Italian Campaign [WWII]

Useful links for geographical/historical references:

Wikipedia links:

- Italian Campaign
- Operation Torch (Allied invasion of North Africa)
- Pantelleria
- Operation Husky (allied invasion of Sicily)
- Armistice between Italy and Allied forces (8 settembre)
- Operation Achse (Unternehmen Achse, forced disarmament of the Italian forces after the armistice)
- Italian resistance movement
- Cefalonia (a case of Italian army's resistance to the Germans and their massacre after the surrender)

Maps:

- Italy
- Invasion of Sicily
- Invasion of Italy


*will be updated*


>>> <<<


February 1943.

After the Allied forces defeated the Axis army in Africa, England and America meet in Casablanca to decide a line of attack against the European fortress Germany has built, also to help Russia by distracting the German army, thus deflating the pressure on the Russian front. America pushes for invading directly the French coast, but England knows that the time has not come yet for such an operation - Germany's forces are still too strong. Instead, England insists on attacking the Axis's weak link: Italy.


>>> <<<


June 1943


Italy walked slowly through the corridor leading to Germany's office. His expression betrayed his worries and concerns, not only for the difficult situation he and his brother were in, but also because he had to tell this to Germany: he wasn't going to like his report about what was going on in the Mediterranean.

Sicily was going to be invaded, that was sure now; Germany thought that the Allies were going to invade Sardinia first, although both him and Romano knew that Sicily was going to be their aim.
His brother was mad about this, he hadn't liked the Axis defeat in Africa, blaming part of it on Germany - their troops should have resisted more, he kept saying - and he didn't like how the Reich's divisions were allocated on their continental territory.
"That bastard doesn't trust us anymore" Romano kept saying, "he keeps his army here because he can control us this way".
Veneziano replied that no, they were allies, and of course the troops were still in the peninsula, since they didn't know where the Allied forces were going to attack first.

He stopped in front of the office's door, inhaled deeply before knocking on the dark wood. Now they knew, and it was time to decide a line of defence.

Germany sat at his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting a depressing sense of the future of this war, and his boss seemed insistent to spread the military too thin. Fighting on both the Russian front and in North Africa was not going well. He'd tried to tell him that he needed to pick one or another.

But it didn't matter. His boss had reached the point almost of ignoring his advice. He knew the years of experience that Germany had, he knew who (and what) Germany was, but he was insistent to ignore him. More often than not, he tried to manipulate him into doing what he wanted. Tried shoving propaganda down Germany's throat, which was insulting, really, to think Germany would buy into the same type of bullshit that was being fed to the people.

Worse yet was the weakening state of Italy. The higher-ups were certain that the Italies' boss was a push over. Things were brewing that would strain--at best--his friendship with Italy.

Italy waited for some time, but he didn't obtain any answer nor invitation to come inside the room. In the end, he pushed the door open and entered anyway. Until some time ago, he would have just jumped inside Germany's office without even bothering to knock, was it to cry over Germany's shoulder because of a defeat or to ask him if he needed his help on the front somewhere, with the very same enthusiasm - but today, he was taking things seriously.

"Germany~" he greeted with a smile as he stepped inside the office. The smile disappeared soon, though.
"Germany, things are bad, very bad. They're going to invade us!" although he didn't like what he had to tell, he had to refrain from rushing the explanation too much: he desperately needed his friend's help and advice.
He reached his desktop and looked at him from beside all the papers and stuff that filled it. "They got Pantelleria, and... well, seems like we had to give it up. The troops there said they could not resist and... yeah. But you know, one of their mules kicked their ass." he tried to lighten things up. But then again, there was nothing to smile about.

"Germany, they are attacking my house." Italy's voice was serious and deep "They'll conquer Sicily, you know our defenses aren't that strong there. Please, help us."

Germany looked up as Italy walked through the door. He wanted to smile at his friend, but hearing him talk of the dire state of things at this point, it confirmed to Germany that Italy was just as aware of the situation as he, himself, was

He frowned at word that the other country had faced defeat, even if he liked the idea of an American soldier getting kicked by a donkey.

"Sicily? what reason do you have to think they will be attacking you there?" He stood from the desk and walked over to Italy, putting an awkward hand at his back in an attempt to comfort the other nation. "All of our intelligence says Sardinia is the location that they will be targeting. It is why we have the number of troops there that we do."

Of course, Germany knew there was another reason to have them there as well. If the Italies questioned Germany and his boss too much, it would undoubtedly mean the brothers would lose their position as allies and become just another territory under German rule. Germany felt there should be another solution, but it was quite possible that his boss wouldn't see it that way.

Italy was comforted by his friend's gesture, and he would have loved to be as sure as he was that Sicily wasn't the Allies' target - sure, it still was part of his brother and himself, but had it been occupied, the situation wouldn't have been as dangerous for his house as it would have been with Sicily being invaded. But this time - strange enough - he was sure of what he was saying.

He shook his head, then pointed at one of the big Europe maps that filled the walls.
"The island they just conquered is right between Africa and Sicily." explained, his finger tapping lightly the sea next to a green spot "They'll use it as springboard to land there." he said, his finger tracing a very short line to the Sicilian shores.

His finger followed the island's coast towards the east, until he reached its northeastern point: a brown edge separated from the tip of his boot-looking territory by only a couple millimeters of blue Mediterranean sea.
Once they conquered Sicily, the rest of his house would be in great danger. He caressed slightly the map. They were already bombing his cities, and now, if the Allied troops were going to step on his shores and march through his roads... an invading army, again...
Italy shivered. It hadn't thought that they would reach that point. Had he known, he would have never joined the war. But of course it was way too late for regretting, now. And Germany was still by his side, he was strong, he would help him and his brother. Things weren't lost yet.

"We need to concentrate as many troops as possible, there, even if I don't know where they will land." He stared at the map.
"Although think that a landing in the eastern part is more likely."

"I can't make promises on this," Germany said. "My troops are stretched thin. We also cannot afford to leave your country unguarded elsewhere while we protect Sicily. I do not want to disregard gathered intelligence so easily, nor leave a space open for them to attack you." He wanted to dismiss Italy entirely, but what he was saying held some potential. "I will talk to my troops, get a few of the divisions there."

He knew of at least one elite division ready to be a dispatched. He could send them, perhaps some others. "I cannot make promises for huge numbers, but I will do my best."

He looked down at Italy, noting that he looked possibly even less healthy than Germany did himself. "You can sit down, if you would like. You seem tired." Again, this was bad, especially bad news for someone with the upbeat personality that Italy usually had when around Ludwig.

Italy nodded slowly. "I know. War is becoming tough, now, eh?" He very well knew that the German army was having an hard time itself. Still, things weren't lost yet, and he knew as well that Germany couldn't allow a break of his ally's borders.
When he turned to his friend, he was smiling - not as cheerfully as he used, but still.
"Yes, well, I'm a bit scared, Germany." he admitted simply "But I'm fine."

Nonetheless, Italy sat down on the chair in front of Germany's desk, sighing, but then he smiled again to hiss ally.
"I'm sure we can still win, your soldiers are such good warriors! And your weapons so strong!" Germany's equipment was amazing, and he was still able to produce so many weapons even under all the bombings. Italy wished he was able to reach such high quality, although he would never be. He wished that those 20 years of boasting around like he was a superpower, 20 years of his boss making impossible promises weren't vanishing in a puff of smoke.
His boss' last promise was that the enemy army would be stopped on Sicily's shore, if they had ever dared to touch the island. He thought he ought to try believing this last one.

"Germany, you're not leaving me, right? We'll fight them back together." he said, smiling at him expectantly.

Germany had to admit that the smile he received, though not the full one that he was accustomed to from his friend, was a bright spot in a strained time. He watched the usually pleasant country sit down in the chair, slumped a bit, looking almost defeated. It killed him to see him that way.

Would he abandon him? If the talk from Germany's leaders were anything to go by, the answer was yes and no. He had the sneaking suspicion that if Italy, along with some of Germany's troops, didn't manage to defend Sicily, Italy would no longer be an ally. Instead, the brothers would be subordinates, merely part of the empire that Germany had been attempting to create.

That had never been Germany's original intention--admittedly, the idea of it after their first meeting would have been more harrowing than being his ally. Italy was his friend.

He put a hand on Italy's shoulder. "I promise I will keep you at my side." That was all he could promise and have it still be true.

Italy covered his ally's hand with his own. Although the situation was more than worrying, the contact of that strong hand over him had still the power to calm him down.

He didn't know if his brother was right - had Germany's leaders really lost faith in them? Had they ever had any faith in Italy, to begin with? And when not, could he blame them? A lot of his own people didn't trust Germans at all...
Italy had balked a lot before joining his ally, had given him many reasons to worry and complain about his behavior during some of the battles, caused troubles and even modified Germany's plans because of his rather reckless actions. (*)
But he had been an enthusiastic ally, always joining in the battles with high spirit - although most of the times he had had to withdraw even faster than he had come into the battlefield - and proclaiming that they were going to win.

He couldn't just plainly say to Germany that both he and his people were deathly tired of the war, and, that if the allies would invade his own territory, the delicate situation of his boss, that throne he had built was going to fall apart.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to keep the island safe, but they can be really scary, England and America." he rubbed the back of his head "But I'm sure Germany is still stronger than them!" he offered him the brightest smile he could manage, trying not to think that that still implied that things could change from a moment to another.




(*): mostly, I'm thinking about the Italian invasion of Greece, which failed miserably and led Germans to delay their attack on the Russian front in order to help their allies.

Germany looked down at Italy and the trust that he had in him. "We will find a way to protect your country, Italy." Even if his leaders balked at the idea of the continuing protection of Italy and its shores, to let an ally--or worse yet, the conquered territory he knew his boss wanted to make the brothers--fall to an enemy without so much as batting an eye, it would make Germany look bad.

"And don't worry about those two. America's a blowhard, determined to claim all of the credit for himself and England got into this war so unprepared, he was practically bringing in ice cream trucks to have enough military vehicles." He knew that England was no longer in that position, but in terms of preparedness at the beginning of the war, Germany had had the distinct lead.

"We will defeat them," he said, "and when it is all done, we will have an empire. No one will doubt your country's greatness ever again." He didn't know if it sounded as hollow as the words felt leaving his tongue. "No more reparations to France making my country go broke, no more of you being bullied around by other nations." That, he could promise, even if Italy became a territory. Germany would protect him.

Italy's smile brightened, really happy to hear those words from his ally's mouth.
"We've made them face hard times, haven't we?" he replied, thinking about all the fights they had fought together against the common enemies "And we're not done yet."

Sure enough, Germany still looked like he could go on and fight the war on his own, although he was having his own troubles as well. If he was as tired as Italy was, the blonde didn't show it. Instinctively, Italy turned and stretched his arms to hug him, maybe without the usual impetus he had, but still warmly.
"I know I can count on you, Germany." he whispered in a smile.

He tightened his embrace a bit, as if he had the need to feel that his friend's body there next to him was real, and that he wasn't going nowhere.
An empire. He had dreamed so long about becoming one, he had actually succeeded to grasp some colonies in Africa. He had marched there like a real conquerer, he and his brother were so proud, at the time. He sighed.
"Your dreams are always big enough for the two of us." he said, looking up at him.



((I was wondering if we should divide the role into "scenes" or something, like, skipping directly from a date/event/place setting to another?))

Germany awkwardly patted Italys back. Memories of that failed attempt to propose to the man now in his arms came flooding back. Not wanting to make his friend panic about that as well as his concerns of Sicily, Ludwig patted the smaller man's back. He hated to admit how good the whole thing felt.

"We'll make it through, Italy," he said. "And when we come out of this, we'll be all the stronger for it." He only hoped that he wasn't unintentionally lying.

((sure. We could split it up by scenes. I don't know what else to write for this one. did you want to move ahead to the attack?))

Night between the 9th and 10th of July, 1943, Sicily


The wind had been blowing impetuously for the whole afternoon and evening, the day before, and it was calming down only now. The air had regained its salty scent, but instead of the wind's howling, now the silence of the night was broken by the antiaircraft artillery's shots.

They were expecting the attack to start the morning after (luckily, Germany's planes had spotted the Allied fleet's suspicious movements the day before, so that they had figured what was going to happen) but apparently the storm hadn't discouraged the enemy, and they were now trying to gain control over a few tactical spots in the coast.

"They're really determined, eh?" Italy shivered, even if the air was anything but cold that night, despite of the storm.
His brother Romano was on the other side of the coast, probably witnessing the very same scene. He was worried for his brother, who had looked as if he had lost the will to fight even it his own house was at stake. Then again, Italy couldn't be sure that he would have been more motivated, if he hadn't had Germany at his side.

He wanted badly to hold the other's hand, but both his hands were already busy in carrying his rifle. Although he had been carrying that weapon for what seemed like ages, that night it felt like it was heavier than ever. He hadn't become stronger at all, despite all the years of training. Such a waste of time.

Germany glanced over at Italy. He could tell the other was cold. He was tempted to wrap his arm around the other, but he managed to resist the urge. Not only was it inappropriate, it was beyond frowned upon by his country.

"They are determined, but so are we," he assured his friend. "We will not back down to those ally idiots."

He tried to be reassuring to the other man, but he had his doubts. His men were stretched too thin, spread too far to keep up the assaults to the south and continue to the north. Why was it that none of his people seemed to understand that going against eastern Europe was foolish unless all efforts could be focused in that direction? How many people in the past had tried and failed?

"Thankfully, we are prepared." Had it not been for that intelligence, they might have been caught completely off guard.

Italy nodded, although without much conviction this time. They were still fighting side by side, and Germany was still reacting to the attack with his usual strength of spirit and body, while Italy couldn't help but stumble after him, realizing he wasn't able to defend his own house.

Although objectively the Allies were facing their own problems in the attack, mainly because of the bad weather and some defects of coordination, he was confused, too discouraged, too tired, and too weak to oppose any significant resistance. For each step England and America took on his own shores, he could feel his spirit shake and weaken.

How was he supposed to react anyway? The castle of dreams and visions built by his duce was trembling and he knew it was going to fall into pieces from a moment to another. The first steps towards the destruction had already been done, they only needed a last push and everything would collapse.


The night turned into day, and as the battle went on in the sultry air of the summer, Italy only felt the discourage grow deeper in his soul. Surrender, just surrender, that was what he was thinking of. But he couldn't, not while Germany was still at his side anyway.

"Germany..." he tugged his jacket's sleeve and blinked to look at him against the light of the midday "don't you think we should withdraw?"

"You can't just back down before battle has begun," Germany said, looking at his ally. "We are not going to retreat to those allied idiots." He looked ahead. "We have more than enough troops here between the two of us to dfeend this little island."

He looked ahead into the night at the ships heading for them. They would defend Sicily at whatever cost. He didn't have to guess how vital this was to maintaining Italy as his ally. Already, his own troops, and really their leaders as well, had undermined order. They were not obeying Italian orders at all. Though Germany could understand their trepidation to obey Italians, to show such disregard, it only furthered Germany's fears that his friend and ally was going to become little more than an acquired land under German rule.

Italy opened his mouth once and then closed it, and then reopened it again.
"Consider it, please, Germany?" he looked at him hesitantly. This wasn't the first time their opinion about the development of a battle diverged, and it wasn't going to be the last one - or at least Italy thought so - but this time was different from all the others. They weren't fighting for colonies, or in far away lands to decide whether to conquer a certain spot or another. They were fighting for his own house - and surprisingly, Germany was the more determined at defending it.

"There are so many of them, and our forces are too scattered." he said. "W-what if they cut us off from the rest of the troops? We could end up trapped here..." he looked around them, as if he was expecting that the enemy soldiers could appear out from nowhere right in that moment to capture him and Germany.

"If I do not feel we can manage to win this, I promise you that we will withdraw." He looked at Italy. "But you have all but said it yourself. If we lose Sicily, they will be nearly on your shores. You know that this could change everything."

He put his hand on Italy's shoulder. "Our troops know the attack is heading this way. I will bring in more of my own people and we will defend Sicily. We will hold as long as we can until reinforcements come if we can't just beat the allies back."

He sighed and looked over at him. "And if we are trapped here, then we will still be trapped here together." He held out his pinkie. "A promise is a promise."

Italy looked up at Germany, wishing that he could be just as brave as his friend was. Wishing that he could trust in what Germany said like he used to in the past.
It wasn't like he didn't trust Germany anymore - no, he didn't even think that it could be possible, after all the years spent together. He was probably just too tired for feelings like trust and hope, right now.

Still, he held Germany's pinkie with his own. The small amount of warmth that passed through that contact wasn't enough to revive his usual smile, but Italy nodded slowly.
"Promise."

Italy felt miserable; his friend's and ally's men were dying, side by side with his own soldiers, for a land that wasn't theirs, while he only wanted to quit the battlefield. Anyway, Germany seemed quite determined to resist until the end, and it looked like Italy didn't have any other choice than to do so as well.
If trapped, then trapped together.

Spoiler: