pavelić, and King Boris III. To quote Ron Paul: "It's happening!"

Germany had begun its invasion of France and the Low Countries, and so far, things were looking grim for the Allies. The Wehrmacht had already reached the English Channel. France, quite frankly, looked cooked. The chaos reminded me of the early days of the Russian invasion of Ukraine—how insane and surreal it felt to watch history unfold in real-time through television and online forums.

"Messieurs," I began in French. "France is under attack, and its fall appears imminent." I let the words hang for a moment before continuing. "The time has come to seize what we want from Yugoslavia. As of two days ago, I ordered Italian divisions to deploy to the Yugoslav border. Meanwhile, Mr. Pavelić has activated his agents in Croatia to begin stirring unrest. I've called this meeting to urge you both to begin mobilizing your forces."

Pavelic nodded silently as he smiled.

"When do we begin the attack?" King Boris asked.

"June 15, 1940. By then, I estimate Paris will have fallen."

"Are you certain neither France nor Britain will intervene?" Admiral Horthy asked.

"Both are far too preoccupied. Even if the German advance stalls, they'll be so deeply entangled in France that neither the Allies nor the Reich will object. Gentlemen"—I smiled—"let's carve up the Balkans, shall we?"

I snapped my fingers, and several servants entered the room carrying silver trays. They poured red wine into crystal glasses and handed one to each of us. I raised mine high.

"To victory."

"To victory!" Horthy, Pavelicu and Boris echoed, raising their glasses and toasting with me.

-

A declassified report aimed to brief Prime Minister Churchill on the situation in the Mediterranean. Date of declassification: May 26, 1988

TOP SECRET – EYES ONLY
Prime Minister's Briefing
Date: 25 May 1940
From: Foreign Office, SIS Division
To: The Rt. Hon. Winston S. Churchill, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom

SUBJECT: Strategic Assessment – Italian Foreign Policy and Activities as of May 1940

---

1. General Overview:

The Kingdom of Italy under Benito Mussolini continues to maintain formal neutrality in the present European conflict. Despite initial concerns regarding Italian alignment with the German Reich, the Fascist regime has, for the time being, pursued a calculated policy of diplomatic opportunism and regional expansion without direct entry into hostilities.

Italy has brokered sanctions relief with His Majesty's Government and the French Republic in return for its declared neutrality shortly after the start of the war. Simultaneously, Rome has concluded clandestine economic and humanitarian agreements with Berlin, including the facilitated transit of German exports through Italian ports and the reception of Jewish refugees from the Reich.

---

2. Role in the Winter War:

During the Soviet-Finnish conflict, Italian "volunteers" (understood to be regular army and navy personnel) were dispatched in support of Finland. Notably, Mussolini's son, now Colonel Benito Albino Mussolini, was reportedly captured during combat on the Mannerheim Line. His capture and subsequent international attention were effectively leveraged by Rome to broker a compromise peace, resulting in the Soviets securing only Karelia, short of full territorial demands.

This has enhanced Italy's international standing and provided Mussolini with a diplomatic victory outside the Axis framework.

---

3. Formation of the "Rome Pact":

Our sources confirm the formation of a new tripartite alliance between Italy, Hungary, and Bulgaria, driven by monarchical and anti-communist solidarity. This pact is both military and political in nature and is being styled as a "Latin-Slavic Axis" for Balkan domination.

In a stunning diplomatic coup, Greece has been induced to join this alliance, following significant territorial concessions by Italy:

Return of Northern Epirus to Greek sovereignty.

Full cession of the Dodecanese Islands.

Establishment of Italian military and naval facilities in the Dodecanese and North Epirus, under the guise of mutual defense as well as the embedding of Italian advisors in the Greek army

This development effectively secures Italian influence over the eastern Mediterranean without firing a shot.

---

4. Spanish Peninsula Activity:

Italy has reportedly used economic leverage and covert diplomatic pressure to extract concessions from the Franco regime and force them to join the Rome pact. These include:

Access to naval bases in the Canary Islands, Valencia, and the Balearics.

Preferential trade agreements for Italian goods and petroleum.

The unrestricted immigration of Italians to the Spanish colonies.

Unconfirmed reports suggest a joint naval training program is underway under Italian supervision.

With Spain now under the Rome pact, these developments have secured Italian influence over the western Mediterranean without firing a shot.

---

5. Zionist Insurgency in Palestine:

Our Palestine Mandate authorities report contact between the Mussolini regime and the Lehi (Stern Gang), a radical Zionist militant faction, from Italian sources. Italian assistance appears aimed at:

Disrupting British authority in the region.

Establishing goodwill with Jewish nationalist factions.

Counterbalancing German anti-Semitic policy for geopolitical leverage.

This support consists of the Lehi being granted access to Jewish refugee camps all through Italy and beggining both ideological education as well as paramilitary training.

Reports also state funds are being sent to the Lehi via the Italian refugee agency. Our sources within the Italian government also state italy is encouraging the Lehi to smuggle arms, fighters and Jewish refugees into British Palestine.

---

6. Yugoslav Situation:

The Italian military is mobilizing along the Yugoslav frontier. Reliable reports indicate the presence of:

Several Alpini and armoured divisions near Slovenia and Dalmatia.

Croatian insurgents receiving arms and logistical support via the Adriatic.

Diplomatic communications between Rome, Budapest, and Sofia suggest a partition of Yugoslavia is imminent, with Croatia, Vojvodina, Kosovo, Serbia and Macedonia to be divided among the Rome Pact powers.

---

Assessment & Recommendations:

Italy has achieved a position of unprecedented strength in the Mediterranean and Balkans without declaring war. It is clear Mussolini aims to construct a regional order under Italian hegemony, while avoiding direct entanglement with the Axis or Allied powers.

We must prepare for the following:

A potential Italian invasion of Yugoslavia within the next month.

Increased Italian subversion in Palestine and Egypt.

Possible diplomatic outreach to Turkey and Romania, further expanding the Rome Pact.

Suggested Actions:

Reinforce Mediterranean naval deployments, particularly around Malta and Cyprus.

Increase surveillance of Zionist cells in the Mandate territories.

Consider re-engaging Greece diplomatically to undermine full alignment with Rome.

Prepare contingency plans for a sudden Italian entry into the war on either side.

End of Report
Prepared by: SIS Liaison Division, Rome & Eastern Mediterranean Desk
Authorized by: Permanent Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs

[TOP SECRET]

A declassified transcript of a meeting between Prime Minister Churchill and his cabinet in regards to the situation in the Mediterranean. Date of declassification: June 11, 1989

War Cabinet Meeting – Cabinet War Rooms, London
Date: 25 May 1940
Time: 20:30 Hours
Attendees:

Prime Minister Winston Churchill

Neville Chamberlain (Lord President of the Council)

Lord Halifax (Foreign Secretary)

Clement Attlee (Lord Privy Seal)

Anthony Eden (Secretary of State for Dominion Affairs)

General Sir John Dill (Chief of the Imperial General Staff)

Sir Alexander Cadogan (Permanent Undersecretary, Foreign Office)

Sir Desmond Morton (Intelligence Liaison)

Churchill, cigar lit, pacing slowly by the Mediterranean map tacked to the wall, speaks first after silently reading the SIS report aloud.

Churchill (grimly):
"Well, Mussolini's not sitting on the fence—he's building his own fence, out of other men's borders."

Halifax:
"With all due respect, Prime Minister, it appears he's outmanoeuvred us quite effectively. He's gained influence from Gibraltar to Rhodes without firing a single shot."

Attlee:
"Greece, Spain, Bulgaria, Hungary... and now potentially Yugoslavia. This 'Rome Pact' is shaping up to be a Fascist Commonwealth. Not an ally of Germany per se—but certainly a thorn in our side."

Chamberlain (tight-lipped):
"I warned of the danger in lifting sanctions too soon. We gave him legitimacy, and now he's using it to establish a Mediterranean empire."

Eden:
"I'm more alarmed by his activities in Palestine. Training militants, arming them, pushing refugees into the Mandate. That's not just diplomacy—it's sabotage."

Cadogan (reading from his notes):
"Our agents in Haifa and Jaffa confirm the emergence of Lehi activity. Weapons caches from the sea. Foreign-accented Hebrew among new recruits. All roads point to Rome."

Churchill (quietly):
"And the Jews will remember who armed them... and who didn't."

He pauses, glances toward the Balkans section of the map.

Churchill (firmly):
"Gentlemen, I daresay we are witnessing the rebirth of Imperial Rome—without Caesar, and with a far more dangerous man behind the podium."

General Dill:
"If the Italians take Yugoslavia with Hungarian and Bulgarian cooperation, they'll dominate the Adriatic. Our supply lines to Greece, Cyprus, and Egypt will be exposed."

Churchill:
"Mediterranean control used to be our strength. Now, it's our vulnerability."

Halifax:
"What would you have us do, Winston? We can't fight everyone at once. France is falling. Belgium is lost. Our army is holding by a thread at Dunkirk."

Churchill (eyes flashing):
"And that is precisely why we cannot let Italy move unchecked. If they join the war tomorrow, Gibraltar to Suez is in peril. And if they don't—well, a silent empire is no less dangerous than a shouting one."

Attlee:
"We should approach the Greeks directly. Quietly. Find out who in Athens might be unhappy with their Faustian bargain."

Chamberlain:
"Too late for diplomacy, I fear. Their Prime Minister dances to Mussolini's music now."

Churchill:
"Then we will compose a better tune. Eden, draft a message for the Greek King. Let him know the sun does not set on our memory."

Churchill turns to Dill.

"Begin drawing up naval contingencies—Malta must hold at all costs. If the Italians enter Yugoslavia, we must be ready to blockade the Adriatic. And I want RAF recon flights intensified along the Libyan border. Mussolini has agents in Cairo—we must have more in Rome."

Sir Desmond Morton:
"Our sources suggest Mussolini is also making quiet overtures to Turkey."

Churchill (sharply):
"Of course he is. Why stop at one peninsula when he can dominate two?"

Halifax:
"If we push too hard, we may push him fully into Hitler's camp."

Churchill (pounding the table):
"Then we must be cleverer. If Mussolini insists on being the fox in the henhouse, then we'll be the hounds at the door. Let him straddle both sides—for now. But the moment he makes his move, I want every Italian asset west of the Adriatic under observation or arrest."

He exhales a deep breath and looks at the burning end of his cigar.

Churchill (calmly):
"Gentlemen, we are at the edge of the abyss, but not yet fallen in. The war in France will decide much—but Italy's shadow now stretches across the Mediterranean. We must be ready to strike at it the moment it solidifies."

Meeting adjourns at 21:15. Orders are dispatched to the Mediterranean Fleet, and MI6 intensifies operations in Greece, Palestine, and Yugoslavia. Churchill retires to his study, muttering: "Mussolini may be neutral today. But tomorrow—tomorrow he may be Emperor."

 

[Alenco98]

June 15, 1940
Outskirts of Zara
Zara, Italian Dalmatia

Colonel Benito Albino Mussolini sat atop an army truck idling near the Yugoslav border, his goggles resting in his right hand. He stared across the frontier, noting how sparsely it was defended—just a handful of guards milling about. As a colonel he normally could have stayed away from the action, but his time in Finland then in a Soviet prison camp told him he belonged in the front with his men.

Beside him, one of his men adjusted a radio, catching broadcasts from across the border. Though Benito didn't understand Croatian, a local recruit from Zara leaned in and translated.

"It's the Ustaše," the soldier explained. "They're calling on the Croats to rise up against their masters."

Benito's eyes narrowed. "Turn it off. We wait for orders."

"Yes, sir." The soldier switched the frequency, and a low hum filled the silence as they waited. Benito looked toward the horizon, where the first golden rays of dawn crept into view. Officially, they were here for border exercises. But the volume of munitions and equipment told another story. That suspicion had been confirmed hours earlier when they were ordered to stand by for a special military operation—a mission to assist the oppressed Croatians.

As the sun climbed higher, he turned his gaze away from its growing glare. Then, the radio crackled to life.

"Unleash the storm."

Benito gave a single nod. "Relay the orders. We're beginning."

"Yes, sir." His adjutant jumped down from the truck and disappeared among the troops. Minutes passed. Soldiers began to move, prepping for action. Within a quarter of an hour, the unit was in motion.

As they crossed into Yugoslavia, Benito noted with mild surprise that the border guards were celebrating, raising what appeared to be Croatian flags.

The day unfolded with little resistance. A few scattered Yugoslav units attempted to hold ground, but—according to local Croatian agents, likely Ustaše—those soldiers were Serbs. They were quickly either captured or compelled to surrender. Benito spotted a few lined up by the Ustaše for execution and intervened immediately.

"They're Serbian dogs! They should be put down!" one of the Ustaše growled.

"They are prisoners of war and will be treated as such," Benito replied sternly. "We value your help in capturing them, but the army will handle their processing. In the meantime, assist us with communicating with the locals and guiding us through the countryside."

The Ustaše glared, but a quiet reminder that he was the Duce's son silenced further protest. Still, Benito knew he might have just painted a target on his back.

By nightfall, they reached the sleepy town of Benkovac.

As Benito's car entered the town behind his troops, he noted the townspeople watching them warily.

"They're looking at us," he muttered to his adjutant.

"Ustaše say the town's mostly Serb."

"No wonder," Benito sighed. "Impose a curfew. One hour for everyone to get inside their homes. Anyone out after that gets detained for questioning. And remind the Ustaše—no civilian abuse."

"Yes, sir." The adjutant disembarked as Benito directed his driver toward the mayor's office.

Upon arrival, he found the building already occupied by his troops. He summoned an Ustaše officer to accompany him, hoping the man could translate—Serbian and Croatian were close enough, he reasoned.

Inside, they found a balding older man with a heavy pouch at his waist standing behind the desk.

"I take it you're the mayor?" Benito asked, glancing toward the Ustaše.

"I speak Italian," the man said coolly. "Tell your thug to leave."

The Ustaše officer tensed and reached for his sidearm, but Benito shot him a sharp glare. Wordlessly, the man turned and left.

"My apologies, Mayor," Benito said. "Colonel Benito Albino Mussolini. As of today, this town and the surrounding region are under Italian control. You and your people are now subjects of His Majesty the King. You may retain your position, and I assure you the population will not be harmed."

"Assurances?" the mayor scoffed. "While you collaborate with those Ustaše dogs? You may keep them on a leash here, but across Yugoslavia, they're butchering civilians."

"I have no knowledge of that. But I give you my word: as long as my men are in this town, your people will be protected. Tomorrow we'll establish a garrison to maintain order."

"You mean occupy us," the mayor said bitterly. "Fine. Do what you must. Just keep those Ustaše animals out of here."

"Thank you, Mayor... your name?"

"Dragos Mihailovic."

"Mayor Mihailovic, thank you for your cooperation."

Benito left the office and immediately ordered night sentries and patrols to be established. The remainder of the evening was spent ensuring Ustaše units did not mistreat prisoners or civilians. A few firm threats—firing squads, hangings—kept them in check. Eventually, he ordered them to camp outside the town, separated from Italian troops.

He yawned, exhaustion creeping in. Turning to his adjutant, he gave his final order for the night.

"Wake me in a few hours. It's a long road to Belgrade."

-
Declassified briefing addressed to Prime Minister Churchill informing him on the situation in Yugoslavia: Date of declassification January 10 1990

TOP SECRET
British Foreign Office – Intelligence Directorate
Briefing for the Right Honourable Winston S. Churchill, Prime Minister
Date: July 15, 1940
Subject: Strategic Situation in the Balkans – Italian-Led Invasion and Partition of Yugoslavia

SUMMARY:

The Kingdom of Yugoslavia has ceased to exist as a sovereign state following a rapid and coordinated military invasion spearheaded by the Kingdom of Italy and its allied client states. The campaign began on June 15, 1940, and concluded with full occupation by July 10, 1940. Italy has since overseen a radical redrawing of Balkan borders with direct strategic implications for the United Kingdom, the Mediterranean theatre, and British imperial interests in the Middle East.

KEY DEVELOPMENTS:

1. ITALIAN INVOLVEMENT & STRATEGY:

Although officially neutral in the broader European conflict, Italy under Benito Mussolini has acted aggressively to expand influence through diplomatic and limited military initiatives.

Italian forces spearheaded the invasion from Dalmatia and Albania, supported by newly established bases in northern Epirus and the Dodecanese, secured through recent rapprochement with Greece.

Italy's rapid advance, assisted by Croatian collaborators and coordinated political subversion, enabled swift collapse of Yugoslav command structures. Though reports show Italian difficulties when faced with protracted Serbian resistance as was the case in majority Serbian towns and districts in Bosnia. These however were overcome with intense air and artillery bombardments and alleged use of chemical warfare.

Colonel Benito Albino Mussolini, son of the Duce, reportedly played a prominent role in ground operations in Dalmatia. Reports suggest his promotion to General and Mussolini grooming him as his successor.

2. AXIS OF INVASION – COALITION PARTICIPANTS:

The offensive was conducted by a coalition known informally as the Rome Pact, comprising Italy, Hungary, Bulgaria, with minor support by recently co-opted Greece and Spain via logistics and some volunteers.

Italian command exercised supreme authority, with regional operations managed by allied national forces.

Croatia was instrumental internally, with the Ustaše movement facilitating uprisings and intelligence sabotage prior to and during the invasion.

3. POST-WAR PARTITION:

The following territorial divisions have been formalized under an agreement orchestrated in Zara on July 11:

Italy: Annexes Dalmatian coast and Montenegro; Croatia is established as a nominally independent kingdom in personal union with the House of Savoy, was given all of Bosnia as compensation for the Dalmatian coast.

Hungary: Gains Vojvodina and northern Serbia up to the Danube, restoring some of its pre-Trianon boundaries.

Bulgaria: Annexes Macedonia and central/southern Serbia, expanding its reach into the Morava Valley.

Albania: Under continued Italian suzerainty, Albania is awarded Kosovo.

Notably, Greece, although not a direct participant in the fighting, has received economic and strategic compensation in the form of restored territories and guaranteed Italian protection via the return of North Epirus and the Dodecanese.

4. STRATEGIC IMPLICATIONS:

Italy now controls or influences a vast corridor from the Adriatic to the Aegean, and from Montenegro to the Bulgarian frontier. The Mediterranean is increasingly dominated by Italian bases, with significant naval potential now deployed from the Canaries to the Dodecanese. Heavy Serbian resistance within Bulgarian occupied territories has tied down the Bulgarian army, leaving them dependent on Italian aid.

British shipping and imperial lines of communication face increased risk, particularly through the Suez-Gibraltar line.

Italy has not yet declared war on any of the principal belligerents in the wider conflict but continues to maneuver in ways favorable to Axis interests.

Rome's continued support of the Jewish paramilitary Lehi in British Palestine is of concern, especially given Lehi's extremist tactics and their potential to inflame Arab resistance or disrupt British authority in the Mandate.

5. RECOMMENDATIONS:

Diplomatic pressure should be applied to Spain, whose concessions to Italy have granted them bases in the Canaries, Balearic Islands, and Valencia.

Greater intelligence focus is needed on Italian-Croatian collaboration and on the logistics pipelines through neutral Italy, which may be benefiting Germany covertly.

Consider engaging the Greek government via backchannels to assess the durability of its alliance with Italy and potential for strategic realignment.

Counter-operations in British Palestine to monitor and neutralize Lehi activities are advised.

CONCLUSION:

Italy has, under the guise of neutrality, orchestrated a dramatic realignment of power in the Balkans and Mediterranean, expanding its influence and that of its Rome Pact allies. This realignment creates a buffer zone favorable to Italian strategic autonomy and positions Mussolini as a powerbroker in southeastern Europe and the Mediterranean. While not yet a formal Axis combatant, Italy has assumed a position of potential threat, particularly to British naval and colonial interests.

---

Prepared by:
Major Alastair Greene
Balkans Division, Foreign Office Intelligence Directorate

Reviewed and approved:
Sir Alexander Cadogan
Permanent Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs

-
German high command meeting transcript found in the aftermath of the battle of Berlin:

TRANSCRIPT – GERMAN HIGH COMMAND MEETING

Location: Reich Chancellery, Berlin
Date: July 16, 1940
Attendees:

Führer Adolf Hitler

Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop

General Wilhelm Keitel (OKW)

Heinrich Himmler (SS)

Hermann Göring (Luftwaffe)

Admiral Erich Raeder (Kriegsmarine)

Joseph Goebbels (Propaganda Minister)

BEGIN TRANSCRIPT

Hitler:
So, Mussolini has taken Yugoslavia without us. The Italians, Hungarians, Bulgarians—they carved it up like they were slicing cake at a wedding. And we were not invited.

Keitel:
Mein Führer, the Italians informed us only after the operation was underway. They claim it was an "internal Balkan arrangement."

Hitler (snaps):
And since when does Italy move with such precision and secrecy? Since when does Mussolini outflank us diplomatically?!

Göring:
This son of his—Benito Albino. It was because of his capture that Mussolini secured peace in Finland as well. And now his actions in Yugoslavia. It seems the Duce is grooming him as his successor.

Himmler:
The partition is brutal. Ethnic expulsions are already reported. Croats in Bosnia are executing and expelling Serbs. Ustaše loyalists are burning Orthodox churches.

Ribbentrop:
The Italians are positioning themselves as guardians of Balkan order. They've created a Croatia under Savoy and managed to keep Greece loyal by restoring lost territories. It's a balancing act, but effective.

Goebbels:
It's dangerous. The Italian press is already portraying Mussolini as the "Protector of Christian Civilization," liberator of Dalmatia, saviour of the Jews in Palestine—this is a direct challenge.

Raeder:
Navally, we're also at risk. Italian bases now dot the Mediterranean. If they further fortify the Canaries and Balearics, British shipping becomes even more vulnerable—but so are we if Italy turns its knives on us.

Hitler:
They've kept trade open with us. And they've received Jewish refugees in return. That keeps them useful—for now.

Ribbentrop:
They're walking a line, Führer. Close enough to us to benefit. Close enough to the Allies to avoid being attacked. If they lean any further West, we may need to…remind them where their interests lie.

Hitler:
Let them play empire. It will unravel eventually. We will not rescue them even if they beg and grovel. And if Mussolini wants to be Caesar, he'll find that Europe is not Rome, and I am no Pompey.

Göring:
Shall we begin contingency planning for the Balkans? In case Italy collapses under its own weight?

Hitler:
Yes. Quietly. And tell our friends in Budapest and Sofia: next time they march, it will be under our banner.

END TRANSCRIPT

-

Source: The Times of London
Date: July 18, 1940
Headline: "ITALY SWEEPS THROUGH THE BALKANS: A NEW ORDER RISES SOUTH OF EUROPE"

Dateline: Zara, Italian Dalmatia

> In a swift and largely unopposed campaign lasting under four weeks, the Kingdom of Italy—under the direction of Benito Mussolini has redrawn the map of southeastern Europe. Beginning on June 15, coordinated invasions by Italy, Hungary, and Bulgaria struck at the heart of a fragmented Yugoslavia. By July 10, Belgrade had fallen, and the state ceased to exist as a political entity.

> Italian forces now control all of Dalmatia and Montenegro. A new "Kingdom of Croatia," placed in personal union with Italy, has emerged with territory stretching to the Drina. Hungary has claimed Vojvodina and the Serbian plains north of the Danube, while Bulgaria has annexed Macedonia and Serbia's southern reaches.

> The star of the hour appears to be Colonel Benito Albino Mussolini, son of the Duce, whose meteoric rise continues to unsettle European observers. Known for his capture while volunteering in Finland and his subsequent acclaim as a hero by Il Duce after his return , the younger Mussolini is seen by some as Mussolini's heir apparent after his promotion to General, being seen alongside his father as the final treaty partitioning Yugoslavia was signed by Mussolini, Admiral Horthy and King Boris III.

> London and Paris have expressed outrage, but official condemnation remains muted. Italy remains technically neutral in the wider war, and continues trade with both Allied and Axis powers.

-

Source: The New York Times
Date: July 18, 1940
Headline: "ITALY STORMS YUGOSLAVIA : BALANCE OF POWER SHIFTS IN THE MEDITERRANEAN"

> WASHINGTON—President Roosevelt received intelligence briefings this week detailing what some are calling the most significant geopolitical realignment in the Mediterranean since the fall of the Ottoman Empire. In a complex maneuver combining diplomacy, proxy warfare, and military action over the last year, Fascist Italy has absorbed or aligned the bulk of the Balkans without firing a shot at the Allied Powers.

> The Italian-led invasion of Yugoslavia, ending on July 10, has triggered concern across the State Department and military intelligence agencies. Though officially "neutral," Italy has extended its influence into Greece, Dalmatia, Montenegro, and beyond. More concerning still is its rumored backing of Zionist militias in British Palestine and its quiet deal-making with Nazi Germany.

August 1, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

As I sat in my office, sharing a meal with Ante Pavelić, King Boris III, Francisco Franco, Ioannis Metaxas, and Miklós Horthy, I felt a surge of jubilation. France had fallen, Britain was on the defensive, and Yugoslavia had capitulated. However, certain adjustments to our plans were necessary.

To placate Bulgaria, I ceded Serbia, as they were displeased with my inclusion of Greece in our pact, which had compelled them to relinquish their claims on Greek territory. Offering additional lands and the promise of Drobuja persuaded them to accept the situation. Romania now stood as our next target.

"Gentlemen," I began, raising my cup, "everything has unfolded as I foresaw. France lies defeated, and Britain stands alone. The moment has arrived to reshape Europe in our image while our adversaries are weak and unable to uphold their so-called balance of power." I sneered, casting a glance toward Horthy and Boris. "As promised, Romania shall be ours; Transylvania and Drobuja will return to your hands. With Germany and England preoccupied, we shall seize it without firing a shot." I took a sip from my cup and set it down.

Horthy and Boris nodded in approval as I continued. "Prime Minister Metaxas, have you reconsidered your position regarding the Treaty of Lausanne?"

"My ministers and advisors suggest that, with your support, we are prepared to challenge Turkey," Metaxas replied.

"Excellent," I nodded. "I assure you, Prime Minister, that once our plans succeed, we will restore the Hagia Sophia to its former glory, with mass resounding within its walls once more."

Turning to Franco, I inquired, "How fares your occupation of Tangiers?"

"Indeed, the British grumble, but they are powerless to intervene," Franco responded.

"Good," I affirmed. "You will find our alliance advantageous. The western Mediterranean shall be under your control. I trust you are encouraging the settlement of your colonies by Spaniards?"

"Progress is gradual, but some are making the journey," Franco acknowledged.

"Excellent," I said. "I hereby recognize the annexation of Tangiers. From this day forth, it shall be as Spanish as Barcelona or Cádiz."

"Thank you, Duce," Franco replied.

"Gentlemen, this is merely the beginning. My next objective is to invite Portugal into our alliance. With their support, the Mediterranean will be nearly entirely under our dominion. To victory!"

"To victory!" we all proclaimed, raising our cups in unison.

 

[Alenco98]

August 10, 1940
Greater German Reich
The Berghof

I gazed down at the picturesque Bavarian valley, savoring the taste of my wine. Then, I turned and took my seat at the neatly arranged table, where Adolf Hitler, Miklos Horthy, Francisco Franco, and King Boris III of Bulgaria were already seated.

"Apologies, gentlemen," I said in German as I settled into my chair. Thankfully, with Il Duce's memories now fully integrated, I was able to speak the language, though my accent remained dreadful. "Herr Hitler, I must say, I am quite envious. You have an absolutely magnificent view. I demand that Italy be given an enclave here, or I shall declare war," I quipped in a playful tone.

Hitler's expression remained unreadable, and my lighthearted remark fell flat. I sighed and added, "It seems my sense of humor was uncalled for, my apologies. Still, this place is indeed beautiful, and the meal we shared was delicious. Now, let us focus. We have much to discuss: the fate of Southern Europe, Romania, and Hungary."

"Indeed," Regent Horthy replied. "Hungary's rightful territories must be restored. Northern Transylvania is Hungarian land."

"As is all of Dobruja, up to the Danube," King Boris III of Bulgaria added.

I nodded, then took the floor again. "And we have demands of our own. With France now fallen, there's no way they can hold onto their Mediterranean possessions. Algeria, Tunisia, Corsica, Lebanon, Syria—all will soon be up for grabs. Spain may take Algeria to establish dominance over the western Mediterranean as well as have Morroco under it's sphere. As for us, we'll take Corsica, Tunisia, French Somaliland, Lebanon, and Syria. The British will no doubt bitch and moan. They'll scream about the balance of power, threaten war, but given their attention is fixed on the Battle over their skies, they won't have the strength to escalate so long as we don't provoke them."

Franco seemed taken aback by my offer of Algeria and Morroco, but after a moment, he nodded in approval.

Hitler gave a small nod of acknowledgment as I laid out my demands. "And how will Prime Minister Pétain react to this?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "There are already reports of massive resistance in France. If they see how you and Spain are moving in on their empire, like vultures circling their prey..."

"Vae victis," I replied with a shrug. "Woe to the vanquished. Perhaps France should have fought harder instead of surrendering so easily. They are at your mercy, Herr Hitler. You can do with them as you please. If they want compensation, give them Wallonia and the Belgian Congo. Flanders can go to the Netherlands. Belgium isn't even a real country anyway." I shrugged as everyone else looked at me like I just groped a nun.

I leaned back slightly and continued, "Let me remind you, Herr Hitler, the British destroyed the French fleet at Mers-el-Kébir, despite Petain saying France wasn't a belligerent nation after their surrender. What makes you think they won't seize French colonies, use their resources to fuel their war machine, and recruit from there? They could use those territories as bases to invade or harass your European holdings. They're better off under our control, and since we remain neutral, you'll be able to extract resources from them... for a price, of course."

Hitler exhaled sharply, no doubt realizing I was right. "I will need some guarantees as well."

"You can continue your campaign against the Jews and expel them from France, Denmark, the Low Countries and Russia if you ever get around to invading them. You can also use our ports to refuel and repair your ships and submarines," I replied.

"Very well," Hitler said, his tone resigned. "France's Mediterranean colonies and Somalia are yours and Spain's. I'll send the orders to Pétain."

"And Romania?" I asked, eyeing him intently.

"Done. As long as oil flows from Ploiești, you can do as you please."

"Perfect," I said with a smile. "Let's draft the treaty."

-

August 30, 1940
Greater German Reich
Belvedere Palace, Vienna, Austria

I found myself in a room with Francisco Franco, Adolf Hitler, Boris III, Miklos Horthy, a visibly upset Philippe Pétain, and an equally disgruntled Romanian Foreign Minister Mihail Manoilescu.

I was the last to sign the treaty, which Hitler had dubbed the "Second Vienna Award," a title I didn't mind—after all, I was the one who had secured the most significant gains. With this agreement, almost all of Italy's dreams of Risorgimento had come to fruition: Corsica, Tunisia, Nice, Savoy, French Somaliland, Lebanon, and Syria—everything I had desired, except for Malta. But that, I knew, could wait.

As I signed the treaty, I could already hear my troops mobilizing, I ordered them to sail a few days ago after confirming the treaty's terms. Once the paperwork was complete, I joined the others for a photo op, standing at the center while the cameras clicked.

With that, I knew I had become a key figure in shaping history. As I posed for the photo, I reminded myself to meet with the British ambassador once I returned to Rome. The time had come to extort the British for further concessions. I wondered how Churchill would react. Surely, he would be livid.

-

The Times
September 1, 1940

"Italy Expands Influence in Mediterranean with Sweeping Territorial Gains in New 'Second Vienna Award' – Mussolini Secures Corsica, Tunisia, Syria, and More"

In a dramatic shift in the balance of power across Europe and North Africa, Italy's Benito Mussolini brokered an agreement with Hitler and other European leaders, resulting in the Italian acquisition of critical French territories, including Corsica, French Somalialand, Nice, Savoy, Tunisia, and Syria. The deal, announced yesterday, solidifies Italy's growing dominance in the Mediterranean, despite maintaining a neutral stance in the ongoing conflict. Critics warn of Mussolini's rising power and the strategic implications for Britain and its war efforts.

-

A transcript of Churchill meeting his Cabinet after the second Vienna Award, date of declassification: September 3, 1990

Transcript: Meeting of Prime Minister Winston Churchill and His Cabinet
September 2, 1940
10 Downing Street, London

Present:

Winston Churchill (Prime Minister)

Lord Halifax (Foreign Secretary)

Anthony Eden (Secretary of State for War)

Sir Kingsley Wood (Chancellor of the Exchequer)

Clement Attlee (Leader of the Labour Party)

David Margesson (Minister of Defence)

Sir John Reith (Minister of Information)

Lord Beaverbrook (Minister of Aircraft Production)

---

Churchill:
Looking grim, he addresses the room
"Well, gentlemen, the events of the past week have undoubtedly shifted the geopolitical landscape in ways we feared but could hardly have imagined. Mussolini has, once again, emerged as a central figure in European politics. Through this so-called 'Second Vienna Award,' Italy has secured vast territories from France—Syria, Lebanon, Corsica, Tunisia, and more. Spain, with his approval, has taken Algeria. The map of Europe and the Mediterranean has changed dramatically. The question before us now is: how do we respond?"

Lord Halifax:
Leaning forward, his voice calm but concerned
"We cannot afford to underestimate Mussolini's ambitions. These recent moves—especially his support of Jewish insurgents in Palestine and the rumours of his designs on Turkey are deeply troubling. The Mediterranean is effectively under his control now, and should he successfully recruit Portugal to his side, or worse, launch an attack on Turkey, the situation could spiral beyond our ability to contain it."

Churchill:
Interrupts sharply
"Yes, yes, I am well aware of his ambitions. Italy, despite its neutrality in the war, is effectively shaping the outcome of this conflict from the periphery. If he allies further with Spain or recruits Portugal, the entire southern flank of Europe will be aligned against us. And to top it off, he has found a way to arm and finance Jewish insurgents in Palestine. The implications of this are manifold, not just for the region, but for our own ability to maintain influence in the Middle East. This is a situation that demands action."

Anthony Eden:
Eyes narrowed, he speaks with conviction
"Indeed, Prime Minister. While we are engaged in the Battle of Britain, Mussolini is quietly consolidating power in the Mediterranean and making moves in the Balkans. His invasion of Yugoslavia, though swift, was calculated. By partitioning it with Hungary and Bulgaria, he has cemented his influence in the region. His next step may very well be Turkey, which will give him direct access to the Black Sea and further destabilize the region."

Clement Attlee:
"Let's not forget, Mussolini's support for the Jewish insurgents in Palestine is particularly alarming. By training tens of thousands of fighters and backing the Lehi organization, he is in the process of creating an independent military force in the heart of our mandate. If they continue to gain strength, they may well become a force we cannot ignore."

Sir Kingsley Wood:
Clearing his throat
"We cannot allow Italy to continue unchecked. Their expansionism is not confined to the Mediterranean. It threatens our very survival in the long term. Mussolini's growing influence over the southern European axis is tightening with every move. What is our strategy to counterbalance this growing threat?"

Churchill:
Sighs deeply, his face hardening
"First and foremost, we must remain vigilant. We cannot afford to let our guard down, not even for a moment. We must press on with the Battle of Britain, and we will see this fight through to victory. As for Mussolini's territorial grabs—there will be no immediate military response. We are stretched thin as it is. However, I want to make one thing clear: we will not let him dictate the future of Europe."

David Margesson:
Speaking with a sense of urgency
"We cannot allow his control over French territories to stand. The Mediterranean is becoming a battleground of influence. Corsica, Tunisia, Lebanon—each of these regions is of vital strategic importance. We must consider the option of forming new alliances. Perhaps the Middle East could provide us with opportunities to counterbalance Mussolini's influence. Could we do more to support the French resistance or rally the forces of the Free French?"

Churchill:
Nods slowly, reflecting
"Yes, yes. The Free French—led by De Gaulle—must be supported. We will reinforce our efforts to combat Vichy France and provide them with the means to oppose Mussolini's hold on North Africa and the Mediterranean. But we must also look eastward. Turkey is a key player in this new game, and should Mussolini push for control of it, we cannot sit idle."

Lord Beaverbrook:
Passionately
"If Mussolini continues down this path, we may need to take more direct action in the Mediterranean. But let's not forget, he still remains neutral in the war. If we go after him too aggressively, we risk further complicating our position with the Allies. We have to find a way to counteract his influence without forcing him into a war with us prematurely."

Churchill:
Leaning forward, his voice low and resolute
"We will have to be strategic. It's clear Italy is positioning itself to dominate the Mediterranean, but they have made a dangerous move in arming the Lehi in Palestine. If that doesn't destabilize the entire region, I don't know what will. We must ensure our control over Egypt, and strengthen our presence in the Middle East. The oil in the region is too valuable, and Mussolini's actions threaten to tip the balance in his favor."

Anthony Eden:
"We will need to step up our diplomatic efforts as well. If Mussolini is allowed to gain further ground, we may find ourselves isolated. We must strengthen our alliances with the Middle Eastern states, and perhaps look to recruit more nations to our cause."

Churchill:
His gaze sharpens, steely resolve in his eyes
"Indeed. We will not let Italy take the Mediterranean unchallenged. Mussolini may think he can control the situation from the sidelines, but he has miscalculated. I will not let him write the history of this conflict. Not without us fighting for our place."

Clement Attlee:
"Perhaps we should consider doing tit for tat and increasing our support for the resistance in Ethiopia, and sending more resources to the authorities in Palestine to mitigate the effect of Mussolini's Lehi."

Churchill:
Smiling slightly
"Quite right, Attlee. I see no reason why we shouldn't support them. Let's provide them with the resources they need to take the fight to Mussolini and his allies. And send a message that we will not be cowed. Italy's neutrality will only last as long as it serves their purpose."

Lord Halifax:
"We may need to consider how to deal with Mussolini on the international stage as well. If he continues to expand unchecked, we could risk pushing him closer to Germany, and that would be a disaster."

Churchill:
Leaning back, steely-eyed
"Then we must act swiftly. Our course is clear. We will tighten our grip on the Mediterranean and ensure that Mussolini's expansion is met with resistance at every turn. But for now, gentlemen, we have our eyes fixed on the skies above Britain. Let us win this battle, and from there, we will begin to turn the tide on Mussolini and his expanding empire."

 

[Alenco98]

An Excerpt from Diary of a young girl: The story of Ann Frank

Monday, 12 June, 1940

On Friday, June 12th, I woke up at six o'clock and no wonder; it was my birthday. But of course I was not allowed to get up at that hour, so I had to control my curiosity until a quarter to seven. Then I could bear it no longer, and went to the dining room, where I received a warm welcome from Moortje (the cat).

Soon after seven I went to Mummy and Daddy and then to the sitting room to undo my presents. The first to greet me
was you , possibly the nicest of all. Then on the table there were a bunch of roses, a plant, and some peonies, and more arrived during the day.

I got masses of things from Mummy and Daddy, and was thoroughly spoiled by various friends. Among other things I was given Camera Obscura , a party game, lots of sweets, chocolates, a puzzle, a brooch, Tales and Legends of the Netherlands by Joseph Cohen, Daisy's Mountain Holiday (a terrific book), and some money. Now I can buy The Myths of Greece and Rome— grand!

Then Lies called for me and we went to school. Things have been hectic after the invasion ended. But daddy says everything will be ok.

Thursday, 16 June, 1940

Daddy had me, mommy, Margot and grandmommy pack up as many things as we took. He said the authorities told every Jew in the Netherlands they're going to be sent to Italy.

Papa is worried but is glad, says the Germans are bad people but Mussolini likes Jews, he says we'll have a house in Africa.

Tuesday, 21 June 1940

We couldn't pack too much, and grandmommy is sick from the journey. Fortunately we arrived in Italy today. Daddy speaks some Italian and the border guards were nice enough to us. Some of them even gave me and Margot some candy. They're much nicer than the German soldiers and border guards we encountered on the way to italy.

The ride was long and boring, they packed us so tightly in the trains and I almost couldn't breathe. But I'm glad I can write in you again.

Friday, 24 June 1940

We were settled in what daddy told me was a processing camp. The guards are friendly, they sometimes give us treats and sneak in food. Mommy and Margot have been practicing Italian with me. I know how to say Hello goodbye and the days of the Week. I can even count to 20!!! Soon I'll be unstoppable.

Mommy and daddy were busy too. Some people have been wondering the camp, they're all dressed in black and gather us a few times a day. They make us say funny things in Italian, daddy says it means Strength Through Discipline. They also make us do salutes like the Germans did. Daddy says it's a little scary and to not listen to what they spew but to not speak out.

Thursday, 30 June 1940

We're finally going to Africa. Daddy says we're to leave in a few hours and to pack up what we have. Grandmommy is better, the nurse at the camp was really friendly and patched her up, said she had influenza but should be better.

I hope we don't move around so much in Africa, I want to spend more time writing in my diary.

Thursday, 7 July 1940

Well it seems my wish didn't come true. I thought Africa would mean we wouldn't be as busy but I was wrong.

We landed a few days ago and me and Margot were immediately matriculated into a makeshift school right outside the camp. We're a class of 100, with kids from Poland, France, Slovakia, Hungary, Denmark, Belgium and even one from Norway. We study Italian in the mornings, then in midday they teach us Hebrew along with the Torah. Unfortunately class is outside and I can barely pay attention thanks to how hot the weather is.

All the boys look forward to the evening though, these men calling themselves the Lohamei Herut Israel are training us. They give us wooden rifles and teach us how to march and even pretend to shoot. They say Mussolini is helping us liberate our homeland.

I prefer the Hebrew lessons though. Mommy and daddy are worried though. They hope they never have to use their training, Margot tells me mommy and daddy are being taught to use real guns. I ask her if they're going to give us some and she tells me the older boys and girls are being given firearms too, some are even being sent to Israel to begin the struggle as they're calling it.

Sunday, 10 July 1940

The Lohamei as they're being called now had another meeting in the camp. All the adults were forced to pledge allegiance to them and join what they call the Falag party. They're being threatened to be sent back to Germany with their families if they don't. They also told us to pledge allegiance to the Falag youth or we'd be sent back.

They play scary movies afterwards, soldiers killing men, women, and children in the streets. They say they've been doing this to Jews in Poland, to our people. I asked Wladimir, one of the polish kids if that was true. He told me one of his uncle's and some of his cousins were shot in front of him. I immediately pledged allegiance as did Margot.

It was so scary, I didn't want mommy or daddy or Margot to die. I went to mommy and daddy begged them to join the Falag, but mommy and daddy reassured me, they showed me their black armbands with the star of David, they were both in the Falag, I was so relieved.

Monday, 11 July 1940

We had school as usual, in the evenings the Lohamei soldiers came in and showed us what a rifle looked like. One of the men showed us how to assemble and disassemble a rifle. He then passed it to each of us and showed us the correct way to hold it. We spent the entire evening parading around and training.

One of the boys, a french boy by the name of Raoul asked when we would get real weapons. The man laughed and said soon.

Thursday, 15 July 1940

It seems Raoul's wishes came true. A big truck arrived at the camp today. The Lohamei gave us each a rifle and we were told to assemble and reassemble it. Our trainer, a man named Mordechai told us to assemble and disassemble it until we got it correctly. We were there for hours, no one was allowed to leave until we figured it out. By the time we were done the moon was up in the sky.

Mommy and daddy were worried and asked me and Margot where we were, I told them we were learning to assemble and disassemble a rifle. Mommy and grandmommy were distraught but daddy just sighed.

Tuesday, 20 July 1940

Il Duce showed up to our camp today. He gave a massive speech, saying things about the future I couldn't really understand. Something about national rebirth and glory, I need to work on my Italian.

Mussolini then came and greeted the kids at the camp. He shook hands with each of us and asked our names.

When he got to me and I gave him my name he seemed to stop for a moment and stare at me. He nodded and chuckled a little, then he told me I'd do great things. I was surprised he spoke German.

 

[Alenco98]

September 5, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I sat in my office with the British ambassador. Even as we shared the decadent Italian meal I had personally arranged, I could sense his tension. That only made it more enjoyable. I ate in silence, offering him no conversation until we had both finished. We washed the meal down with a fine wine. After dismissing the servants it was finally time.

"Ambassador," I began, "I trust you enjoyed the meal?"

"It was quite delicious, I admit. But Mr. Mussolini—why have you summoned me at such a late hour?"

"To deliver my demands, Mr. Ambassador. Demands concerning Italy's continued neutrality. As you are surely aware, recent developments in Vienna have placed my country in a dominant position across the Mediterranean and the Middle East." I smiled, letting the words sink in as the ambassador shifted uncomfortably.

"I assure you," I continued, "Italy is prepared to maintain cordial relations with Britain and allow you to continue your war with Germany unmolested—provided my conditions are met."

His expression darkened.

"I must protest your tone, Prime Minister. As I recall, we signed a treaty guaranteeing your neutrality in exchange for the lifting of sanctions. We've upheld our end of the bargain, even turning a blind eye to your dealings with Germany."

"And I would remind you, Ambassador, that you and the French signed that treaty. The French are no longer a factor. We've acquired much of their Mediterranean empire at a discount. To quote a famous lord: I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further." I leaned back in my chair, smiling.

"This is outrageous. By what right do you make such demands?"

"The strong do as they will; the weak suffer what they must. And given our respective positions, I believe it's clear who holds the strength. Now, shall I read you my list?"

I cleared my throat.

"Italy shall receive the island of Socotra. Your colony in Aden and all of southern Yemen will be returned to the Kingdom of Yemen. British Somaliland, Egypt, Sudan, and Malta will be ceded to Italy. Gibraltar, British Guiana, and all your Caribbean territories shall go to Spain. Cyprus will be transferred to Greece. And lastly, you will hand over Haile Selassie and cease all support for the Ethiopian resistance."

The ambassador looked appalled.

"With all due respect, these terms are unacceptable. You're asking us to surrender the Mediterranean."

"I am," I replied coolly. "And in return, you'll gain access to it for your war. German ships can already refuel and repair at our ports. Why shouldn't yours?"

"And if we refuse?" he asked, voice low with apprehension.

"These are merely my initial terms. I'm open to negotiation. Send my offer to Mr. Churchill. I'm curious to see what he counters with." I snapped my fingers. "Now then, would you care for dessert?"

"I find myself quite full, thank you," he said stiffly, rising to leave. "Good night, Duce."

He exited without another word. I smiled to myself.

-

Declassified transcript of the British Cabinet meeting after Mussolini sent his demands to the British government: Date of declassification: September 8, 1990

Transcript: War Cabinet Meeting — September 7, 1940
Location: Cabinet War Rooms, London
Attendees:

Prime Minister Winston Churchill

Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax

First Lord of the Admiralty A.V. Alexander

Chief of the Imperial General Staff Sir John Dill

Minister of Economic Warfare Hugh Dalton

Secretary of State for the Colonies Lord Lloyd

Deputy Prime Minister Clement Attlee

---

Churchill:
Gentlemen, we've received Mussolini's message. I trust you've all read the transcript. It appears the Duce fancies himself the new Augustus. His terms are brazen, absurd, and insufferable—but not without cunning. He's crafted an empire without firing a shot, and now he demands we pay the price for keeping him out of the war.

Halifax:
Indeed, Prime Minister. His demands amount to little short of British abdication in the Mediterranean. Egypt, Sudan, Malta, Gibraltar, Cyprus—he wants us to dismember the Empire.

Dalton:
And hand pieces of it to Spain and Greece, no less. He's arming Jewish extremists in Palestine and fueling a civil war under our noses. If we cede now, we lose not only strategic territory—but face a collapse of imperial confidence.

Alexander:
Yet the situation is dire, Prime Minister. The Royal Navy's Mediterranean fleet is overextended. With France fallen and Vichy compliant, the Italian fleet reinforced with French ships, and Mussolini's bases now encircling us from Gibraltar to Cyprus, we could lose our foothold in the region.

Dill:
We're stretched thin. The Italians have encircled the Mediterranean with bases. If we refuse and he joins the Axis outright, we might lose Suez. And then what of India?

Churchill (grimly):
He's playing both sides: neutrality for now, blackmail later. We must call the bluff without tipping over the table.

Attlee:
So what do we offer? Surely we can't meet those demands in full.

Churchill:
We shall draft a counter-proposal. Offer him enough to keep him neutral, but not so much as to make a mockery of the Empire. Here's what I propose:

Churchill pulls out a piece of paper written by one of his aides and begins to read it.

---

1. Continued Neutrality: Britain agrees to recognize Italian neutrality for the duration of the war and will not interfere with Rome Pact affairs, provided Italy does not permit Axis troops passage through its territory, aside from already-agreed German ship refueling and repair. Italy will also allow British ships to use it's ports for refueling and repairs.

2. Territorial Adjustments:

Socotra: Britain agrees to lease the island to Italy for 25 years for use as a naval outpost.

Aden & Yemen: Britain will retain full military control of Aden. Greater autonomy may be offered to the Kingdom of Yemen with British oversight.

Cyprus: No cession. Britain offers to grant expanded Greek Orthodox religious authority and trade concessions to Greece on the island.

Malta, Egypt, Sudan, Somaliland: Non-negotiable. Britain retains it's sovereignty.

Haile Selassie: Britain will not hand over Selassie but may consider reduced support for Ethiopian guerrillas, contingent on a cessation of hostilities in the region.

3. Spain and the Mediterranean: Britain will not interfere in Spanish-African economic integration or investment so long as Gibraltar remains British. No concessions in the Caribbean or Guyana.

4. Palestine: Italy must immediately cease the arming of Lehi and foreign recruitment. Britain will consider a revised Jewish immigration policy post-war in exchange.

---

Halifax:
That's a reasonable offer. It gives him influence and status without surrendering our holdings.

Churchill:
Let us remind the Duce: if he bites the hand, we'll see his empire burn before it rises. But if he accepts our hand—he may yet dine with the victors.

Alexander:
What if he refuses?

Churchill:
Then we begin planning for Mediterranean war. We send reinforcements to Egypt, seal the Suez, and back every resistance movement from the Balkans to Yemen. Let the Roman phoenix rise—but it'll do so over ashes.

---

Meeting Adjourned.
Action Points:

Draft and send formal counter-proposal to Italian Foreign Ministry via neutral Swiss diplomatic channels.

Increase surveillance on Rome Pact activity in Palestine and North Africa.

Prepare emergency Mediterranean fleet redistribution in case of Italian alignment with Axis.

-

September 9, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I sat with the British ambassador as I read over Churchill's terms and smiled, nodding in approval. "I like it." I nodded once again, the British ambassador seemed to be relieved. "But I want a few more things. British Somalialand goes to Italy, an unlimited flow of Jewish refugees to Palestine. I'll also cease directly arming the Lehi if you cease arming Ethiopian guerrillas. Haile Selassie and his family can stay in British hands, all other Ethiopian guerrilla leaders in British hands must be handed over, Italy pledges to treat them humanely and not use the death penalty. Run back to Churchill and tell him that's my counter to his counteroffer."

The British ambassador glared and nodded. "Thank you for your consideration. I shall send this offer to the prime minister." He stood up and left the room.

-

Declassified transcript of the British Cabinet meeting after Mussolini sent his demands to the British government: Date of declassification: September 13, 1990

Transcript: War Cabinet Meeting — September 12, 1940
Location: Cabinet War Rooms, London
Attendees:

Prime Minister Winston Churchill

Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax

First Lord of the Admiralty A.V. Alexander

Chief of the Imperial General Staff Sir John Dill

Secretary of State for the Colonies Lord Lloyd

Minister of Economic Warfare Hugh Dalton

Deputy Prime Minister Clement Attlee

Home Secretary Herbert Morrison

Churchill:
Gentlemen, we've received Mussolini's reply. He has accepted most of our terms, but he has offered an adjusted settlement—one that merits serious consideration. Let us review the terms:

Britain retains Malta, Aden, Egypt, Sudan, Gibraltar, and the Caribbean colonies.

Italy will cease arming the Lehi and halt recruitment in Palestine.

In exchange, we are to:

1. Cede British Somaliland to Italy.

2. Permit unrestricted Jewish immigration to Palestine.

3. Turn over all Ethiopian resistance leaders in our custody—excluding Haile Selassie and his family, who may remain under our protection.

4. Italy pledges humane treatment for the Ethiopian prisoners and renounces the use of the death penalty for them.

Dalton:
It's a devil's compromise. Somaliland is a minor colonial outpost. The Jewish immigration could be a political powder keg in Palestine—but halting the arms flow may prevent a civil war. And we keep our Mediterranean anchor.

Lloyd:
Somaliland is strategically negligible compared to what we're gaining. But this unlimited Jewish immigration, our position in Palestine is already under strain. Arab leaders will see this as a betrayal.

Morrison:
The home front will sympathize with Jewish refugees—especially after reports of German atrocities are growing. But it could split the Arab world from us. Cairo and Baghdad may erupt.

Churchill:
A risk, yes—but what's the alternative? War with Italy? We must ask ourselves: can we hold Suez if Mussolini turns his fleet and bases against us? He controls the Adriatic, the Aegean thanks to his agreement with greece, Libya, Syria—hell, he's even sitting in bloody Valencia.

Alexander:
With France fallen and the Vichy fleet now under his command, our naval position is compromised. If we can keep him neutral it's a strategic victory.

Dill:
Handing over Ethiopian leaders will sting. But they're a thorn we can afford to pull. The Italians pledge no executions. We could station observers to ensure humane treatment. And keeping Haile Selassie here maintains some moral authority.

Attlee:
And if we don't take this deal? We face rebellion in Palestine, risk losing the Red Sea corridor, and possibly pull Italy into the Axis camp.

Halifax:
There's a narrow path here, Prime Minister. Accepting this proposal gives us strategic breathing room. And we can sell it domestically as a humanitarian gesture, saving Jewish lives, avoiding Mediterranean escalation, and keeping the Italian navy out of Hitler's hands.

Churchill (after a pause):
So be it. Draft a formal acceptance. Somaliland will go. The gates to Palestine will open—but under British regulation, and we shall expect Rome to honor every clause. No arms, no fighters, no treachery.

And as for Ethiopia—we'll hand over the commanders, but not quietly. I want the press to know that their lives are spared because Britain secured their safety. Let Mussolini have his empire. We will still write the story.

---

Action Points:

Draft acceptance note to Italian Foreign Ministry.

Coordinate transfer of Ethiopian prisoners under observer oversight.

Initiate framework for phased Jewish immigration into Palestine, to be managed with local authority cooperation.

Begin orderly withdrawal and handover of British Somaliland to Italian forces.

Issue quiet diplomatic notices to Arab partners explaining the strategic nature of the compromise.

-

September 15, 1940
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I sat with the British ambassador, reading over Churchill's terms. A smile crept across my face as I nodded in approval. "I like it," I said, nodding again. The ambassador visibly relaxed. "Tell Churchill I accept his deal."

I stood and approached him. He rose as well, and we shook hands. "I will have Ciano draft the agreement and send it to your embassy. How soon can Churchill sign?"

"He'll have it signed by tomorrow."

"Good," I said, offering a final nod. "A pleasure doing business with you."

The ambassador returned the gesture. "Thank you for your time. I shall inform the Prime Minister." With that, he turned and left the room.

Moments later, I summoned Ciano who arrived a few minutes later. We sat together as I poured us each a glass of wine.

"Duce," he greeted me as he began to sip on his wine.

"The British have agreed," I said. "Socotra and Somaliland are ours. It's unfortunate they're clinging to Cyprus, Malta, and Gibraltar—but it doesn't matter." I shrugged. "By the time the war is over, Britain will be too exhausted to stop us from carving up the remnants of their empire. Draft a treaty and send it to the British embassy."

I took a sip of wine and continued.
"And tell Mr. Stern that official support for the Lehi is ending. But let him know we'll continue to turn a blind eye to his operations. Speak with the Army Chief of Staff, have him arrange for some weapons to 'go missing' here and there. I want
British Palestine ready to explode the moment Europe's war is over."

I leaned in slightly.

"And have our intelligence service reach out to any Greeks in Cyprus who dream of union with Athens. Give them funds. Send them arms. Quietly."

"Yes, Duce."

 

[Alenco98]

An Excerpt from Trump: The Art of the Deal (1987)
By Donald J. Trump with Tony Schwartz

One thing my father always told me, one of the smartest guys I've ever known by the way—is this: be flexible. You've gotta stay loose. Stay sharp. Never lock yourself into one plan, one idea, one deal. Whether it's women, business, real estate, what car you're gonna buy—doesn't matter—you keep your options open. You never want to look desperate. Desperate people lose. Winners? They pivot. They adapt. They move fast. That's how you win.

I never fall in love with a deal. People do that—they get emotional, they get attached. Huge mistake. I always say: you've got to juggle a lot of balls. Keep a lot of irons in the fire. Because most deals—believe me, most deals don't happen. They fall apart. They look good, they sound good, then boom—gone. That's the real world.

Now here's a story, something my father used to tell me when I was young. He'd say, "Don, look at Mussolini." And people don't like hearing this—especially the media, they hate it—but it's true. Mussolini was a very sharp guy. Very smart. Very strong. And you know what? Very flexible.

Look at what he did in World War II—he basically took southern Europe, didn't even fire a shot. That's talent. He cut deals with everybody—Hitler, Stalin, Churchill, Roosevelt. He was playing all sides, like a master. And when he saw the momentum shift, when he saw where the power was moving, he flipped the board. Completely blew up the Allies' game. Changed everything. Turned the cold war from a 2 way battle to a 3 way tango.

Now I'm not saying he was a good guy, okay? Let's be clear. But you know what? He understood power. He understood negotiation. And frankly, a lot of the people running our country? They could learn something. They're weak. They fold. Mussolini? He didn't fold. He played to win.

 

[Alenco98]

October 5, 1940
Dar al-Hajar
Outside Saana, Kingdom of Yemen

I sat down with the King of Yemen, Imam Yahya Muhammad Hamid ed-Din. It was evening now, and an Iftar dinner was being held due to it being Ramadan.

I, being the ever cordial diplomat had followed Ramadan and hadn't drank water or eaten. And I encouraged my men to do the same. I had thought of bringing Somalian Askari units over as my guards instead of regular Italian army units. But they were Sunni and the imam was shia, I didn't want to inflame any tensions.

I had never tried any Arabic dishes in my life. But my god I didn't realize I was sleeping on Yemeni cuisine. We were sitting on the ground eating, me, the king, and my translator. As well as a room full of armed bodyguards.

The main course was Fahsa, a Yemeni lamb cutlet stew with a decadently delicious broth. The imam, being a pious Muslim and a scored follower of the 5 pillars of Islam which also encouraged charity, meant we were also eating with some of the poor of the city, of whom he invited to share his table during Iftar. This just made me respect the man more.

I leaned over to my translator. "Tell the imam this meal was delicious. And if possible to pass me the recipe, I will be eating this steadily when I return to Italy."

My translator spoke to the imam, he smiled and nodded then said something in Arabic.

"The imam appreciates your sentiment, he says he will have it arranged."

"Thank you."

We continued eating the meal, there was more of course; Harees, which was boiled, cracked, or coarsely ground wheat, mixed with meat and seasoned. To top it off was their national dish called Saltah, a stew consisting of fenugreek and broth as basic ingredients, though tonight minced meat was added.

Finally, we topped it off with some classic Yemeni coffee. By the time we were done I was stuffed like a Turkey and wanted to sleep. But there was work to do.

The people were dismissed, and soon me and the Imam were talking shop.

"Imam Yahya." I began. "Your kindness and hospitality has been wonderful. May Allah reward you with your more than earned place in paradise for today. But I would like to talk about the future of relations between our countries."

My translator began to relay my message. Imam Yahya nodded and began. He said something to my ambassador who relayed it back to me.

"The imam appreciates your kind words. He would like to know what you have in mind?"

"As you know, with Britain tied down in world war two, my country has managed to carve out an empire out of the Mediterranean without firing a shot. We are also interested in gaining substantial influence in the red sea. As you recall, our nation was the first to recognize you as King of Yemen. And we intend to further deepen those ties. I propose, an alliance between Yemen and Italy, full membership into the Rome pact. And of course, that's just the beginning."

My translator spoke to the king. He nodded then said something. "He wishes to see what you have to offer. He is open to the alliance, but he fears upsetting the British and the Saudis."

"Italy is prepared to provide experts and administrators to help modernize your administration and centralize rule towards yourself and your family. We are also ready to offer advisors to train your army. We are willing to send weapons, tanks, planes, as well as the experts, advisors, and economic assistance in both subsidies and industrial expertise to help you maintain and eventually produce them on your own. We are also willing to help you recover territories lost from Saudi Arabia in your last war with them, as well as recover Aden and the entire south of Yemen owned by the British. Should you want, we will even help you take Mecca and Medina. And finally, I am willing to dispatch two of my elite Alpini regiments, 2000 men to help guarantee yours and your family's safety in the event your rivals move against you."

My translator relayed the information to the imam. At first he was interested, then he was shocked, then he was ecstatic and was nodding in approval. He said something to my translator. "He wants to know what he would need to do?"

"Recognition of our sovereignty over Socotra. The British claim it's only lease to us for 25 years." I said mockingly and laughed. "But I plan on keeping it forever as part of Italy. That and a naval base in Mocha. We will pay you 1 million Lire a year to keep the base. And we will also base troops there. Should your rivals attempt to overthrow you just come to us and we'll kill those disloyal dogs for you."

The translator spoke to the king. Toning down my more belligerent and vulgar phrases but getting the message across. The king said something and the translator looked at me. "He says he accepts."

"Perfect." I smiled. "Let's get Ciano here to draft the treaty.

-

TRANSCRIPT OF A MEETING OF THE BRITISH WAR CABINET: DATE OF DECLASSIFICATION OCTOBER 16, 1990

BRITISH WAR CABINET MEETING – OCTOBER 15, 1940
Location: Cabinet War Rooms, London
Participants:

Prime Minister Winston Churchill

Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax

War Secretary Anthony Eden

First Sea Lord Admiral Dudley Pound

Director of Military Intelligence Major-General Stewart Menzies ("C")

Chief of the Imperial General Staff Sir John Dill

Colonial Secretary George Hall

---

Churchill (lighting a cigar):
Gentlemen, the latest intelligence from Aden and Cairo confirms the rumors. The Imam of Yemen has entered into a formal military pact with Mussolini. Italian troops are on their way to Mocha as we speak, and our sources suggest some armored units and aircraft are en route via Eritrea.

Hall (Colonial Secretary):
We've also confirmed that Italy intends to settle Socotra with a mix of Italian civilians and Jewish refugees, Sir. The Imam has recognizes Italy's presence perpetuity according to their treaty. That puts them squarely across the Gulf of Aden—well within reach of Aden itself.

Eden (War Secretary):
This is a dagger at our Indian Ocean flank. The Italians now hold or influence both shores of the Bab el-Mandeb. That narrows our supply line to the Empire at a time we can least afford it.

Churchill:
And we leased Socotra and British Somaliland to him ourselves—damn fool maneuvering, that. We hoped neutrality would bind him. Instead, he's carving out an empire under our noses while wearing a mask of peace.

Halifax (Foreign Secretary):
He's turned Yemen into a client state, with promises of modernization, a standing army, and ambitions to retake Asir—and perhaps Mecca and Medina. The Saudis are growing nervous. Ibn Saud is requesting arms and direct guarantees from us.

Churchill:
As he should. We cannot have Mussolini marching into Islam's holy cities. That would inflame the entire Arab world—from Cairo to Delhi. We'd face revolt in Iraq, unrest in Egypt, and chaos in Palestine.

Menzies (MI6):
Which brings us to Palestine, Prime Minister. Despite Mussolini's public retreat from supporting Zionist insurgents, we now have evidence of Lehi units receiving Italian weapons funneled through Libya and Ethiopia. Some of the crates bear altered serials from Italian Army stock.

Churchill (sits up):
So he's still playing both ends against the middle. Arms to the Jews in Palestine and military aid to the Imam in Yemen—divide and conquer?

Menzies:
Precisely. The Arabs see the Zaydi alliance as Italy's Islamic card. The Zionists view Italy as their only foreign backer after Britain's refusal to open immigration. Mussolini is stoking civil war in Palestine to bleed us quietly while claiming innocence.

Admiral Pound (First Sea Lord):
And with the former French fleet at his command and new bases in Tunisia, Syria, and the Balearics, he can contest the entire Mediterranean. Alexandria, Gibraltar, Malta—none are safe from a Italian challenge.

Dill (Chief of the General Staff):
If Italy makes its move while we are still bogged down in the air war with Germany, we risk losing control of the Suez Canal altogether. We may have to reinforce Egypt sooner than planned.

Hall:
And what of Aden? It's under-defended. If the Imam turns his eye south—and he will—we'll have a full-blown colonial revolt to deal with. We might not hold the port without reinforcement.

Churchill (grimly):
We've been outfoxed. He's building an empire in the shadows while shaking hands with both Berlin and London. That ends now.

(pauses, then resolute)
Prepare a briefing for Roosevelt. He must be made to understand—Italy is no friend of liberty, and no guardian of peace. Begin preparing contingency plans to reinforce Aden, double our presence in Palestine, and speak to Ibn Saud. If he wants weapons, he shall have them. And if war comes to Arabia, then by God, we'll be ready.

(He exhales smoke slowly.)
Let Mussolini play empire. The sun doesn't set on ours.

END OF TRANSCRIPT

-

CONFIDENTIAL – BRITISH INTELLIGENCE MEMORANDUM
Date: 17 October 1940
From: Directorate of Military Intelligence – Section VI (MI6)
To: Prime Minister's Office, War Office, Colonial Office, Foreign Office
Subject: Italian Covert Activity: Support to Lehi & Military Entanglements in Yemen

---

1. Italian Support to Lehi (Palestine) – Status: ACTIVE & ESCALATING

Despite Mussolini's public retreat from Zionist advocacy, clandestine support to the Lehi ("Stern Gang") continues, funneled through Italian-controlled refugee camps in Libya and Ethiopia.

Smuggling Routes Identified:

Primary: Tripoli → Benghazi → Tobruk → Egypt → Bedouin smugglers through Sinai.

Secondary: Massawa (Eritrea) → Red Sea fishing trawlers → Jaffa coast landings.

Weapons Intelligence:

Recovered crates from recent Lehi raids bear repainted Italian Army ordnance serials.

Contents include:

Breda Model 30 light machine guns

Beretta M1938 submachine guns

Manpower:

Reports from Mandatory Palestine suggest an influx of up to 8,000 new fighters, believed to have trained in Italian-run camps under Zionist instructors.

Italian agents embedded in Jewish refugee operations in Libya and Ethiopia are providing logistics and safe passage.

Objective:

Coordinated Lehi strategy aims to destabilize British governance in Palestine and force international intervention toward a Jewish homeland—likely to be framed as Italian humanitarian advocacy in future diplomacy. Reports show deal with the Lehi's newly established political arm the Falag party to turn Israel into a fascist state under personal union with Italy in the style of Albania and Croatia.

---

2. Yemeni Pact – Status: STRATEGIC & IDEOLOGICAL THREAT

Italian pact with Imam Yahya of the Zaydi Mutawakkilite Kingdom has shifted the strategic balance in Arabia.

Confirmed Provisions of the Pact:

Two Alpini elite regiments now stationed in Sanaa, functioning as a personal bodyguard for the king and his family.

Shipment of 12 Fiat L6/40 tanks and 20 CR.42 Falco fighter aircraft confirmed en route via Eritrea.

Establishment of a military academy near Sana'a under Italian command to train a standing army loyal to the Imam.

Deployment of Italian administrators and advisors tasked with centralizing royal authority and modernizing the bureaucracy.

Concessions to Italy:

Permanent naval and air base in Mocha.

Sovereignty over Socotra confirmed.

Overtures by Imam toward reclaiming Mecca and Medina with Italian support—concerning signs of religious war posturing under fascist patronage.

Risks:

Threat to British control of Aden and Red Sea trade.

Increased instability across Arabia, including potential unrest among Shi'a populations in southern Iraq and Bahrain.

Inflamed Arab nationalist movements—possible alignment with Rome as an anti-colonial patron.

---

3. Strategic Recommendation

1. Enhance Naval Patrols in the Red Sea and Eastern Mediterranean—especially near Mocha and Socotra.

2. Reinforce British garrisons in Aden, Cyprus, and Mandatory Palestine.

3. Open direct negotiations with Ibn Saud; consider a defensive treaty and armament package to secure loyalty.

4. Initiate propaganda campaign targeting Italian duplicity—exposing both their Zionist support and Islamic manipulation.

5. Request American diplomatic pressure on Mussolini to halt subversion or risk Italian "neutrality" being reassessed.

---

Prepared by:
Major-Gen. Stewart Menzies ("C")
Director of Military Intelligence – Section VI
Signed & Sealed – For Cabinet Circulation Only

-

An excerpt from Christopher Hibbert's 2008 Novel Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce


In the summer of 1940, Mussolini had begun to test the boundaries of Italian influence further afield, particularly in the Middle East. While most of Europe burned in the fires of war, Italy, maintaining its neutral stance, embarked on a quiet but ambitious project to expand its reach in the Arabian Peninsula. Mussolini's plan hinged on a delicate and covert negotiation with one of the region's most enigmatic rulers—Imam Yahya of Yemen.

The Imam, a deeply traditional figure who had fought to maintain his kingdom's independence from both Ottoman and Saudi control, seemed an unlikely partner for a fascist regime. Yet Mussolini, ever the pragmatist, saw an opportunity. Yemen's strategic location at the mouth of the Red Sea and its proximity to the Suez Canal presented a vital advantage. With the British holding sway over Egypt and Aden, Mussolini sought to carve out a new path, undermining British influence in the region and asserting Italian dominance over the vital maritime corridor.

It was during Ramadan, in the royal palace of Dar al-Hajar, that the negotiations began. The scene was set for a dramatic shift in the balance of power. The Imam, keen to preserve his kingdom's sovereignty and bolster his rule in a region surrounded by British-controlled territories, was intrigued by the offers presented. The evening's negotiations unfolded over a shared Iftar dinner with the poor of Sana'a, during which Mussolini, always the showman, endeared himself to the Imam by participating in the traditional fast-breaking meal. This gesture, combined with the promise of a military alliance, would prove a turning point.

Once the last of the palace's humble guests had left, the tone of the meeting shifted. Only the Imam, Mussolini, and his Italian translator remained in the room. The dinner had served its purpose: a ritual of goodwill, now followed by the hard realities of statecraft.

Mussolini, ever the cunning negotiator, offered the Imam a deal that would significantly bolster his regime. He promised two elite Alpini regiments to serve as bodyguards, ensuring the Imam's personal safety and the security of his court. Additionally, Mussolini offered military advisors, tanks, and planes—all essential for building a modern fighting force to deter any potential Saudi or British aggression. The promise of Italian administrators would help centralize the Imam's fragmented rule, training his officials and ensuring loyalty to his regime.

In return, Mussolini demanded recognition of his control of Socotra—an island in the Arabian Sea in perpetuity. Which the Imam reluctantly accepted as the island was a British possession before they ceded it to Italy. The island's strategic importance could not be overstated; it was perfectly positioned to control maritime traffic between the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean.

Finally, Mussolini's crowning request was the establishment of an Italian naval and military base in Mocha, on the Yemeni coast. This base would provide Italy with a foothold on the Arabian Peninsula, directly across the Red Sea from the British colony of Aden, and offer Mussolini the ability to project power into the Middle East, the Horn of Africa, and even the Indian Ocean.

The Imam, sensing an opportunity to secure both military and economic aid while maintaining his kingdom's independence, agreed to the terms. Yemen's fate, for better or worse, was now intertwined with the ambitions of Mussolini's Italy. The deal would fundamentally shift the geopolitical landscape of the Middle East, setting the stage for a cold war between Italy and Britain over control of the Red Sea and beyond.

---

The British Reaction

British intelligence was swift to respond to Mussolini's growing presence in the region. The War Cabinet, in a meeting held on October 15, 1940, expressed grave concern. With Italian troops now stationed in Mocha and the strategic Socotra island effectively under Italian control, the British were forced to reconsider their position in the Arabian Peninsula.

The British had long relied on Aden and the Suez Canal as critical linchpins for their imperial influence. Mussolini's moves, however, threatened to cut off vital sea routes, particularly with the Italians reneging on their promise and intending to hold onto Socotra permanently. The British saw the Italian foothold in Mocha as a direct challenge to their dominance in the Red Sea, a choke point vital for the flow of oil from the Middle East to Europe and Asia.

The Foreign Office also feared that Mussolini's covert support for Lehi in Palestine was not just an act of political opportunism, but part of a larger Italian strategy to weaken British control in the Middle East by fueling instability in their colonies. This, coupled with the Italian military presence in Yemen, gave Mussolini a serious bargaining chip in the broader game of Middle Eastern diplomacy.

MI6 had already begun to track Italian arms shipments to Lehi cells in Palestine despite Italy's end of overt support for the Lehi, further complicating the British position. Mussolini's covert support for the Zionist insurgency, while publicly denying support for the Lehi, showed his willingness to play both sides in his quest for regional dominance. The British now had to confront the uncomfortable reality that they were not only dealing with Nazi Germany but also with a rival Italian empire in the making.

The British response was swift and forceful. The Royal Navy began increasing patrols in the Red Sea, while reinforcements were sent to Aden to safeguard British interests. Intelligence gathering in the region was ramped up, and the British sought diplomatic avenues to counter Mussolini's growing influence in Yemen.

But despite these efforts, Mussolini's gambit had worked. The Italian-backed Yemeni alliance gave Mussolini a significant foothold in the Middle East, one that would alter the balance of power for the duration of the war. Britain, already stretched thin by its battle with Germany, now found itself engaged in a cold war in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea—one that would only intensify as Mussolini's imperial ambitions grew. And over the next few years Mussolini's actions would make him a hero to millions and solidify Italy's position as a global superpower.

 

[Alenco98]

November 1, 1940
Port of Piraeus
Athens, Greece

I got off the Regia Marina ship I'd taken from Yemen and stepped onto the port. I glanced around and the atmosphere was much friendlier than when I first came last year.

I was escorted to my vehicle, and soon I was on my way to the Saint Panteleimon of Acharnai, the largest church in Athens. Ciano radioed my ship last night, told me all the guests arrived the day before me. It was time, I had discussed my plans with the pope before doing this. He seemed to be open to it, now it was the moment of truth.

The car stopped in front of the door and the valet opened it. I shivered a little, the Greek fall had begun to chill the air and winter was coming soon. But I was on a mission, I was going to LARP so fucking hard for the next few hours. I stepped inside the church, inside was pope Pius XII, Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas, my foreign minister Ciano, and Patriarch Athenagoras the first.

"Gentlemen," I said in french as I walked up to them. Pius and Athenagoras had translators, but the rest of us spoke it thank God. It was time to change history.

I took a deep breath and I began. "Gentlemen, esteemed patriarchs and leaders of the Greek and Catholic churches, we stand on the precipice of a new era." I started, drawing my inner dramatic anime speech. "An era where faith and politics align, and the process of healing old wounds begins. It is time for our christian faith to move forward. To come together in the spirit of unity, as a force against external threats and internal divisions."

They were all disinterested. I had Ciano tell them of my intentions to negotiate a reconciliation between the churches. I guess I had to turn it up to ten. Before I did it however, that cunt Metaxas interrupted. "What do you propose, prime minister? We have already established positive ties with Italy? How can you expect to begin to reconcile the churches?" The patriarch and pope both nodded in agreement.

My confidence was shaken, but I was in the game. I merely nodded. "Consider our old discussion last year, my openness to revising the treaty of Laussane. Greece would get the return of Constantinople. The lands of Thrace, Smyrna, and the Aegean islands, once part of the Byzantine Empire, would return to your nation."

Metaxas leaned back, his face betraying nothing. He was open to it I knew that, but with Europe seemingly blowing up it seemed he was scared, Pussy. "And what of the rest of the land, Mussolini? The Turkish heartland is no small thing."

"The combined armies of Greece and turkey would be enough. With the remains of the french fleet added to our own. We can easily keep the Turks out of Europe and the Aegean. And with combined Greco-Italian might we can hold Smyrna, a billion Turks can come and we could hold the line." I smiled in smug self satisfaction, then I looked at patriarch Athenagoras I, who stood to Metaxas' left. "As for you your holiness. You will have the Hagia Sophia returned to you. Not as a mosque, but as a church, where it belongs. Constantinople shall be under Greek control, but you will have an enclave in the city like the Vatican does in Rome. The Patriarchate shall be restored to its place of honor, and I will ensure that the Sultan Ahmed Mosque is given to the Zaydi Imam of Yemen as an enclave, so that Islam may be given its rightful respect in our new Mediterranean order."

The patriarch began to speak, his voice thunderous yet calm. "And what of the reconciliation you propose between our churches, Mussolini? There is too much ugly history between our churches to even consider beggining the process of reconciliation."

There it was, the Greek Gambit. I, using my Byzantiboo knowledge from my last life had researched various eucemenical councils and emperors on Wikipedia before my accident, I knew the life of Leo the Isaurian and Andronikos I like a gear head knew his cars. "I propose a joint declaration, one that mutually lifts both the bull of excommunication of patriarch Cerularius and his supporters in 1054 by the papal legates at the time; and that lifts the excommunication of the legates by patriarch Celarius. As well as an official statement announcing the creation of a Commission for Theological Dialogue Between the Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church. This commission would entail both the pope and patriarch meeting once every 2 years to discuss theology and find common ground between our churches. The meeting place would be on a rotating basis, one year in Rome, the other in Constantinople. But there is more."

The Patriarch seemed curious, but Metaxas was still wary. "What else do you propose Duce?"

"As I have mentioned to prime minister Metaxas, Italy will also take the provinces of Hatay, Adana, and Tarsus. And we shall rebuild the ruins of Antioch. The city will be split between the holy see and the eastern Orthodox church as a symbol of our willingness to reconciliate. We would also grant the orthodox church an enclave in the city of Rome like the one we would have in Constantinople. And finally, due to Italy technically being the successor of the republic of Venice, I would give a personal apology to the orthodox church and the people of Greece for the fourth crusade. And I will have the kingdom of Italy pay a lump sum of 10 million lire to be dedicated to the restoration and repair of orthodox churches in Constantinople, and a continual subsidy of 1 million lire a year."

Metaxas glanced at the patriarch, then at Mussolini. "What about the British? They will not let this go."

I laughed. "The British? What a joke. They're too tied down to even do anything. There are even rumors Japan is going to make moves in the pacific. They're helpless. Now is the time to strike while they're weak."

I gave a smug smile and continued. "I seek nothing more than stability. The new Mediterranean order must be preserved. With the Papacy and the Patriarchate under our protection, we will ensure that our faith remains secure. Greece already received North Epirus, and the Dodecanese from us. After this, you will have more than any Greek leader could dream of, you will be a modern Basil II, though a turk slayer and not a Bulgar Slayer." I quipped. "And together, we will rebuild a new Eastern Mediterranean. A new Roman empire."

There was a long silence. Metaxas looked at the patriarch, then at the Pope who stood to his right.

The Patriarch sighed, his shoulders slumping as the full weight of the agreement pressed down upon him. "This is an extraordinary offer, one that will change the fate of the Orthodox Church forever. But, Benito Mussolini, you must know that the future of the Christian East cannot be written without our full participation. I must discuss this with the other autocephalous churches."

My lips twisted into a smile. "Of course. Take as long as you will patriarch. But let me remind you, the forces of secularism and communistic atheism are rising. We must stand together as one." God I loved larping this hard.

Pope Pius XII leaned forward, his voice quiet but firm. "We have much to discuss, but I see the wisdom in this effort at reconciliation. Mussolini and I spoke of this before. The Catholic church is open to these terms."

December 1, 1940
Port of Piraeus
Athens, Greece

The atmosphere was tense, yet I felt on top of the world. One month, one month of getting all the other orthodox churches to agree on this. It wasn't even a union like what Michael Palaiologos and Constantine the eleventh tried to do but they were stubborn. But they all saw reason eventually, really the problem was the Serbian church, they were mad about the whole occupation of their country by Bulgaria and Croatia. That and their flock being persecuted by Pavelic, a stern talking to telling him to chill the fuck out with the Serbians was given. And after threats of replacing him and reminding him I was the only thing standing between him and the rest of the Ustashe replacing him he backed down. I reminded myself however to arrange for that cocksucker's death, the shit I had read from Croatia, kill one third, expel one third and convert one third, Jesus fucking Christ he made Hitler look moderate.

But I had other concerns now, the press was gathered in full force. I could tell those cretins were whispering amongst themselves as they waited for this historic moment. Today I was going to LARP so fucking hard and nothing, not that cunt from the Serbian church or that cocksucker Pavelic was going to ruin this for me. A reconciliation between the Orthodox and Catholic Churches, sure it wasn't a church union but it was close enough.

I stood at the podium, facing the gathered reporters. Behind me, seated like the stuck up cunts they were, Pope Pius XII, Patriarch Athenagoras I, Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas, and Foreign Minister Ciano. I felt so fucking smug. I wanted to yell "Suck my balls!" To everyone from Hitler to Stalin.

I adjusted the microphone and leaned in. I cleared my throat and let it rip. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, esteemed representatives of the Orthodox and Catholic faiths, distinguished leaders," I began in italian, my voice steady. "Today marks the beginning of a new chapter in the history of Europe and the Christian world. A chapter that will hopefully begin the process of reconciliation between the two great churches, long divided, in the spirit of unity, peace, and shared faith. So that one day perhaps, we can achieve full union as in the days before the great schism."

I let the words sink in, the weight of the moment settling over everyone in the port. The reporters scribbled furiously, capturing every word for their readers. But I wasn't done. No, this wasn't even my final form.

"It is no secret that the history between our two faiths has been marked by centuries of division, misunderstanding, and, yes, even violence," I continued. "The Fourth Crusade, in particular, stands as a dark chapter in our shared past. It is with deep humility and sincerity that I, as the leader of the Italian state, the successor of the republic of Venice, the chief architect of that injustice, apologize to the Orthodox Church and to the Greek people for this atrocity. It is a wrong that must be acknowledged and corrected. And today marks the first step towards reconciliation between our peoples."

There was a slight murmur in the room, but the reporters were silent, hanging on to every word. I knew the gravity of the apology. It was not just a political move—it was personal, and it would reverberate through history. I paused for a moment, letting the words hang in the air before continuing. God I felt so fucking smug, I couldn't help but smile in self satisfaction for a moment before I continued.

"As a token of Italy's commitment to this process of reconciliation and our resolve to right past wrongs, I am pleased to announce a donation of 10 million lire to the Orthodox Church. Additionally, the government of Italy will be providing an annual subsidy of 1 million lire for the restoration and upkeep of Orthodox churches in Constantinople in perpetuity."

A few reporters raised their eyebrows at the sheer magnitude of the donation. The Orthodox representatives exchanged knowing glances. Patriarch Athenagoras, who had remained quiet until now, gave a small nod of approval. He wasn't one for grand gestures, but this was a step forward—a significant one."

"Today, we are not merely signing a treaty," I said, raising my voice slightly. "We are signing a new era of unity—an era where faith and politics work hand in hand to rebuild a fractured world. With the start of reconciliation between the Orthodox and Catholic Churches, we will stand as a beacon of hope and strength for all of Christendom. Today, our churches, the holy catholic and holy orthodox church shall begin the long process of becoming one again. And perhaps one day, the church shall finally be reunited as one."

I turned to the Pope and the Patriarch, who stood from their seats and made their way toward the signing table. The room fell silent, the weight of the moment undeniable. The treaty was ready, waiting to be sealed.

Pope Pius XII took the first pen, his hand steady as he signed the document of reconciliation, his signature marking the beginning of a new chapter for the Catholic Church. He handed the pen to Patriarch Athenagoras I, who signed with the same calm resolve, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.

The room erupted into applause as the treaty was officially signed, and the rescinding of the mutual excommunication was now sealed. Ciano stepped forward and announced the other terms of reconciliation, a mutual lifting of the mutual excommunication of 1054, the creation of a Commission for Theological Dialogue Between the Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church. And of course, that whole shit about Antioch and Constantinople was top secret, that would be revealed later.

The Patriarch and Pope then shook hands, a gesture that symbolized more than just a political agreement—it was a symbol of the healing of centuries-old wounds.

I watched them closely, the moment of victory hitting me. History had been made. The Catholic and Orthodox Churches were no longer at odds—they were united in a new, unprecedented alliance. Though union was a far reach, but I figured someday down the like.

"With this, I declare a new era of friendship between the two churches," I said, stepping forward once again. "We stand as equals now. No longer divided by history, but united by faith and purpose. Together, we will build a stronger, more united Europe—a Europe where faith will be the bedrock of our strength. To quote the book of Matthew, verse 16 lines 18-19: And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the powers of death shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven." I let the words hang and stood there, menacingly.

The applause began, first a few claps, then a tidal wave that was deafening, and I couldn't help but smile and shed a few tears of joy. My larp worked so well. I now had to go to Moscow, I needed to get things done.

-

British Intelligence Briefing
Subject: Growing Tensions in the Eastern Mediterranean: Potential Greek Invasion of Turkey with Italian Support

Date: December 2, 1940

Summary:
Recent developments in the Eastern Mediterranean have raised serious concerns regarding Italy's growing influence in Greece and the potential for military conflict with Turkey. Based on intelligence from multiple sources, it appears increasingly likely that Greece, with Italy's assistance, is preparing to launch an invasion of Turkey in the near future. This briefing will outline the key events leading up to this development, assess the motivations behind it, and outline possible British responses.

Key Events:

1. The Treaty of Church Reconciliation (December 1, 1940):
The signing of the treaty between the Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church in Rome, brokered by Italian leader Benito Mussolini, is a pivotal moment. The treaty announces the lifting of the mutual excommunication between both churches that led to the great schism of 1054 between the two churches and the establishment of a Commission for Theological Dialogue Between the Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox Church, which has far-reaching political implications. The event, attended by Pope Pius XII, Patriarch Athenagoras I, Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas, and Mussolini himself, has solidified the growing alliance between Italy and Greece.

2. Mussolini's Apology and Financial Commitment to Greece:
As part of the treaty agreement, Mussolini publicly apologized to Greece for the wrongs committed during the Fourth Crusade, including the looting and occupation of Constantinople by Latin Crusaders. In addition to the apology, Mussolini pledged a donation of 10 million lire to the Orthodox Church and an annual subsidy of 1 million lire for the restoration of Orthodox churches in Constantinople. This gesture is seen as a clear attempt to win over the Greek population and secure their allegiance.

3. Metaxas' Shift Toward a Stronger Alliance with Italy:
Prime Minister Metaxas of Greece, once a staunch nationalist, has increasingly aligned his policies with those of Mussolini's Italy. This shift has been marked by his acceptance of Italian influence in Greek foreign policy and his overt support for Italy's Mediterranean ambitions. It is believed that Metaxas sees a union with Italy as a means to secure Greece's territorial claims, particularly in relation to Constantinople and the surrounding regions.

4. The Greek Position on Turkey:
The Greek government has long held ambitions regarding the return of Constantinople, once the heart of the Byzantine Empire, as well as the Aegean Islands, Smyrna (modern-day Izmir), and parts of Thrace. In discussions with Mussolini, Metaxas reportedly expressed Greece's desire to reclaim these territories from Turkey. Intelligence suggests that Greece has begun to plan for a military operation to seize these regions, with Italian assistance in both strategic planning and military support.

5. Mussolini's Expansionist Strategy in the Eastern Mediterranean:
Mussolini has long sought to expand Italy's influence in the Mediterranean and has used Greece's territorial ambitions as a vehicle for extending Italy's reach. Italy has already strengthened it's position in the Balkans via their invasion of Yugoslavia earlier in the year. Italy has further strengthened his position in the Mediterranean and the middle east via it's acquisition of french colonies and the remaining french Mediterranean fleet. It's blackmail of Britain for neutrality via our cession of Socotra and Somalialand, combined with his new alliance with imam Yahya in Yemen has only added to his strategic dominance of the Mediterranean. The prospect of a Greek-Turkish conflict, with Italy supporting Greece, would further cement Italy's dominance in the region.

Analysis and Implications:

1. Military Strategy and Potential Greek Invasion of Turkey:
The most likely scenario is that Greece, emboldened by Italy's support, will attempt to invade Turkey in the coming months. The primary objective would be to reclaim Constantinople and the Aegean Islands, regions of significant historical and symbolic importance to Greece. With Italy providing military support, including air and naval power, Greece would be in a strong position to execute a successful campaign, especially in the Aegean Sea and along the Turkish coast.

Italian support could include the deployment of Italian forces to assist with the invasion, including air cover, naval assets, and potentially even ground troops. The combined Greek-Italian military might would present a serious challenge to Turkish forces, particularly given the current state of Turkish military readiness.

2. Strategic Objectives for Greece and Italy:
For Greece, the strategic objective is clear: to restore its lost territories and reclaim its historical capital, Constantinople. However, Metaxas and Mussolini also seem to be focused on securing the broader Mediterranean region as part of a new "Roman Empire." Italy, under Mussolini, seeks to consolidate its influence over Greece and the Aegean, securing its status as the dominant power in the Eastern Mediterranean.

For Mussolini, the involvement in this conflict is not only about territorial expansion but also about solidifying his leadership in the Mediterranean and positioning Italy as the protector of Christianity, particularly with the Catholic-Orthodox union now formalized. This union creates a new ideological front that could rally both Greek and Italian support for military action.

3. Impact on British Interests in the Mediterranean:
An invasion of Turkey by Greece, with Italian assistance, would have serious consequences for British strategic interests in the region. The British navy has long relied on control of the Eastern Mediterranean as a vital route for communication, trade, and military operations. A conflict between Greece and Turkey, with Italy's involvement, would destabilize the region and potentially threaten British naval supremacy in the Mediterranean.

Additionally, Turkey has been an important buffer against Soviet influence in the region, and the loss of Turkish territory to Greece could open the door for further Italian expansion into the Balkans, threatening British influence in Eastern Europe.

Conclusion and Recommendations:

The situation in the Eastern Mediterranean is rapidly evolving, and Britain must be prepared to respond to the potential Greek invasion of Turkey. Diplomatic efforts should focus on strengthening ties with Turkey and seeking to prevent Greek aggression. At the same time, military preparations should be made to counter any Italian expansion in the region, particularly through the reinforcement of British naval and air assets in the Mediterranean.

Additionally, British intelligence must monitor Italian troop movements in Greece and the Balkans closely. Any indication of preparations for a Greek invasion of Turkey must be acted upon swiftly to prevent further destabilization of the region.

It is imperative that Britain acts decisively to counter the growing influence of Italy and to protect its strategic interests in the Mediterranean, particularly in relation to Turkey and the balance of power in Europe.

-
British war cabinet meeting: Date of declassification: December 4, 1990
TRANSCRIPT OF WAR CABINET MEETING
Date: December 3, 1940
Location: War Rooms, London
Subject: Italian-Greek Ecclesiastical Union and Imminent Threat of Hostilities in the Eastern Mediterranean

Attendees:
– Prime Minister Winston Churchill
– Foreign Secretary Anthony Eden
– Minister of War Sir Edward Grigg
– First Sea Lord Sir Dudley Pound
– Chief of the Imperial General Staff General Sir John Dill
– Minister of Information Brendan Bracken
– Lord Halifax (by telephonic communication from Washington)

---

[Transcript Begins]

CHURCHILL:
Gentlemen, we are gathered at a most delicate hour. The Italians are not merely playing the clown with jackboots and parades anymore—they're writing bloody theology now. Mussolini has begun to reconcile the Pope and Constantinople. I dare say he imagines himself the heir to Constantine, when in truth he's a greasy Caesar of mediocrity.

The Pope and the Patriarch have shaken hands—God help us all—and now the Hellenes are sharpening their swords for the Turks. And our Mediterranean flank is trembling beneath us. I want facts. Eden—what's the devil going on in Athens?

EDEN:
Sir, the press says it all. A few days ago, Mussolini made a grand display in Athens—apologized for the Fourth Crusade, pledged millions of lire to rebuild Orthodox churches, and walked out hand-in-hand with both the Pope and the Patriarch. Metaxas has since aligned his government more closely with the Italians. The Orthodox-Catholic reconciliation is no mere religious gesture. It's a political maneuver—designed to give moral cover to an invasion of Turkish territory. The King is helpless, he says he'd face a coup if he even dared to voice opposition to it.

CHURCHILL:
So the Vatican has become a Roman catapult again. God preserve us. And what does Turkey say of all this? Have they blinked yet?

GRIGG:
The Turks are wary, sir. We've received word that Ankara has begun limited mobilization along the Aegean and Thrace. They suspect Greece may act in spring—when the snows melt.

DILL:
If I may, Prime Minister—we have reports of Italian naval vessels docking in Piraeus, with supplies and advisers in tow. They're preparing logistics quietly, but the signs are unmistakable. If this escalates, we could see a Greco-Italian force attempting to seize the Bosporus. That would be disastrous for our naval interests.

POUND:
I must concur. If the Dardanelles fall under hostile control—especially with Rome at the helm—we lose a vital maritime passage. Our Eastern Fleet would be strangled. Supply lines to the Suez and beyond would be at risk.

CHURCHILL:
Then the stakes are clear. We cannot permit the Turks to be bullied into the sea by a pack of Vatican and patriarch-blessed crusaders. If Mussolini wishes to revive the Roman Empire, we must remind him that Britannia still rules the waves.

Eden—prepare a message to Ankara. Offer military assistance in case of aggression. Naval aid, advisors, whatever they need to stiffen their spine. We must keep Turkey standing.

EDEN:
Understood, Prime Minister.

BRACKEN:
Should we respond publicly to Mussolini's posturing? His apology to Greece over the Fourth Crusade is making waves. The Daily Mail called it "the Resurrection of Rome."

CHURCHILL:
Let them rhapsodize. Theatrics are the only thing Italians do with competence. But we shan't stoop to play priestly politics. No, our rebuttal will be in steel, not scripture. Let them pray—Britain will prepare.

HALIFAX (crackling through telephone):
If I may interject, Winston, the Americans are observing this development with some alarm. Roosevelt inquires whether this could affect Allied unity or the broader war effort.

CHURCHILL:
Tell Roosevelt that we shall not let the Mediterranean be carved into a papal charcuterie board. Britain shall not lose the Levant to incense and fascism. And if the Italians do invade Turkey, they may find that the lion's teeth are longer than his sermons.

Gentlemen, begin quiet preparations for reinforcement of the Eastern Mediterranean. I want contingency plans drawn up for Cyprus, for Alexandria, and for a rapid deployment to Turkey should it come to blows. Let the Turks know we are not idle. The shadow of Rome grows long—but the sun has not yet set on the British Empire.

[Transcript Ends]

---

Classification: TOP SECRET
Distribution: PM, Foreign Office, Admiralty, War Office, MI6

-

Excerpt from Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce by Christopher Hibbert (2008)

In the fall of 1940, Benito Mussolini's ambitions in the Mediterranean reached a new and perilous height. The Italian leader, ever the opportunist, brokered a groundbreaking treaty that began the process of reconciliation between Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church, symbolizing not just religious but political alignment with Greece. The Vatican and the Patriarchate of Constantinople, found themselves bound by a shared ideological front—a treaty crafted by Mussolini's deft diplomatic hand. The agreement, signed in Rome on December 1, 1940, saw the Pope and the Greek Patriarch standing side by side with Mussolini and Greek Prime Minister Ioannis Metaxas, the latter now irrevocably tethered to Italy's expanding vision of the Mediterranean.

The treaty was more than a mere theological alliance—it was a calculated move designed to secure Greece's support for Italy's ambitions in the region. Mussolini, ever the strategic mastermind, promised to right the historical wrongs of the Fourth Crusade, a pledge that included a financial commitment to rebuild Orthodox churches in Greece and Constantinople. In return, Metaxas, once a staunch nationalist, moved ever closer to Mussolini's orbit, openly embracing the Italian regime's expansionist goals. For Greece, the treaty secretly promised the return of Constantinople, the jewel of its ancient empire, and the reclamation of the Aegean Islands and Smyrna—territories lost to the Ottoman Empire centuries earlier to Greece.

Behind the scenes, however, the treaty's true purpose was clear: Italy intended to use Greece's territorial ambitions to further its own Mediterranean dominance. As Mussolini's influence grew, so too did his plans for an alliance with Greece that would see the Greeks—backed by Italian military power—launch an invasion of Turkey. The prospect of a Greek-Turkish conflict, bolstered by Italy's logistical and military support, loomed ominously on the horizon. The attack, should it come, would target not just strategic lands but the very heart of the former Ottoman Empire—Constantinople itself.

Britain, ever vigilant in its defense of the Mediterranean, found itself caught in a new and alarming geopolitical struggle. Mussolini's machinations threatened to upend the balance of power, not only in Europe but across the broader Eastern Mediterranean. With Turkish sovereignty in peril and the control of vital sea routes at risk, Winston Churchill's government quickly recognized the need to act. Quiet preparations began to reinforce British naval assets and offer military support to Turkey, which, despite its own internal challenges, remained a key bulwark against Italian expansion.

Mussolini's vision of a revived Roman Empire, aided by his strategic alliance with Greece, set the stage for an explosive confrontation that would reshape the power dynamics of the Mediterranean for years to come. As 1940 drew to a close, the world watched, uncertain of what the new year would bring—a conflict that could turn the Mediterranean into a battleground for dominance, with Italy's rising power at its epicenter.

But the next two years and Mussolini's subsequent machinations threw everyone's expectations off. And the British empire edged closer to its end

 

[Alenco98]

December 5, 1940
The Kremlin
Moscow, USSR

Though technically it was fall, Russian winter hit me like a Mexican stripper in Tijuana. I shivered as I stepped into the Grand Kremlin Palace. On paper, I was here to negotiate a trade agreement, but not even Stalin knew what I was about to offer. I couldn't wait to see the look on that cocksucker's face.

I was escorted by what I assumed were NKVD agents or bodyguards. Fortunately, I had a translator with me, though he seemed intent on making small talk as uncomfortable as possible. The man barely responded, great way to make a guest feel unwelcome.

A few minutes later, I found myself in Stalin's personal chambers. We sat by a roaring fireplace and drank tea for an hour, the silence stretching out, until, finally, the talking began.

"I've heard interesting things coming out of Greece," Stalin said, his thick accent rough through the translator. "Reconciliation between the churches? Never took you for a religious man. What's your true aim? All those troops and advisors in Thrace, the Greek navy in the Aegean—your actions speak louder than your words."

The translator caught that, relayed it to me, and I nodded before answering.

"Very observant. You're right; I'm after Constantinople, Smyrna, and the Turkish Aegean islands. Hatay, Adana, Tarsus too. Greece will get Constantinople, Smyrna, and the islands, and my new colonies in Syria will get their little southern Turkish slices."

The translator did his job, and I saw Stalin's face tighten, his eyes flashing with irritation. He said something under his breath to the translator, clearly pissed off.

"Comrade Stalin is incredulous," the translator stammered. "He asks if you really think you can threaten our interests in the Black Sea so blatantly?"

"If I could, I wouldn't have bothered coming here," I replied with a grin. "I came to make you an offer. And a warning."

The translator was clearly taken aback by my tone, his eyes wide as he repeated my words to Stalin. The Soviet leader was fuming, doing his best to keep his temper in check. When he spoke again, it was a strained, measured growl.

"Comrade Stalin says he does not take threats lightly," the translator began, clearly nervous. "He says this behavior is not fitting for talks between world leaders."

"Just translate him literally no need to be politically correct," I said, flicking my hand dismissively. "I'm not insecure enough to shoot someone just because they slightly irritate me, unlike your dear leader. You don't need to tell him I said that." I leaned forward, dropping a stack of documents on the table between us. "Now, let me get to the real point. I'm here to warn you about Germany."

I opened my coat and pulled out reports from my attaches in the German army. "As you know, I've got attaches inside the German military, and they're reporting heavy movements towards Eastern Europe, into Romania. They're massing over two million men across your frontier for an invasion—sometime in the spring or summer. We don't have an exact date yet. It's all in Russian, with a summary included."

The translator relayed this, and Stalin just nodded before snatching the papers and skimming through them. A minute passed before he stopped, his eyes narrowing as he said something to the translator. The translator then spoke.

"Comrade Stalin says his agents have also reported similar things. He says a few warnings from you—of all people—won't make us simply sit back while you threaten our southern flank."

"I know," I replied, unphased. "You can consider that my initial 'fee.' And I've got more to offer, though you might find my reasons a bit ridiculous. But I'll need a map of Europe. Think of what I'm proposing as our own little post-war order in Europe."

Stalin barked orders to one of his guards, who quickly left the room. A few moments later, the man returned, carrying a large map of Europe and unfurled it on the table before us. The sight of it struck me with an odd, dark humor: two men, sitting in a palace, about to decide the fate of a continent over tea by the fire. Fucked up, but undeniably funny.

I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath. "Alright, let's carve up some spheres of influence. Premier Stalin, while I take the pieces of Turkey I want for my allies and subjects, you can have the rest. Do whatever you want with it—turn it into a People's Republic like Mongolia, or an SSR like Ukraine, or divide it up between the Turks and Kurds. Hell, annex it into the Russian SSR, I don't care. Turkey's yours once I've got my piece."

Stalin didn't react immediately, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was a patient man. But I was ready to play my cards.

Stalin eyed me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I sat back, letting him digest the scene, and quietly enjoyed my tea then put my cup down, watching his every move. There was a tense silence before I finally broke it, speaking with the cold confidence of a man who knew exactly how much power he was throwing around.

"Alright, let's make it simple. Here's what I'm proposing," I said, pointing at the map with a smirk. "Iraq, it goes to Italy. Iran, you can have that one, Comrade. Romania? It's mine. Slovakia—Hungary's a good ally of mine, so I'll let them absorb that one. Poland, though, that's all yours. You've been dying for that, haven't you?"

The translator worked quickly, and Stalin nodded, eyes glinting. I could see him trying to hold his thoughts back. But I wasn't done.

"Germany's a fun one. I propose splitting it right down the middle, Saxony and everything north of it, you get that. The south, below Saxony, goes to Italy. We'll merge it with Austria, you know, make things tidy. A little 'Greater Austria,' if you will."

The translator relayed the details, and I could see Stalin's brow furrow slightly. But that was the thing with Stalin—he didn't show too much emotion, which made him all the more dangerous.

"Belgium? France? All mine, if I can get to it before the British and the Americans once they enter the war," I continued, tapping the map. "You get the Netherlands, Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Norway—I'll even throw in Iceland and Denmark for you, if you can get there before the Americans or the Brits. I have a feeling you'll want to take your chances before the west wakes up from their little nap."

The translator was working overtime now. Stalin was silent for a moment. The coldness in his eyes was like staring at a glacier, but I was playing a dangerous game, and I knew he was sizing me up, thinking through his options.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he said something under his breath. The translator turned to me with wide eyes, clearly trying to mask the tension.

"Comrade Stalin says... he is intrigued. This is a very bold proposal, Signore Mussolini. But tell me, what do you gain from all of this? What do you expect from the USSR after this little trade?"

I leaned in, keeping my grin tight. "Well, Comrade Stalin, I've got one more piece of the puzzle. Once I finish taking what I need from Turkey, and once Hitler's boys start marching on Moscow—then I'll declare war on Germany. I'll join in, but only after I've settled my interests in the east. It'll be a fine little double-cross, don't you think?"

Stalin's eyes flashed again, and I knew he was chewing on that. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head.

He said something sharp to his translator, who looked at me with wide, uncomfortable eyes.

"Comrade Stalin says he will not simply allow your forces to—how do I say this... 'move into Turkey' without consequences. You must understand, Italy is not the only player in this game. Smyrna will be in our sphere as well."

I stopped and sighed. Of course that cocksucker wanted more. I pondered about it for a minute. I guess I could just fund an insurgency in Cyprus and give Metaxas that as a consolation prize. I couldn't back down easily though, had to play hardball.

"And why is that?" I said, waving my hand dismissively. "Let's not kid ourselves. You've got most of the Black Sea and a warm water port in the Mediterranean, and I've got most of the Mediterranean."

The translator relayed it to Stalin and he grunted something. Seemed he was annoyed, good, I couldn't look like a bitch.

"Comrade Stalin says your demands for Turkey are excessive enough, but tolerable, should you give us Smyrna."

I stopped and pondered, I already knew that. Time for a Greek Gambit. "Then you will not intervene when I fund an insurgency and civil war in Cyprus like I'm doing in Israel. Cyprus goes to Greece."

The translator relayed it to Stalin. His eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of something else behind that steely gaze—a calculation, a plan forming. He spoke again.

"Comrade Stalin says he will consider this." The translator relayed back.

"He won't consider it, he'll agree to it now. Let me throw you a treat shall I? I'll also lobby the Pope and the Patriarch to stay out of Soviet politics—keep their noses clean—if you ease up on the persecution a little and allow me to take Cyprus for my prospective vassal, Deal?"

The translator relayed my words, and Stalin stared at me for what felt like an eternity. Then, finally, he nodded and said something, the smallest flicker of approval in his eyes.

"Comrade Stalin says... you have a deal. But remember, Mussolini, I am not in the habit of making deals that cost me too much."

I sat up straight, grinning now. "Perfect. I think I'll enjoy watching the world fall onto our laps."

Stalin didn't smile. He didn't even blink. Instead, he grabbed a pen, a blank piece of paper, then spent a few minutes writing on it, then signed it, and finally he pushed it toward the translator while saying something. The translator grabbed the document and went over it, translating the Russian as he went.

"It is a trade agreement," the translator said. "On the surface, of course. A... secret understanding, Comrade Stalin says." The translator gave the document to me.

I grabbed the pen, set the document down on the table, signed my name, and leaned back, savoring the moment.

"To the future," I said, raising my cup of tea, knowing full well what was about to come.

Stalin didn't raise his cup. Instead, he just nodded, the weight of our agreement sinking in.

"The future," he said quietly to his translator who relayed it to me.

And with that, the world took another step toward chaos.

-

British MI6 Report – December 15, 1940
Subject: Mussolini's Recent Visit to the Soviet Union – Speculations and Analysis

From: MI6 Analyst, Eastern Europe and Mediterranean Desk
To: Sir Stewart M. Ainsley, Head of MI6 Operations
Date: December 15, 1940

Summary: Recent reports confirm that Mussolini traveled to Moscow earlier this month for a high-level meeting with Comrade Stalin. The official narrative presented to the public indicates that the Italian Fascist leader and the Soviet Premier signed a trade agreement. However, based on the intelligence gathered from our operatives within the Soviet Union and other sources, it is apparent that there is more to this deal than meets the eye.

We have not been able to obtain full details of the agreement, but the general consensus from those in the Kremlin and from our sources in Italy suggests that Mussolini's visit was not merely about trade, but rather a strategic maneuver to reshape Europe's balance of power.

Key Observations and Speculations:

1. Mussolini's Role as a Middleman
Mussolini is positioning himself as a pivotal figure between the Soviet Union and the Western powers. The timing of this visit, right as the war is escalating with Germany and Britain, suggests he is preparing to leverage his relationship with Stalin to further his own ambitions. Mussolini, ever the opportunist, may be attempting to balance the powers in Europe and the Middle East in such a way that Italy emerges as the decisive power broker in the region.

2. The Nature of the Agreement
On the surface, it appears that Mussolini and Stalin signed a standard trade agreement, likely involving raw materials, industrial goods, and military cooperation. However, the terms of this agreement remain vague. Given Mussolini's track record of exploiting diplomatic situations, we suspect that this agreement is a mere façade for a larger, more clandestine pact regarding territorial influence and strategic interests in Europe.

3. Possible Spheres of Influence Agreement
While we cannot confirm specifics, the whispers within the Kremlin suggest that Mussolini may have proposed a division of Europe and the Middle East between himself and Stalin. Over the last year and a half, Mussolini has expanded Italy's influence significantly, particularly in the Balkans, the Mediterranean, and parts of North Africa. There are rumors that Mussolini has promised Stalin control over Denmark and Poland, with further territorial divisions likely in the near future.

Additionally, Mussolini has strong interests in the Middle East, especially in Lebanon and Syria. Rumors suggest he may have offered Iran in exchange for Soviet cooperation in other areas. It is unclear how far this territorial realignment would go, but early speculation points to a dramatic shift in the region's power structures.

4. Italy's Growing Influence in the Balkans
In particular, there has been an uptick in Italian military and political influence in Greece, Bulgaria and the now partitioned Yugoslavia. Mussolini's promises to support Greece in exchange for a foothold in the region have raised alarms among the British and their allies in the Mediterranean. The recently-formed Rome Pact between Italy, Hungary, Bulgaria, and Greece further complicates the picture, creating a bloc that could potentially challenge British control in the Mediterranean. The presence of Italian military advisors and naval forces in these areas only reinforces the possibility of Mussolini building a coalition of fascist states in southern Europe and the Middle East.

5. Mussolini's Shift Toward Collaboration with the USSR

What is most puzzling, however, is Mussolini's apparent willingness to cooperate closely with Stalin, a leader whom he previously regarded as an ideological enemy. While it is clear that Mussolini is still primarily focused on expanding Italy's imperial reach, he may also be attempting to create a buffer zone between his empire and the German threat. By cozying up to Stalin, Mussolini could be hedging his bets against any potential aggression from the Third Reich, especially given that the Germans have been massing troops along the eastern front.

6. Mussolini's Long-Term Goals
While our immediate concern is the trade agreement itself, we suspect Mussolini is playing a much longer game. His growing alliances with Bulgaria, Hungary, and Greece may be setting the stage for a future reordering of Europe. By aligning with Stalin on certain issues, Mussolini could be laying the groundwork for his imperial ambitions in the Mediterranean and the Middle East.

Conclusion:
While the full details of Mussolini's recent visit to Moscow remain shrouded in secrecy, it is evident that this was not simply a diplomatic exchange over trade. Mussolini appears to be positioning himself as a key player in the future of Europe, using his relationship with Stalin to secure territorial gains for Italy while simultaneously keeping the USSR's ambitions in check. The possibility of a three-way deadlock between Italy, the Soviet Union, and the United Kingdom in Europe and the middle east could have far-reaching consequences for global politics in the coming years.

MI6 should continue monitoring developments in both Moscow and Rome, with particular attention paid to any shifts in Italian foreign policy and the movements of Italian forces in the Mediterranean and the Balkans.

Recommendations for Action:

1. Increase surveillance on Italian military movements in the Balkans and North Africa.

2. Keep close tabs on Italian diplomatic communications with the Soviet Union and potential follow-up agreements.

3. Prepare contingency plans for British intervention should Mussolini take more aggressive action in the Mediterranean or the Middle East.

4. Continue to monitor Soviet moves in Eastern Europe and any response to Mussolini's territorial proposals.

-

Hitler and the German Cabinet – December 19, 1940
Location: The Reich Chancellery, Berlin

Attendees: Adolf Hitler (Führer)
Joseph Goebbels (Minister of Propaganda)
Hermann Göring (Reichsmarschall)
Heinrich Himmler (SS Chief)
Ribbentrop (Foreign Minister)
Albert Speer (Minister of Armaments)

---

Hitler: (Staring intensely at a map of Europe on the wall) "So, Mussolini and Stalin, eh? The Italian jackal and the Bolshevik bear. Can you imagine such a sight, gentlemen? It's a mockery."

Goebbels: (Sitting forward, his voice full of disgust) "The mere idea that Mussolini would cozy up to Stalin… it's an affront to everything we stand for, Führer. The Fascists joining forces with the communists? The betrayal is almost poetic."

Hitler: (Leaning forward, fists clenched) "Yes, poetic, but not surprising. Mussolini is a coward, a man who will do anything to keep his empire intact, even if it means sharing Europe with the Bolsheviks. His actions in Greece, the Balkans—now this. What's next? Will he hand the Mediterranean to Stalin while calling it 'peaceful coexistence'?" (He spits out the last words with contempt.)

Ribbentrop: (Holding a report) "I've been in contact with our attachés. The Italian-Soviet trade deal is just a formality on the surface. But the deeper implications... It's clear Mussolini is positioning himself for something bigger. He sees an opportunity to play both sides. We cannot let this happen. A third party in Europe, playing both the Soviets and us, will weaken our position."

Göring: (Smirking, with a deep, unsettling laugh) "Mussolini, the great statesman. Let him think he can play the middle man. He's a clown. But I suspect he's learned something from us. The question is, what does he want in return from Stalin?"

Hitler: (Coldly, eyeing Göring) "It's not the question of what Mussolini wants, Göring. It's about what we want. The Italian strategy is to ensure that we bleed ourselves dry fighting on multiple fronts, while they get to expand without firing a shot. He's a snake, but a useful one should keep in its place."

Himmler: (Looking grim) "Let's not forget Italy's increasing involvement with the Jews. If Mussolini's promises are taken seriously, we might see a new power structure growing in the middle east, one that we can't control. The more Jews we send him the more powerful he grows in there."

Ribbentrop: (Coldly) "I would be more concerned about Mussolini's pact with Stalin. We already see the shift in power in southern Europe. And let's not kid ourselves, Mussolini has no intention of standing with us when the moment comes. He sees the Axis as a stepping stone, not a brotherhood. He'll play both sides and extract concessions from both like he has been doing since the war started."

Goebbels: (Furiously) "He's playing us like fools! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's the image of an Italian Fascist turning his back on us to crawl into bed with the Bolsheviks. We must stop propping him up immediately. We can start by cutting off the jew supply. I believe we can find more, permanent solutions to that problem."

Hitler: (Raising his hand sharply to silence Goebbels) "A valid proposal, Goebbels, one we shall carry out immediately. Let's focus on the main subject. Mussolini's deal with Stalin is highly suspicious. We must prepare for the worst."

Himmler: (Smiling slightly) "We must prepare for the possibility that he may turn on us completely. We can begin by moving divisions to the Italian frontier, and should the worst case scenario come true we shall be able to retaliate immediately."

Göring: (With a twisted grin) "I agree, we have let him take advantage of us for too long. And now this, unforgivable."

Goebbels: (Eyes gleaming with malice) "Then it is settled, we'll cut off his little supply of pet jews immediately. And should he turn his blades on us we will crush him as we've crushed all of Europe."

Hitler: (Nods slowly, a glint in his eyes) "Exactly. We will not let him walk all over us. Mussolini may think he's playing the clever game, but he's overstepping. If the time comes, he will pay the price, we deal with him the way we deal with all traitors."

Goebbels: (With a twisted smile) "The world will see Mussolini for what he truly is—the paper tiger mauled by the Aryan Race."

Hitler: (Nods, turning back to the map) "Now, prepare for what comes next. The campaign in the East will begin soon. As for Mussolini... we will wait. And if he dares to defy us, we'll be ready."

 

[Alenco98]

December 10, 1940
Saavedra Neighborhood
Buenos Aires, Argentina

A gentle spring breeze brushed against Antoun Saadeh's face as he stepped out of the Lebanese-Syrian Club in Buenos Aires. The meetings, which usually took place every two weeks, had become more frequent since the events of September.

France, their former colonial master—having replaced Ottoman rule—seemed to have been overthrown. While Antoun didn't support Nazism or Germany's expansion, he couldn't help but feel a certain twisted satisfaction watching France humiliated and defeated by the Germans.

Now, the Italians—the Italians of all people—had occupied Syria and Lebanon. He'd heard a few radio reports about the French garrisons trying to resist, not only in Tyre and Beirut but also in Latakia and Tartous. Yet, the Italians had overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, and Il Duce supposedly promised to rule the Syrians with the dignity due to such a proud and ancient civilization.

Still, Antoun was skeptical. Those were likely just empty words, drifting in the wind.

He walked past Parque Sarmiento, finding an inviting bench beneath the shade. He sat down, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, letting the cool breeze wash over him.

As he smoked, he noticed a man walking toward him. The man had European features: pale skin, brown hair, and green eyes. When he drew closer, he spoke. "Is this seat taken?" His voice carried a heavy Italian accent, and Antoun surmised he was probably fresh off the boat.

"By all means," Antoun replied.

The man sat down, pulled out his own cigarette, and asked, "Do you have a lighter?"

Antoun retrieved his own and handed it over. "Grazie," the man muttered, lighting his cigarette. He exhaled a long plume of smoke. "Giuseppe. Giuseppe Manzini. And you are?"

"Antoun. Antoun Saadeh."

"A pleasure."

They sat in silence, sharing the tranquility of the cool Buenos Aires spring as they smoked. Minutes passed before Giuseppe's cigarette burned down to a stub. He tapped the remnants against the bench and turned to Antoun.

"I work for the OVRA. I trust you've heard of us?"

Antoun raised an eyebrow. "What's that? Some sort of company?"

Giuseppe laughed, shaking his head. "No. We're an organization affiliated to the Italian Government. Il Duce is looking for someone to oversee the Middle East. He's reviewed your work, Nushu' al-Umam, The Rise of Nations. He sees your political party as quite compatible with Fascism. He believes you'd be an excellent partner in the region."

"A puppet, you mean?" Antoun scoffed. "Does he expect me to become one of his marionettes, like Albania, like Croatia? Does he think a few flattering words and promises will convince me to betray the people of Syria to a foreign power?"

Giuseppe's smile faded, and he leaned in slightly. "You haven't heard his offer. There's a ship leaving Buenos Aires tonight, bound for Ostia. From there, it's a short drive to Rome. The Italian government will cover all expenses. You'll meet Mussolini himself and hear what he has to say. If you refuse, you'll simply be sent back to Buenos Aires—no harm done."

Antoun studied the man for a long moment, feeling the weight of the offer settle in.

He soon realized his cigarette was now reduced to a smoldering stub in his fingers as well. The cool breeze of Buenos Aires seemed to carry with it the weight of his decision, and he found himself lost in thought. Giuseppe's offer lingered in his mind like a shadow, the words echoing in his ears.

Il Duce wants a partner in the Middle East...
All expenses paid...
No harm done if I refuse...

He could feel his pulse quicken as his mind spun. On one hand, he despised the very idea of working with any foreign power—especially one that had sided with the Zionist cause. His convictions ran deep. He had dedicated his life to Syria, the vision of an independent Syria free from the chains of any empire, whether Ottoman or European.

Yet, this opportunity to meet Mussolini in person was not something he could easily dismiss. If nothing else, it would provide him with insight into the Italian leader's true intentions. Would Mussolini offer genuine support for Syria, or was this simply another attempt at manipulating the region for Italy's own interests? Saadeh had to know. If he could play this to his advantage, perhaps he could turn the tables.

He leaned back on the bench, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the park. His mind wrestled with the path forward. For all the principles that guided him, he knew he could not afford to be rigid in a time like this.

"I have to see this for myself," he muttered under his breath.

Giuseppe's words, spoken so confidently, made it clear this was not a chance he could ignore. If he refuses, he will simply be sent back to Buenos Aires… no harm done. But what if refusing meant surrendering his chance to influence what happened next in the Middle East? He could return to Argentina, but what would he have gained? Nothing. The Middle East was at a crossroads, and Saadeh knew it. The stakes were too high for blind idealism.

He stood up, brushing the remnants of his cigarette into the ashtray of the bench, his decision crystallizing in that moment.

"I'll go," he said to Giuseppe, the words tasting heavier than he had expected. "I'll meet Mussolini. Let me make some arrangements."

A glint of satisfaction flickered across Giuseppe's face, though he quickly masked it with a smile. "Excellent. You won't regret it."

Without another word, they walked toward a phone booth where he made some calls explaining he'd be away due to an emergency. From there they walked to the docks, where the ship awaited. The evening was cool, and the soft murmur of the water lapping at the quay filled the air. Saadeh's mind raced as he passed the bustling port workers, their daily routines unaware of the political currents shaping the world around them. He was about to board a ship bound for Italy, a country whose politics were a far cry from everything he stood for—but there was something dangerous and irresistible about this gamble.

As he climbed the gangplank, the salt air stinging his skin, Antoun Saadeh could not shake the nagging thought that he was stepping into the unknown. His entire life had been about defying foreign domination, yet here he was, accepting an invitation from one of the most dangerous regimes in Europe. Would this be his ruin, or would it be his to reshape the future of Syria?

The ship's horn sounded, and Saadeh turned to face the vast ocean ahead of him. He took a deep breath, looking back at the dimly lit shores of Buenos Aires, his heart heavy with the uncertainty of the journey ahead.

As the vessel slowly pulled away from the dock, he felt the pull of history tugging at him, an invisible force propelling him toward a new chapter—one that could change the course of the Middle East forever.

The ship sailed into the night, carrying Antoun Saadeh towards the heart of Mussolini's Italy.

December 25, 1940
Italy

The ship had traversed the Atlantic with a somber rhythm, the vast ocean stretching endlessly beneath Saadeh's feet. For days, he had been lost in thought, the weight of his decision pressing down on him, the salt air failing to clear the fog in his mind. His cabin had been small and cramped, and the steady hum of the ship's engines had become a constant companion as the distant shores of Europe drew closer. Saadeh had spent much of the journey alone, contemplating the offer from Mussolini and its potential consequences. His resolve had hardened with each passing day, but doubt still lingered.

Finally, on Christmas morning, the ship neared the Italian coast, the pale light of dawn cutting through the clouds. The port of Ostia came into view, the once distant shores of Italy now a reality. Saadeh stood at the deck, watching as the ship pulled into harbor. His heart raced as the gangplank was lowered, and he stepped onto European soil for the first time in years. His future, uncertain and fraught with danger, lay ahead.

A car was waiting for him, as Giuseppe had promised. The streets of Ostia and Rome were quiet that morning, the holiday giving them a strangely serene quality, though Saadeh could sense the tension beneath the surface. Rome was a city of power and intrigue, and today he would meet its master, the man who had summoned him here.

He was led into a grand building, then into Mussolini's office, where the air was thick with authority. There, standing by a large desk, was the man himself, Benito Mussolini. His piercing eyes fixed on Saadeh, sizing him up as they exchanged pleasantries. Mussolini's reputation had preceded him, and Saadeh knew that this meeting could determine the fate of an entire region.

"Antoun Saadeh," Mussolini said, his voice smooth but commanding. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I trust your journey was pleasant enough?"

"It was long, but I have arrived," Saadeh replied, his tone calm but wary.

Mussolini nodded, motioning for Saadeh to sit. "Let me get to the point. I've called you here to offer a partnership, one that I believe will benefit both of us—and the future of the Middle East." He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air before continuing.

"First, I offer you an independent kingdom of Greater Syria, one that will be under union with Italy, much like Croatia and Albania. France's hold on Lebanon and Syria is finished, and I will support your rule over these territories. In return, you will align with Italy's ambitions in the Mediterranean and beyond." Mussolini leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "I also have plans for Turkey. Once we've secured Syria and Lebanon, we will invade Turkey. In exchange for your loyalty, I offer you the provinces of Adana, Tarsus, and Hatay."

Saadeh sat still, processing Mussolini's words. His mind raced—an independent Greater Syria, French Lebanon under his rule, the provinces of Turkey in his hands. It was tempting, a powerful position, one that could make him the foremost leader of the middle east. But there was more.

"Antioch," Mussolini continued, "will be split between the Vatican and the Orthodox Church. It's a necessary concession. And as for British Palestine," he paused dramatically, "it will be under Israel's rule, an Italian satellite state, under union with Italy like Greater Syria. You see, we must balance the interests of all powers in the region. And the Jews... they have their place in the world now."

Saadeh's heart clenched. The mention of Palestine, a part of greater Syria , now under the control of the Zionists, a puppet of Italy, was a bitter pill to swallow. Saadeh had fought his entire life for a united greater Syria, and this was a direct betrayal of everything he stood for. How could he align himself with such a plan?

He sat silently for a long moment, the weight of Mussolini's offer pressing heavily upon him. An independent Greater Syria, Lebanon and Syria under his rule, land in Turkey, but Palestine under Israel. These terms were not without their allure—power, territory, recognition. But at what cost?

Finally, Saadeh spoke, his voice steady but filled with the internal struggle. "You offer me much, Benito Mussolini. Power, territory, and influence. But you ask me to sell a part of the soul of Syria —to abandon the struggle for a united Greater Syria, free from foreign control, and instead submit to an empire that seeks only to dominate."

Mussolini's expression hardened, but he remained calm. "You misunderstand me, Saadeh. This is not domination; it is partnership. You will have control over your people, your lands. All I ask is loyalty, a shared vision for the future. Together, we will reshape the Middle East. And the world."

Saadeh stood up, his decision hanging on the precipice. He knew that his choices would shape the fate of millions. His heart told him to reject Mussolini's offer, to continue fighting for a Greater Syria free from foreign interference. But his mind, ever the strategist, recognized the opportunity before him. If he refused, what would he gain? Would Syria simply descend into further chaos, another pawn in the larger global game?

His gaze met Mussolini's. "I will accept your offer," he said, his voice firm, though his heart was conflicted. He felt as if he'd sold his soul to the devil. "But know this: My loyalty is to Syria, to the Arab world. If I am to work with Italy, it will be on my terms. I will not betray my people for a promise of power."

Mussolini's lips curled into a smile. "Wise. Very wise, Saadeh. Together, we shall make history."

As Saadeh turned to leave, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made a dangerous pact. His path now lay with Italy, but at what cost? The future of Syria, his people's future, was hanging in the balance. And deep down, he knew that this decision, whatever its immediate benefits, could haunt him for the rest of his life.

-

The New York Times
January 10, 1941

Italy Announces the Independence of the Kingdom of Greater Syria

Rome, Italy – January 10, 1941

In a historic move today, the Italian government officially declared the establishment of the Kingdom of Greater Syria, a newly independent state under the leadership of Prime Minister Antoun Saadeh. The announcement marks a significant shift in the geopolitical landscape of the Middle East, with Italy playing a central role in the creation of this new political entity.

The Kingdom of Greater Syria is described as a constitutional monarchy, with the King of Italy, Victor Emmanuel III, assuming the symbolic role of King of Greater Syria. This unprecedented arrangement is seen as a demonstration of the strengthening ties between Italy and its newly formed Middle Eastern ally. Prime Minister Saadeh, a prominent leader in the Syrian nationalist movement, will serve as the head of government, overseeing the administration of the kingdom while maintaining close cooperation with Italy.

The establishment of Greater Syria comes as a direct result of Italy's continued expansionist ambitions, as well as its desire to assert influence in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Italian troops, initially 70 thousand, are expected to leave Syria, with a few thousand advisors remaining in Syria, primarily to train the new Syrian army, which is being built with Italian assistance. These advisors will be stationed in various parts of the kingdom to ensure the readiness of the new Syrian forces.

In a move designed to further cement Italy's strategic interests, a number of Italian military bases will be established throughout Syria. A base will be set up in Damascus, the political capital of the new kingdom, while naval bases will be constructed in Beirut and Tartous. These bases are expected to serve as critical points of Italian military presence in the region, securing vital Mediterranean routes and enhancing Italy's influence in the Middle East.

Despite this new alliance, Mussolini, who has remained neutral throughout the ongoing global conflict, has assured the international community that Italy's involvement in the Middle East is strictly political and defensive in nature. "Our commitment to Greater Syria is one of partnership, not occupation," Mussolini declared in a statement. "We are providing support to an independent nation, one that shares in our values and vision for the future of the Mediterranean."

The announcement has drawn mixed reactions from across the globe. While some in the Arab world view the establishment of Greater Syria as a necessary step toward independence from French and British colonial powers, others are deeply skeptical of Italy's true intentions. Critics fear that the new monarchy will serve as little more than a puppet regime under the control of Fascist Italy.

As tensions in the Middle East continue to rise, the world watches closely to see how this bold move by Mussolini and the Kingdom of Greater Syria will affect the balance of power in the region.

-

Excerpt from Christopher Hibbert's 2008 novel, Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce

In the early months of 1941, Benito Mussolini's ambitions to reshape the Mediterranean world took a significant and controversial step forward with the declaration of the Kingdom of Greater Syria. The creation of this new political entity, which positioned Italy as the central power in the Levant, was part of Mussolini's broader strategy to expand Italy's influence in the Middle East, even as Europe was engulfed in war. It was a bold move that marked the culmination of Mussolini's long-held desire to restore Rome's imperial grandeur, extending his control to parts of the former Ottoman Empire.

The idea for an independent Greater Syria had been discussed between Mussolini and Antoun Saadeh, a prominent Syrian nationalist leader, for several months. The Italian dictator saw in Saadeh a potential ally who could provide the region with a strong, independent leadership, one that could act as a counterbalance to British and French influence. In return, Italy would offer its support—both military and political—ensuring that Saadeh's newly declared kingdom would be a satellite of Rome, but one that retained its autonomy.

On January 1, 1941, Italy officially announced the independence of the Kingdom of Greater Syria, with Saadeh appointed as Prime Minister and the Italian King, Victor Emmanuel III, assuming the symbolic title of King of Greater Syria. The arrangement resembled the model Italy had already established in its control over Albania and Croatia, where Italian influence was paramount, yet local rulers retained internal control.

The announcement of the kingdom was accompanied by the pullout of Italian forces in Syria initially deployed to disarm the french garrison and occupy the former colony. In it's place, a few thousand military advisors and trainers would be kept to help build the new Syrian army. The Italians also established key military bases in Damascus, Beirut, and Tartous, underscoring their commitment to securing Italy's strategic interests in the region. These moves were seen by many as a clear indication of Italy's plans to further entrench its dominance in the Mediterranean, using the newly created Kingdom of Greater Syria as a springboard for further expansion.

For Mussolini, this was a masterstroke. It not only extended Italy's influence into the heart of the Arab world but also allowed him to present himself as a protector of Syrian independence, at least in name. Saadeh's cooperation, while motivated by the need for political and military support, was perceived by many as a necessary compromise to ensure the survival of the Syrian nationalist movement in a time when colonial powers such as France and Britain remained entrenched in the region. However, critics argued that Saadeh was merely a puppet, his leadership a façade masking Italy's increasing control over the Middle East.

The announcement, coming at the height of the Second World War, also drew a sharp response from the international community. While Mussolini insisted that Italy's actions were not imperialistic in nature, critics in the Arab world and beyond viewed the creation of Greater Syria as yet another example of European meddling in the region. The tension between the promise of Arab independence and the reality of foreign intervention would become a persistent theme in the years that followed.

Despite the controversy, Mussolini's gambit appeared to be paying off. The Kingdom of Greater Syria, under Saadeh's leadership, began to take shape as a politically stable entity aligned with Italy, with Mussolini's promises of economic aid and military support bolstering the new regime's credibility. Yet, as the months passed, the true nature of the alliance—its potential long-term consequences for Syrian sovereignty—would begin to reveal itself, and with it, the complications that would follow for both Italy and the newly forged Kingdom of Greater Syria.

Mussolini, neutral in the broader European conflict, would now find himself deeply enmeshed in the affairs of the Middle East. His influence there, while solidified by the creation of the kingdom, was fraught with challenges, not least of which were the growing nationalist sentiments that would one day clash with Italian interests. As the war raged on in Europe, Mussolini's Middle Eastern ambitions would prove as precarious as the alliances he had forged in the volatile Mediterranean world.

 

[Alenco98]

Excerpt from Christopher Hibbert's 2008 Novel Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce

Following the negotiations and strategic moves orchestrated by Mussolini in the latter half of 1940, the Mediterranean geopolitical landscape underwent a radical shift, further solidifying Italy's growing influence in the region. In the wake of the Second Vienna Award, Spain and Italy stood at the helm of reshaping the future of the former French colonies in the Mediterranean, using both diplomacy and military might to solidify their respective spheres of control. While Mussolini's vision for a revived Roman Empire stretched beyond Italy's borders, his closest ally, Spain under Francisco Franco, expanded its presence in North Africa, both at Italy's urging and in response to strategic military objectives.

After the signing of the Second Vienna Award on August 30, 1940, Spain, newly emboldened by the military alliance with Mussolini's Italy, quickly positioned its forces for a critical move in French-controlled North Africa. In late September, Franco deployed the Army of Africa, a highly regarded and battle hardened military force, to reinforce Spanish positions in Spanish Morocco. Subsequently, they moved into french Morroco and Algeria, where French influence had weakened significantly due to the ongoing crisis in Europe. The Spanish army, with support from Italian naval and aerial assets, took control of strategic French military bases across the region, marking the first significant phase of Spanish occupation in French territories.

In a calculated move aimed at fostering goodwill among the local populations and neutralizing potential resistance in french north Africa, Italy urged Spain to expropriate and redistribute French-owned land and businesses in Algeria and Morocco to the local populace. The redistribution not only undermined the French colonial legacy but also built the foundation for future Spanish influence in the region.

On February 1, 1941, Spain formally merged the territories of Morocco and Algeria, creating the Duchy of the Maghreb, a new political entity that would be ruled by the Moroccan monarch, Muhammad V. The creation of this client state, with Morocco's king installed as the Duke of the Maghreb under Spanish protection, solidified Spanish control over the region and placed the Moroccan monarchy in a delicate but dependent position. The new Duchy also served as a strategic bulwark against British interests in North Africa, as Spain and Italy sought to exert a strong influence in the Mediterranean Basin.

In line with its new territorial ambitions, Spain annexed 3 French coastal cities in Algeria, Oran, Algiers, and Annaba, while retaining its long-standing control over Spanish Morocco. These areas were seen not only as vital military and naval ports but also as significant economic assets due to their proximity to the Mediterranean shipping lanes and the rich natural resources of North Africa. The annexation marked the full integration of these territories into the Spanish empire, albeit as a subordinate part of the larger Rome Pact alliance with Italy.

The Spanish-Maghrebi occupation of Algeria was not without its complications. Among the most significant challenges was the fierce resistance from the Pied-Noirs, the French settler population who had called Algeria home for generations. They resisted the Spanish-Maghrebi rule vehemently, resulting in widespread unrest and widespread insurgent activities. Spain and the Maghreb proceeded to utilize local Berber troops, due to their perceives loyalty to its cause and resentment towards french rule.

They carried out brutal counterinsurgency measures to suppress the revolts, massacres, displacements, collective punishment. This counter insurgency culminated in June 1941, when the Pied-Noir population with the exception of the Jews were systematically placed in camps eerily reminiscent of the ones being set up in Nazi Germany at the time, then subsequently expelled from Algeria to the french west African colonies, where they would become part of the growing free french movement. The Jewish pied noirs meanwhile were sent to Libya at the request of Mussolini where they were placed in the Jewish refugee camps.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Mediterranean, Italy moved swiftly to capitalize on the destabilization of French control in the Levant. After quickly overwhelming the French garrisons in Lebanon and Syria, Mussolini sought to further his vision of a revived Roman Empire by courting the Syrian nationalist movement. In December 1940, he invited Antoun Saadeh, the leader of the Syrian National Socialist Party (SSNP), to Rome for discussions. Following a series of talks, Saadeh agreed to accept Italy's guidance in establishing a new regime in Syria. On January 10, 1941, Italy established the Kingdom of Greater Syria, a client state akin to the relationships Italy had cultivated with Albania and Croatia. The new Kingdom was placed under the nominal rule of Saadeh, who governed in Italy's name, marking a strategic win for Mussolini in the Middle East.

At the same time, Italy turned its attention to Tunisia. Initially occupied on September 15, 1940. Mussolini immediately took steps to begin it's integration into Italy proper. He began by dispossessing the royal family, expelling them from Tunisia and granting them a small but luxurious estate in Tuscany along with a pension and Italian citizenship.

Shortly after, in October 1, 1940, Mussolini announced the expropriation and redistribution of french owned farmland and businesses to local Tunisian citizens. The move was presented as an act of liberation for the Tunisian people, further cementing Italy's policy of supporting local autonomy under the Fascist umbrella.

In a further consolidation of power, and as a response to the nascent french insurgency in the region. On January 17, 1941, Italy announced the expulsion of the French population in Tunisia to French west Africa, and the redistribution of their remaining property and possessions to the Tunisian populace. The only exceptions were french Jews, who were sent to the Jewish refugee camps in Libya.

This culminated on February 1 1941, in which Mussolini announced a decree fully integrating both all of Libya south of the coast and Tunisia into Italy's territories as provinces. The Arab subjects of these regions were granted full Italian citizenship, a decision that was aimed at creating a unified Italy across the Mediterranean. To bolster this new demographic, Mussolini encouraged Italians to settle in Libya and Tunisia, further transforming the region into Italy's "fourth shore."

The summer and winter of 1940-1941 represented a turning point for both Spain and Italy in their respective pursuits of Mediterranean dominance. By the time the Kingdom of Greater Syria was established and Tunisia fully integrated into Italy, Mussolini and Franco had dramatically reshaped the balance of power in the region, securing their positions as the preeminent powers in the Mediterranean world. The actions taken by both nations set the stage for further expansion and consolidation as the Axis powers maneuvered to control one of the most strategically important regions on earth.

-

January 25, 1941
Essaâda Palace
Tunis, Tunisia

I stood in the courtyard in the palace, flanked by my guards as I was about to speak to leaders from the so called Destour movement. They were of course locals that wanted independence from France, or well now Italy after they fell under new management.

Over a year, one year since I was stuck in this skin. I was trying, trying to keep up, trying to keep it all together. But I couldn't do it anymore. My friends, family, her. Damn it why did they take me away. And now I was stuck dealing with these assholes. God, I was done, I didn't care anymore.

The air was thick with anticipation. I stood before these cretins, their faces, a mix of apprehension and forced reverence. They want to be independent. They need to be independent. But fat fucking chance. I was not having this shit, I was going to warn them only once, and if they didn't, time for a good old massacre.

It's funny really, there's something about the Tunisian heat that makes everything feel suffocating—everything sticky, like an overripe peach, the fragrance of destiny ripening on the vine. It's here, in this suffocating atmosphere, that I will reshape history.

I adjust my uniform, the fabric itchy, a constant reminder of the imperial ambitions I'm set to fulfill. The room is silent, their eyes fixed on me. I can feel them, like a group of beggars before a third world tourist. It's almost quaint, like I'm the answer to their immediate problems, and they're waiting for me to give out some amount of cash.

I'm in charge here. I am the Duce, after all. There's no god in this room, only me and my itchy suit.

My mind wanders for a moment. I can't help it. The sound of a Japanese city pop song hums faintly in my head. Midnight Pretenders, by Tomoko Aran, an iridescent hum of nostalgia that clashes with the blood-and-sand politics of the room. It's so absurd, so jarringly beautiful—something about that smooth synthesizer, the way her voice floats above the beat. It's like it belongs to another universe, a universe I'd like to escape to. But I can't. I can't leave this moment. Not yet. These fucking assholes need to be put in their place and warned about the price of defiance. I gave them vengeance against the french, gave them their rightful wealth back. Now they will give me loyalty, or I'll give them bullets.

I clear my throat, and my voice booms in the room, cutting through the air like a razor. They lean in, waiting.

"I think you understand what this moment means" I begin, my voice rising in intensity. "Today marks the birth of a new era in what was once Carthage."

They shift, uncomfortable, some of them looking away, but I see the glint of ambition in their eyes. I can see the threads of loyalty being woven, strained as they are, into the tapestry of what will soon be Rome Reborn. They're not stupid. They know this is a rigged game, and I'm the one holding the cards. The tension here is palpable. It's electric, like the synthesizer hum of Mikiko Noda's song Kakete Miyou before the song fully comes to life.

I pause and let the silence hang in the air for a moment, allowing them to simmer in my presence. Then I speak again, my voice a little lower this time, more sinister, like a snake coiling its body around its prey.

"I've just signed the decree a few days ago—the french will be expelled from Tunisia, their remaining properties given to the people of Tunisia, and soon I intend to sign another decree fully integrating Tunisia into Italy." I say, emphasizing every word. "The people of Tunisia, all of you in this former french colony, from the lowliest farmer to the most pious imam in the mosques, all of you in the soon to be Province of Carthage will have Italian citizenship. You will have rights. This is a declaration. Your fate is no longer tied to the whims of the French, the same ones who oppressed you for so long. Now, your fate is tied to no one, for you will be part of the Roman Family. To a soon to be reborn Rome. You can choose to be a part of it, or if you don't then you will be crushed. Like insects underfoot. If you don't cooperate, if you don't embrace the New Order, you will suffer the consequences."

They flinch. I can see it in their eyes—the flicker of doubt. The stubborn defiance. The slow realization that this is no longer about just their little corner of the world. This is about the world as I see it, as I will it. Their world, their feeble desires, will be swallowed whole by the monumental force that is the Roman Empire, and it will be glorious.

There's a moment of quiet, and then I let out a hum—a song. It's soft at first, just a murmur, but it grows louder, more pronounced, as if the thoughts in my mind are bleeding out into the room.

Toshiki Kadomatsu. Midnight Girl. I remember the synths. The melodies are smooth. Elegant. Then Mikiko Noda. Traveling Heart. The lyrics in Japanese, they don't matter. The feeling does. The style. The grace. The tasteful rhythm of it all.

I can feel it. I can feel the rhythm of the music seep into my very bones. I could almost dance to it, but no, that would be weak. And I'm not weak. This is power. This is art. I could leave this room, put on my sunglasses, drive through the streets of Tunis in a car that smells of leather and money, the wind in my hair as one of Yurie Kokubu's songs serenades me. But instead, I stay, staring down these men in front of me, their lives dangling by a thread. I could kill them all by saying a few words. The power, it's better than having sex.

I snap out of it, refocusing. Focus, Duce, focus. I can feel the anger bubbling in my chest, and I can't help but smile. This is what they've made me. Whatever the fuck put me here. A creature of contradictions, a man who could sit back and indulge in the pleasures of City Pop or stand at the pinnacle of empire, tearing down any who dare challenge him.

"I will not hesitate to act if you defy me," I continue, my voice now cold, steely. "The same way we dealt with the insurgents in Libya. They thought they could resist us, didn't they? They thought they could hold on to their little rebellion. But we crushed them. And we will crush you too, if necessary. I'll send my troops, I'll send my Blaskshirts, my Ustashe, and we will make this land Italian. Even if it means painting it in blood. The blood of not just the men, but the women, and the children too. The choice is yours."

The tension is unbearable now. I loved the cheeky star wars reference at the end. So intoxicating. So right. They're silent, unsure how to respond. They don't know whether to bow, to cower, to fight. I almost feel sorry for them—almost.

But I don't dwell on it. Instead, I let the hum of Miki Asakura's song Living Together fill the silence, playing in the back of my mind. The beat, the beat, the pulse. I can hear it. I almost feel like I'm floating. But I'm not. I'm here. And I am, without a doubt, the most powerful man in this room. "I hope you will make the right choice. To quote a famous Colombian, Silver, or lead. I have given you french silver, you will give me loyalty, or I will give you bullets."

I stare them down one last time, then turn on my heel and walk out, my boots clicking sharply against the marble floor as my soldiers follow me. The door slams behind me, and the last note of Yurie Kokubu's Moment of Summer echoes faintly in my mind.

This is just the beginning. Rome will be reborn.

Soon.

 

[Alenco98]

February 28, 1941
Palazzo Venezia
Rome, Italy

I sat at my desk, admiring the map of Italy's colonial empire laid out before me. I won't lie—I was proud. Not even two years as Duce, and already I had reshaped the Mediterranean in my image.

France: seething, coping, dilating—humiliated. Of course, those bastards in the Free French Army were frothing in exile, ranting about La France insoumise. A bunch of sore losers. I expelled every last Frenchman from North Africa and Syria. Thank God Franco listened too. Hitler whined, of course—claimed this would "create tension in France." The same man refused to hand over more Jews just because I visited Stalin. Ungrateful little shit. I fantasized about capturing him—alive, if possible. Trying him. Making him my court jester when I declared myself Consul for Life and announced a Renovatio Imperii once the war ended. Just the thought was intoxicating—like the synth and velvet vocals of Naoko Gushima's Mellow Medicine.

Still, I found it suspicious how Hitler suddenly stopped pressing me and ignored me when I bought up the jews. He likely suspected I was plotting something. Which, of course, I was.

And now I was about to meet Graziani. My Minister of war. The man I needed to determine just how much force I could muster against that failed Austrian painter. One misstep, and my blood would be smeared across these marble walls. It sucked no longer being the Minister of War, the Navy, and Aeronautics. But I needed to delegate, make my military more efficient. No more third world tin pot dictator bullshit, I had the prestige, cold efficiency.

He arrived a few minutes later. Graziani—God, I respected the man. Competent, loyal, everything you could ask for in a general.

"Duce," he greeted me as he sat across from me. His voice carried weight, resolve. No sycophant, no automaton—this was a man whose loyalty had to be earned. And I had earned it, after everything I'd done for Italy since stepping into Il Duce's skin.

"Thank you. Please—the report," I said.

He handed me a folder. A thick envelope, papers jutting out like an erection through boxer shorts. I took it from him and opened it.

Troop numbers, supply levels, readiness reports. A full assessment of the army. My sword. My shield. My missionaries in a foreign field. Though St. Peter probably wouldn't call my name, considering the atrocities committed under my rule as Il Duce so far.

Yugoslavia. The Serbs—slaughtered, expelled, disappeared by that mad dog Pavelic. I managed to rein him in somewhat, but my men reported death squads prowling in the night. The brutality was no longer random—it was precise. Clinical. And soon, it would end. I had people inside the Ustaše, ready to put him down. The order had gone out this morning. A soft coup, as smooth and haunting as Jasumin wa Kanashii Kaori by Wink. Pavelic was tolerated by few. His time was up.

And that was just the beginning. Syria, Lebanon, Tunisia, Algeria, Romania—my allies and my legions, reshaping the world. Expulsions, relocations, purges. All orchestrated by me. I had become a monster.

I could've stayed quiet. Taken in Jews. Saved lives. Made money. Played neutral. But the old adage held true: absolute power corrupts absolutely. My power wasn't total—but it was close. The Grand Council of Fascism still reined me in, but even they had loosened their grip as Italy rose on the world stage thanks to my knowledge of the future. They scoffed when I repealed the racial laws in the beginning. Now I grant citizenship to Arabs and Berbers, and they barely grumble. A sharp reminder of what I've done for Italy, and they roll over like obedient dogs. Disgusting. I'd rather have a city pop singer like Kaoru Akimoto or Akina Nakamori on the Council—at least their voices bring me joy.

But I digress. The army. That was the real concern. I was going to betray Germany. The question was—could I?

I had 1.5 million men under arms.

250,000 were in East Africa. A low-level insurgency simmered there. Mostly suppressed. A few scorched villages now and then. The Jewish refugees were proving useful—Lehi was using the region as a training ground. The Amhara and Oromo perfect target practice for the Lehi.

200,000 in Libya and Tunisia—50,000 in the latter, 150,000 in the former. They'd done well in Syria, I had drained 70,000 Arabs and Italians from my Lybian garrison and they smashed the demoralized French. Another 50 thousand from Libya, and promises made to the Tunisians sealed the deal. French arms confiscated and redistributed to the Army of Africa. Supply issues were being addressed—slowly.

5,000 in Albania. 10,000 in Croatia. Another 5,000 in Syria. Skeleton crews. But autonomy in the puppet states meant fewer boots on the ground. I would give them justice and wealth—if they obeyed me. No need for occupation when loyalty could be bought.

2,500 in Yemen. My Alpini—cream of the crop. Guarding the man who opened the door to the Middle East. Another 5,000 in Mocha, my dagger-point port under construction. A threat to Britain—a bluff, maybe. The more I read, the more I realized how ill-prepared Mussolini had been. I gave Graziani a free hand, and he'd worked miracles. But we weren't ready. Not yet.

The divisions were reorganized—no more binary mess. Three infantry regiments per division. Graziani's idea after observing the Germans and British, signed off by me.

The tin-can tanquettes—gone. Replaced by proper medium tanks—the M11/39 in growing numbers.

Artillery? Self-propelled and modernizing. God favors the army with the best artillery.

Officer corps—cleaning house. Political hacks being shown the door.

Communications? Primitive, still. Dogs and pigeons, mostly. Radios reserved for elite units like the Alpini. Italian mainland units were next, then Africa once that was done.

Logistics had improved. Uniforms, shirts, boots, winter clothes, ammunition, fuel, spare parts, food—no longer a pipe dream for the army. The question now was stockpiling and sustaining it all.

I closed the folder and sighed. "Thank you, Graziani. Be honest. Would Italy be ready for war next year?"

He didn't blink. "If we keep the army at its current size, we could be ready by July, maybe August this year." He leaned in. "But against the other great powers—Germany, Russia, Britain—we'd lose. Straight fight? No contest. If we expand to three million and wait until 1944, we might hold our own. Right now? We'd get crushed."

It stung. But it was true. I nodded. "And what if we expanded to two million?"

He paused, thinking. "Another year. At least. I advise against it—unless we can expand in tandem with our industry and logistics. Rushing would be a mistake."

I exhaled. "Very well. We'll hold off."

I hated it. But he was right.

I leaned back in my chair, craving comfort. And then it came—like a gentle wave. The rhythm in my head. Melancholic, yet full of hope. Sweet Love by Junko Ohashi.
I'm, in love, with youuuuuu…

God, I loved that rhythm. If only I could truly listen, instead of just remembering.

Graziani stood, saluted crisply, and left without another word. A soldier through and through. I respected that. I stared at the folder for a moment longer, letting the numbers sink in like a too-sweet aftertaste.

I pressed a button on my desk. "Send in Cavagnari."

A few minutes passed. I heard his boots before I saw him—like the dull clink of antique silverware. Domenico Cavagnari, Chief of Staff of the Regia Marina. He stepped in, naval uniform immaculate, medals reflecting the light like a disco ball at a Tokyo club.

"Duce," he said, bowing slightly.

"Cavagnari. Sit." I gestured to the chair across from me. He sat stiffly, the kind of man who looked like he ironed his spine along with his trousers.

Now, this one had taken work. Convincing Graziani to modernize had been easy—he was practical, understood strength. But Cavagnari? He was born in a dry dock in 1880 and never mentally left it. When I first suggested radar, he looked at me like I'd fucked his mother.

I had to yell. A lot. Call him a relic. Compared his beloved dreadnoughts to iron coffins. Told him a navy without radar was like going into a concert blindfolded, and not the fun kind where Miki Matsubara is singing Stay with me on full blast.

"Give me the update," I said.

He opened his leather portfolio with the ceremony of a priest unsheathing the Eucharist.

"Our fleet stands at 4 battleships, 6 heavy cruisers, 12 light cruisers, 40 destroyers, and over 100 submarines. Our refits are proceeding—slowly—but proceeding. Radar is now installed on four capital ships and two cruisers. We expect to finish the rest by the end of 1942."

I smirked. "You remember how many times I had to scream at you for that radar?"

He grunted. "Yes, Duce."

"Like arguing with a record player. 'Why do we need radar when we have optics, Duce?' Christ. Next you'll tell me semaphore flags are making a comeback."

Cavagnari, to his credit, didn't flinch. "The technology was unproven. But you were correct. Our intelligence suggests the Royal Navy is well ahead in detection capabilities. Without radar, our ships are blind."

Progress. He even admitted I was right. That was rarer than a productive meeting of the Grand Council.

"And the carrier?" I asked, folding my hands.

He hesitated. "Augustus is under construction. The hull of the Roma liner has been converted, as ordered. He's expected to be operational by 1943. Perhaps late 1942, if we can expedite the catapults and flight deck."

I grinned. "A carrier. Look at us—real navy boys now."

He didn't smile. I didn't expect him to. He probably still cried when he saw a battleship stripped for parts.

I leaned back, eyes half-closing. A carrier. God, that had been a fight. Cavagnari had treated aircraft like an afterthought—like seagulls that accidentally dropped bombs like they dropped shit. I had to beat it into him that airpower wasn't just a trend. This wasn't 1916. The world had changed. Warfare had changed. The Americans were building carriers like vending machines popped out cola, and we were still painting battleships like opera sets. Thank god I was a Top Gun fan, aircraft carriers were the future and I knew that.

But we were catching up. Augustus would be beautiful. Streamlined, powerful—like a steel tribute to Anri's Remember Summer Days. A new era in a single hull.

"You know, Cavagnari," I said, cracking my neck, "when she launches, I want a band playing city pop. Let the British hear Plastic Love echoing off the waves."

He blinked. "Plastic... love?"

I waved it off. "You wouldn't get it. Just make sure she floats or I'll have someone demoted."

He continued. "We've also begun studying American carrier doctrine. Our naval aviation units are coordinating more closely with the Air Force. We've requisitioned Reggiane and Macchi fighters for carrier conversion trials. Engines are an issue. But we're making progress."

I nodded slowly. "And submarines?"

"Our submarine fleet is our greatest asset. We've reorganized them into coordinated wolfpacks, like the Germans. We're experimenting with improved torpedo designs. Our exercises in the eastern Mediterranean speak for themselves."

"Good," I said. "The silent killers. I always liked them. Like the cool, subtle rhythm in a Toshiki Kadomatsu track. Doesn't say much, but when it goes—boom. Someone's sinking."

He blinked again. God help me, I think that one actually confused him even more.

"Anything else?"

He cleared his throat. "We still lack the ability to project force beyond the Mediterranean. Without at least two carriers and proper aerial reconnaissance, engaging the British fleet in the Atlantic would be suicidal. Our fleet is good—but not that good."

Finally. Honesty. The sort I needed.

"Then we don't fight where we're weak," I said. "We fight where we control the tempo. Syria, Tunisia, the Red Sea. We'll build our strength until they have no choice but to respect us."

He stood, stiff as a mast. "Duce."

"Dismissed."

He turned and left. The door closed behind him.

I stood and stared out the window. The clouds over Rome looked like smoke from a burning fleet. I pictured Augustus cutting through the waves, Junko Yagami playing in the control tower, sailors nodding along as they loaded bombs with headphones on. A new kind of war, a new kind of empire.

The rhythm returned to my head. Bay City...... sora ga umi wo.......

God, if only I had a radio to the future and a glass of Campari. The Empire could wait a moment longer.

I sat back down, rubbing my temples. The Navy was moving, slowly, like a cruise liner doing a three-point turn in a canal. But moving.

I pressed the button again. "Bring in Pricolo."

Now this one always gave me a headache. Francesco Pricolo, Chief of Staff of the Regia Aeronautica. An airman in the most literal sense—head in the clouds, feet rarely on the ground, and his logistics sense somewhere in the stratosphere. If Cavagnari was born in a dry dock, Pricolo was born in a wind tunnel lined with old linen-covered biplanes.

He walked in with the lazy confidence of a man who still believed the future was made of canvas and dreams.

"Duce." He gave me a half-salute, half-shrug. God I wanted to put a bullet in him, but he was loyal at least.

"Sit," I said.

He did, crossing his legs like he was about to talk to me about the aesthetics of cloud shapes. He always had that vibe. Like he listened to Momoko Kikuchi on a loop and mistook bombing runs for an art exhibit.

"Status of the air force," I said flatly.

"Mixed, Duce," he admitted, to his credit. "We're still transitioning. The last of the biplanes are being decommissioned. The CR.42s will be pulled from frontline duty within the year. Relegated to colonial policing and secondary theaters."

"Good," I growled. "I don't want to see a single goddamn biplane flying unless it's at an airshow or shot out of the sky. We're not fighting Ethiopia anymore. I want monoplanes. I want speed. I want an air force that looks like 1941, not 1918."

He chuckled softly. "We've begun standardizing around the Macchi C.202 and the Reggiane Re.2001. Both are showing promise—competitive with the British Hurricanes, perhaps even the Spitfires in the right conditions."

"Perhaps?" I raised an eyebrow. "I don't want 'perhaps'. I want 'terrified British pilots crashing into the Channel because they saw our planes in the sky.' I want kill ratios that would make Goering blush."

"Yes, Duce," he said quickly. "Our production's ramping up. Engines remain a bottleneck—Daimler-Benz licenses are helping, but our output is not yet consistent. SAI Ambrosini is working on lightweight interceptors. Breda… well, they're still designing flying sculptures more than aircraft."

I scoffed. "Breda. The flying tombstones. They crash better than they fly. Even my mistress can crash into the couch more gracefully than whatever those cocksuckers build."

He smirked. "True. We've cut orders. Focus is on Macchi, Fiat, and Reggiane. Quality over quantity."

"Logistics?" I asked, sharp now.

He winced.

I leaned forward. "Don't make me yell again goddamn it. You remember what I did last time. I screamed at you until your mustache almost flew off. We build beautiful aircraft, and then act shocked when they can't make it to the front because the fuel got 'lost' in Sardinia. Lost my fucking ass."

He sighed. "We've begun modeling our logistics after the Army. Dedicated supply officers. Fuel depots, spare parts stockpiles, scheduled maintenance chains. It's still messy—pilots have been cannibalizing aircraft to keep squadrons flying. But it's improving."

"Good," I muttered. "Because if I see one more report about 'insufficient oil filters in Tripoli' I'm going to throw someone out the Ministry of Aviation's third floor window. Personally. To city pop."

He blinked. "To… city pop?"

"Yes. I want to throw you out while Midnight Pretenders plays. Like a protest against mediocrity."

He didn't ask for clarification. Wise man.

I stood and walked to the map of the Mediterranean on my wall, the empire stretching like fingers dipped in blood and dreams. I tapped Italy with my knuckle.

"I want air superiority over Italy if the time comes. Total control. No dogfights with outmoded relics. I want the sun glinting off Italian monoplane canopies. If someone tries to challenge us, I want them to burst into flames before they even fire a shot."

"We're reequipping our air wings now. Fighters first, then tactical bombers. Our SM.79s are still reliable, but we're moving to more modern designs—Piaggio's P.108 heavy bomber is coming online soon."

"Finally," I said, turning to face him. "A real fucking heavy bomber. Took long enough. It only took me threatening to bomb the Air Ministry with your own biplanes to get it started."

Pricolo didn't argue. Smart again.

"You'll have the budget. You'll have the time. But I want results goddamn it. Planes that can hit Gibraltar from Benghazi. Planes that can scare the RAF out of Cairo. Planes that sound like Mariya Takeuchi's voice wrapped in a storm. Smooth but unstoppable."

"Understood, Duce."

I sat back down, slowly.

"Dismissed, Francesco. Make me proud."

He saluted again, a little sharper this time, and turned to leave. His boots clicked softer than Cavagnari's. Lighter, like a pilot's. He belonged in the clouds. But for once, his feet were finally touching the ground.

The door closed.

Alone again, I tilted back in my chair. Three arms of my military, slowly, painfully, beginning to align. The Army had boots, the Navy had steel, and now the Air Force—maybe—had wings worth the name.

I lit a cigarette, exhaled, and let the smoke curl like a vapor trail.

Midnight pretenders…

That soft synth floated in my head again. The fake warmth of nostalgia. City pop always sounded like remembering a future that never happened.

But I'd make it happen.

Even if I had to burn half world to the rhythm.

-

Excerpt from Christopher Hibbert's 2008 Novel: Mussolini: The Rise and Reign of Il Duce


When war broke out in Europe in September 1939, Italy stood at an unusual crossroads: neutral, ambitious, and deeply unprepared for a modern conflict. Though boasting a million and a half men under arms, Mussolini's military machine was plagued by structural inefficiencies, outdated equipment, and commanders more loyal to legacy than logic. Unlike Hitler's thunderous mobilizations or Britain's cautious escalation, Mussolini's first instinct was not expansion—but reform. He viewed neutrality not as idleness, but as a sacred window. A breathing space. And in his own volatile way, he intended to use every minute of it.

Over the course of 1939 and into 1940, the Duce launched what internal memos would later dub Il Rinnovamento – The Renewal: a sweeping modernization campaign across the Army, Navy, and Air Force, aimed not at growing Italy's forces, but at sharpening and restructuring them. It was less about building numbers, more about building purpose. A storm was coming, and Mussolini intended his empire to meet it with steel that could bend, but not break.

In September 1939, the Italian Army remained bloated but brittle. Its outdated binary division structure—two infantry regiments per division instead of the standard three—left it tactically inflexible. Much of its officer corps were political appointees, untested and sycophantic, while logistics and supply lines were poorly managed. Tanks were light, largely obsolete, and scattered among under-equipped infantry.

By February 1941, the transformation was well underway. Under the direction of the loyal but capable Rodolfo Graziani, Mussolini had greenlit the reorganization of all divisions to the more standard three-regiment model. Medium tanks like the M11/39 had replaced the infamous tanquettes, and though industrial output lagged, production was finally coherent. The officer corps saw quiet purges—party loyalists replaced with career professionals. Logistics had improved markedly; troops were better clothed, armed, and supplied than they had been in years. Graziani's steady hand and Mussolini's micromanaging wrath forged the army into a leaner, more dangerous force—if still incomplete. As Graziani admitted in private in early 1941, the army was not yet ready for a war with a great power, but for the first time in decades, it was on the right track.

Italy's navy entered the Second World War with majestic capital ships but a stagnant mindset. Admirals dreamt of grand battleship duels while ignoring the dawn of naval aviation, radar, and submarines. Aircraft carriers were dismissed as novelties. Radar was viewed with suspicion. Mussolini, not a sailor but very much a futurist at heart, exploded with fury when briefed on the Regia Marina's technological backwardness.

Cavagnari, the naval chief of staff, became the prime target of the Duce's wrath—and reform. By 1941, under pressure bordering on psychological warfare, Cavagnari had begun dragging the navy into the modern age. A prototype aircraft carrier—Augustus—was finally under construction, though not due for completion until 1943. Radar installations were being installed, albeit in limited numbers. Surface ships received updates in communications and fire control, while submarine and destroyer production was rationalized. Still, the navy lagged behind its British and even French counterparts in integration and doctrine. Mussolini saw the navy as the slowest limb of his military body—but one that, if it woke up, could strangle a continent.

The air force, beloved by Fascist pageantry but loathed by Mussolini's practical mind, entered the war in 1939 with a shocking attachment to biplanes. The CR.42, though maneuverable, was a relic of a past era. Bombers were underpowered and ranged poorly. Worse, logistics were a mess. Pilots cannibalized planes for parts. Fuel vanished into the sands of Libya. Radios were rare.

Mussolini's meeting with Air Marshal Francesco Pricolo in early 1941 was far less combative than with his other chiefs—not for lack of frustration, but because progress had finally arrived. The Macchi C.202 and Reggiane Re.2001, sleek monoplanes comparable to Allied fighters, were entering service. The old biplanes were being phased out or demoted to colonial use. Bombers like the SM.79 were still in use, but heavier craft like the Piaggio P.108 were in early production. Logistics were being quietly restructured: fuel depots organized, spare parts cataloged, radios gradually issued. Pricolo modeled his supply system after the army's reforms—proof that, under duress, even airmen could be taught discipline.

Mussolini, though more commonly remembered for theatrics and bombast, revealed a surprising pragmatism in this period. He did not chase numbers, did not demand reckless expansion. He demanded readiness. Neutrality had bought him time, and though Italy's armed forces remained smaller and weaker than Germany's or Britain's, they were no longer a hollow shell of Fascist propaganda.

As one observer put it in early 1941, "The Duce no longer wanted armies to march for spectacle, or planes to fly for parades. He wanted them to kill, efficiently. Silently. Like the jazz of a Harlem Renaissance track—soft on the ears, but playing over a burning skyline."

And for the first time, his empire was starting to hum to that tune.