World War: Battleship Arms Dealers

That same afternoon, in Rome.

Italian Prime Minister Boselli sat in his office, facing the same battle report—Singapore, Myanmar, and Iran had fallen, and Egypt was in grave danger. He had read it three times already, and with each reading, his anxiety grew.

Outside the window, the Roman sun shone brightly, almost blindingly. The ancient buildings, the red rooftops, the leisurely pigeons—all were bathed in its warm light. But Boselli had no heart to appreciate any of this. Only one question occupied his mind:

The British are doomed, what about Italy?

The door was pushed open. The secretary poked her head in.

"Prime Minister, all cabinet members have arrived."

Boseli nodded, stood up, straightened his collar, and walked towards the conference room.

The conference room was filled with smoke.

A dozen or so people sat on either side of the long table—Foreign Minister Sidney Sonnino, Army Minister Paolo Morone, Navy Minister Alberto del Canto, and a large group of generals, staff officers, and secretaries. Each person had a battle report in front of them, and each face bore varying degrees of anxiety.

Boselli sat down in the main seat and glanced around.

"Everyone, have you all seen it?"

Everyone nodded.

Boseli picked up the battle report and waved it around.

"Singapore, Burma, Iran—all lost within a week. The British are doomed in Asia. We must now make a choice—to continue following the British, or…"

He didn't finish speaking, but everyone knew what he wanted to say.

Foreign Minister Sonnino was the first to speak. He was a diplomat in his sixties, with gray hair and a calm demeanor that suggested he had seen it all. He put down his pipe and looked at Boselli.

"Prime Minister, I think we should change course immediately."

A commotion broke out in the conference room.

War Minister Morone abruptly stood up: "Turn around? Turn around in what direction? Turn around to the Germans?"

Sonnino looked at him calmly.

"Yes. Switch to the Germans' side."

"Are you crazy!" Morone slammed his fist on the table. "Two years ago we jumped from the Central Powers to the Allied Powers, and now we're jumping back? What kind of behavior is this?"

Sognino remained calm.

"Moronne, tell me, what can the British give us now? Colonies? They've almost lost all of their own. Loans? They're nearly bankrupt themselves. Protection? Their fleet is stuck in port and dares not come out, how can they protect us?"

Morone opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.

Sonnen continued, "Look at the Germans. They are also fighting hard, but their homeland is not threatened. Their troops are still in France, and their ally, Austria-Hungary, is still there. Now Lanfang has joined in, and Britain is retreating—the situation is turning around. If we jump back now, the Germans will be very happy. They will give us benefits and help us take back the places occupied by the French."

Morone gave a cold laugh.

"The Germans will believe us? Have you forgotten how we betrayed them two years ago?"

Sonnino looked at him.

"Politicians have no permanent friends or enemies, only permanent interests. The Germans understand this better than anyone. As long as we show sincerity, they will believe us."

The two stared at each other, neither willing to give in.

Navy Secretary Del Canto spoke, his voice low, but everyone heard him.

"Gentlemen, have you considered what will happen to the British if we switch sides now? Will they just stand by and watch us betray them?"

Sonnino turned to him.

"What can the British do? They're barely able to protect themselves, what can they possibly use to stop us? Send a fleet to the Mediterranean? Where is their fleet? In Bombay harbor, blocked by the Lanfang people!"

Del Canto remained silent for a few seconds.

"What about the French? Will they just stand by and do nothing?"

Sonnino sneered.

"The French? They're desperately hoping the Merleka people will come to their rescue; they don't have the energy to care about us."

The debate lasted for two hours.

The Sognino and Morone factions argued fiercely, each sticking to their own version of events. Boselli listened to the arguments, his head throbbing with increasing pain.

A young official stood up and said loudly:

"Prime Minister, the British are on their last legs! If we don't act now, we'll be collateral damage once they've lost completely!"

Boseli looked at him.

"Then tell me, how do you plan to jump?"

The young official hesitated for a moment, then said, "Attack Austria-Hungary! Launch a massive offensive at Caporetto! Prove our worth to the Germans!"

The meeting room fell silent.

Caporeto. It's a small town on the border between Italy and Austria-Hungary, with complex terrain, easy to defend and difficult to attack. If we really launched an attack there, could we win?

Boselli looked at Army Minister Morone.

"Moronne, how's the situation on Caporeto's side?"

Morone thought for a moment.

"The terrain is unfavorable; the Austro-Hungarian army has built fortifications there. But if we concentrate our forces, we might be able to take it."

"Maybe?" Boseli stared at him.

Morone gritted his teeth.

"Prime Minister, there is no guarantee of victory in war. But if we don't fight, we'll just be waiting to die."

Boseli remained silent for a long time.

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the Roman sun still shone brightly, and the ancient buildings still stood tall. But he knew that behind that sunlight and those buildings lay a country at a crossroads.

Fighting might lead to victory. Perhaps we can prove our worth to the Germans. Perhaps we can gain a share of the spoils in this war.

If we don't fight, we'll just sink with the British.

He turned around and looked at those who were waiting for his decision.

"Order all units to assemble towards Caporeto. The attack will commence three days later."

The meeting room fell silent for a second.

Then the Sonny supporters began to cheer. The Morone supporters looked at each other, unsure whether to be happy or worried.

Boseli waved his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet.

"Don't get too excited yet. Whether we can win is still uncertain."

He walked back to his seat and sat down.

"Also, continue the secret contacts with the Germans. Have our ambassador to Switzerland find a way to contact the Germans. Tell them that we are willing to return to the Allies, but on conditions."

Sonnino nodded: "Understood."

Looking at the bright sunshine outside the window, Boseli suddenly felt very tired.

He didn't know if his decision was right or wrong. But he knew that Italy had no other choice.

Three days later, at the Caporetto front.

The soldiers of the 32nd Division lay prone in their trenches, awaiting the order to attack. They had been waiting there for three days, their bodies itching with anticipation, their hearts pounding with fear.

Corporal Giuseppe Rizzo lay prone at the front, his hand gripping the Mannlicher-Carcano rifle tightly. The butt of the rifle pressed painfully against his chest, so painful that he could count the grains of the wood. But he dared not move—he was afraid that if he moved, he would wet his pants.