Chapter 1025: Countermeasures

The aide, whom Mussolini had regarded as a dog, had by now left the building. He got into his car and ordered his driver, “Back to my apartment! Quickly.”

The car started up. The driver, saying nothing, concentrated on maneuvering through the traffic and crowds. They soon reached their destination; after all, the aide’s apartment was not far from Mussolini’s office.

Returning to his own residence, he shut his door, and the aide’s expression suddenly changed. Outside, he had given the impression of being slick and worldly-wise, but now his face wore a look of grave solemnity.

From a secret compartment in the wall, he took out a radio set and began to tap out a message, checking it against his codebook. He knew Mussolini saw him as nothing more than a dog, but even a dog has its moment to fight desperately for the true master it serves. He smiled as he sent the message, because he was finally fulfilling his purpose, the purpose for which he had been embedded here for fifteen long years.

The youth wasted under the neon lights of Rome, the emptiness of abandoning his family and love for the sake of his motherland—all of it was repaid in this one moment. He was satisfied, happy. He knew his struggle had finally been meaningful. He had finally become one of the German heroes the Führer spoke of on the radio.

In the German Army Intelligence Headquarters in Berlin, Gascoigne stood by several radio sets, receiving news that was, for him, extremely important. Recently, border patrol units had been reporting that Italy was secretly reinforcing its fortifications on the German-Italian border. This was not good news for Germany.

Italy would not be reinforcing its border defenses for no reason. There had to be some ulterior motive behind it. So Gascoigne had quickly begun to gather intelligence on the Italian side, even systematically collating previous intelligence, hoping it would help in analyzing the reason for Italy’s actions.

But today, several of the intelligence stations that the department had planted in Italy had all sent back their respective messages. Some claimed that Italian troops were being moved slowly, among them several main divisions from the Rome garrison. Others claimed they had discovered that the Italians were frequently holding emergency meetings, their behavior highly suspicious.

Now, all that was missing was the most critical piece of news, the message from the high-ranking aide embedded at Mussolini’s side. This was what Gascoigne was so anxiously waiting for, the news that would be the final nail in the coffin. The fixed contact time was almost here. All the secrets were about to be revealed.

“It’s coming!” The NCO receiving the message, his eyes lit up. He began to pull out the encrypted text that was printing from the machine. A translator, who was waiting at the side, began to check the codes in the codebook and quickly translated the real message.

Gascoigne looked at the translated text, and his pupils dilated slightly. This document was too important, so important that he didn’t even know how to deliver it to the Führer’s residence. Should he carry it with both hands? Or put it in his briefcase…

“My Führer! Intelligence just back from Rome, the capital of Italy!” Gascoigne respectfully handed the file to Akado. The contents of this document were enough to change the current political situation in all of Europe.

Akado unfolded the document and began to read it, word by word: Because of the issue of the Libyan oil fields, Mussolini has been in frequent contact with American representatives. The two sides have reached an agreement, preparing to announce their withdrawal from the Axis in 10 days. The Italian army is not ready for war, but the Americans have promised to provide Italy with arms and personnel. Please ask the Führer to make preparations as soon as possible. — Clark Borg.

The last name, in fact, represented nothing. “Clark Borg” was a codeword, proof that the aide embedded with Mussolini had not been exposed. If the telegram had been sent by someone else, or if the aide had sent it under duress, the signature would have been changed to “Clark Bott.”

“It seems our old friend, Mr. Mussolini, is really bothered by our use of the Libyan oil fields,” Akado said with a cold laugh. He then spoke to Gascoigne, “I will immediately activate the emergency contingency plan. Your side should also, as much as possible, verify just how accurate this telegram is.”

“Regarding the border situation, this agent is not wrong…” Gascoigne had clearly done his homework before coming. He recited the intelligence about the Italian border from memory, beginning his report immediately, “My Führer, the Italian military is riddled with corruption. They have not built any proper defensive fortifications on the border. They have only symbolically dug trenches and set up some simple obstacles.”

“They haven’t been misled, have they?” Akado frowned. He was afraid of being deceived by intelligence that seemed almost completely transparent. After all, the Allies had many good hands at forging intelligence and had, in another timeline, deceived Hitler’s decisions.

It should be known that Germany’s intelligence system this time was almost all-pervasive and had been meticulously prepared for more than ten years. While it had provided the German army with systematic and almost comprehensive intelligence, it had also made Akado even more worried about whether the judgments made based on the intelligence system were correct.

“My Führer, we have corroborated this from many angles. They did not lay any mines in the pre-set minefields, but just stuck a sign nearby warning of the danger, and considered the mine-laying task complete. Then they sold these purchased mines, at a low price, to one of our merchants,” Gascoigne said with a smile, pointing to his own nose. “That merchant was my son, Gascoigne Jr.”

Akado nodded, which was his way of letting down his guard. He read the intelligence in his hand one more time and then said to Gascoigne, “Find a way to get me a detailed deployment plan of theirs.”

“Yes, my Führer!” Gascoigne saluted at attention and then turned and walked out.

Akado watched as his trusted subordinate from the intelligence department left his office. He then picked up the phone in front of him and said slowly, “Hello, this is Akado. Get me the Naval High Command… Yes, I need to speak to Raeder. I have something to discuss with him.”

Soon, Raeder’s voice came through the phone. “My Führer, how can I help you? The Navy has been conducting coastal training near the Baltic Sea recently due to the fuel shortage. We haven’t encountered anything that would require your attention.”

“Immediately order the fleet to assemble. The main fleet is to prepare to activate operational plan ‘C’ of the Atlantic Wall defense plan!” Akado said sternly into the phone. “Remember, this time, no failure is permitted!”

One didn’t have to think to know that if the Allies wanted to enter Italy, there were only two ways. One was the Suez Canal, which had already been blocked by Rommel, full of mines and cannons—that way was definitely not going to work. The only one left was the Strait of Gibraltar. So Akado’s first order was to the Navy. He needed to strengthen the defense of the Strait of Gibraltar to defend against a possible Allied attack.

“Yes! My Führer! I will immediately order Admiral Lütjens to assemble the fleet and then to execute operational plan ‘C’!” Hearing Akado mention Plan C, Raeder immediately replied with great seriousness. He, of course, knew what this plan meant, and the excitement in his heart could not be expressed in words.

His German main fleet, which had already grown to a frightening size, after such a long period of silence, was finally, once again, facing a battle. And this time, he was no longer the weaker side. It was a fair fight with an equal opponent.

The former High Seas Fleet had always had to give way to the British. But now his fleet was destined to sail on the Atlantic, to give his old rival, the British Navy, and his new rival, the U.S. Navy, a truly unforgettable, fatal blow. For this moment, he had waited for too, too long. The fortunate thing was that this time, he no longer had to wait.

Putting down the phone, Akado connected to another office. “Hello? This is Akado. I am ordering you to execute ‘Plan Y’ against Italy. Are there any questions?”

On the other end of the line, a hoarse voice replied, “No problem, my Führer… It’s just that we’re a little short on manpower. I hope to be able to use a portion of the reserve forces.”

“Alright! Make it foolproof!” Akado put down the phone again. He had to arrange all of Germany’s countermeasures as soon as possible to effectively ensure that Germany’s invasion of Italy could be successfully completed.

After making another call, Akado finally connected to the command post of General Hoth’s J Army Group. It was already a hive of activity there. Gascoigne must have already leaked some of the intelligence to this army group commander, who was in charge of the Balkans and the Italian direction.

“My Führer, I am secretly mobilizing my troops. The panzer divisions have already assembled and are on standby. If necessary, they can launch an attack within 10 hours,” General Hoth, who was extremely familiar with his own business, said. He had quickly adopted the most decisive countermeasures.

His troops had been in a state of semi-mobilization, rotating into the Balkan region to clear out partisans. To return to a state of full mobilization was not a difficult matter. After hearing Akado’s order, he replied, “No problem, my Führer. As long as the heavy tank battalion you promised is in place, to tear open the Italian defense line will not be a difficult matter.”

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