Chapter 570: The Gift
Italy, Rome, the Duce’s residence. Mussolini stood on the balcony with his hands behind his back, listening to his beautiful secretary read a telegram from Berlin. Mussolini had been very displeased lately because Italy’s position within the Axis powers had slid from number one all the way down to its current position of eternal number two.
Make no mistake, when Mussolini had first met Akado, he had acted entirely like the senior partner. But after just a few short years, he could no longer hold his head high in front of the Germans.
In fact, in an alliance of nations, how straight you can hold your back depends entirely on the strength of your own country. This is even more so in times of war. A simple comparison of the combat records of the allied nations could easily establish their respective subordinate relationships.
Thinking of this, Mussolini sighed. In the current situation, he really couldn’t be blamed for sighing. Look at the Germans: they had swept through Poland, crushed France, invaded England, and were now fighting a spectacular war with the Soviet Union… Damn it, just thinking about it was awe-inspiring. Then look at his own history of blood and tears: his invasion of Ethiopia had left him half-dead, his opportunistic attack on France had been beaten back, and his rout in North Africa had only been stabilized after begging the Germans to intervene. Let alone what others thought, he himself felt ashamed.
This huge gap had made Mussolini postpone his friendly visit to Berlin on some pretext. He had not even attended the inauguration ceremony of the special liaison office of the new Axis member, Turkey, in Germany.
A few days ago, he had learned that Akado was about to have a child. He had originally wanted to go and congratulate him in person, but because Rommel of the German North African corps had complained that the Italian supply transport was not timely, Mussolini had lost face again, and this congratulatory trip had also been canceled.
“Berlin hopes that within the next 3 to 5 days, we will arrange for 70 transport ships, in addition to the normal supply vessels, to set sail and deliver a portion of the 12th Panzer Division’s equipment and important supplies to General Rommel,” the secretary’s sweet voice continued, interrupting Mussolini’s thoughts.
“This Rommel, to supply his troops, I have already let almost half of the Italian army go hungry. What more does he want?” Mussolini said bitterly. It was clear that there were others in the room besides his secretary, and quite a few of them.
A naval admiral, while wiping his sweat, complained, “Duce, we are not a transport corps. Now, in the entire Mediterranean, we are squeezing our fleet every day for transport. Even the destroyers are transporting personnel, but we still cannot meet the Germans’ endless demands for supplies.”
“That’s right!” an air force general also nodded. “One of their corps demands more than one of our army groups. Since the number of their fighter units has increased, our air force, apart from the Me-109Cs, has already begun to limit its number of sorties!”
It was clear that this air force commander was a victim of German military dominance. In the eyes of the German air force commanders, apart from a small number of Me-109C fighters which were still considered combat-effective, the clumsy and slow planes of the Italian air force could hardly be considered a qualified strike force. So the Germans, with a stroke of the pen, had allocated all of Italy’s aviation fuel to their own Stuka and Do-217 bomber units.
The Italian army general at the side looked at the complaints of the navy and air force and was clearly even more aggrieved. But before he could speak, he was interrupted by Mussolini. “Alright! Alright! I know the army’s life is even harder. You don’t have to put on that pained expression for me!”
Everyone gave a sheepish smile. Compared to the grievances suffered by the Italian navy and air force, the Italian army was like a bullied little wife, never having a good day. To meet the German army’s massive supply demands, the daily rations of some Italian units had been reduced considerably, and some units could not even get their ammunition distributed in a timely manner.
In fact, Mussolini had tried to get the German military’s opinion. He had even privately expressed his dissatisfaction to Field Marshal von Brauchitsch, demanding that the German frontline commanders maintain the traditional friendship between Italy and Germany. But his protest was easily brushed aside by Brauchitsch. The German Field Marshal had sneered and then said, “Mr. Duce, apart from your Blackshirts, which Italian unit can I give munitions to that can defeat the British like the German army can?”
“Free up 70 ships! Send the supplies to Rommel! I don’t care how you do it! But this order must be carried out without fail! Understood?” Mussolini finally said through gritted teeth. He had to give an answer to the German General Staff and the High Command, because the German-Italian allied forces in North Africa were fighting to seize North African interests for Italy. If he did not put in the effort, the Germans could just walk away, leaving an unmanageable mess for the Italians.
Italy was also gradually adapting to the war situation. In April, Mussolini had passed a temporary wartime act and had established Italy’s own logistics and supply department, which had temporarily stabilized the originally chaotic logistical support work. However, Italy’s war preparations had been truly abysmal, and to this day, the entire country was still not ready to fight a war.
Akado, of course, knew what Italy was like. Its actions in the other timeline could be described with the two words “comical.” A country that, in an unfavorable war situation, suddenly announced its withdrawal from the Axis to oppose Germany, was then completely occupied by Germany without a fight, and then announced that they would continue to fight the Americans alongside their German allies. From this, one could see the Italian mentality: We don’t really care who we fight, just don’t expect us to win.
“Now we have to seriously study how to maintain an inseparable alliance with Germany,” Mussolini said, rubbing his temples. The number of frustrating messes that had made his veins pop recently was simply too great.
To rely on the Italian troops under his command to maintain the relationship between the two countries was clearly not realistic. It was estimated that if Italy continued to be so weak, Germany would start discussing with Turkey how to partition Italy after they had finished carving up the Balkan Peninsula.
“Duce, perhaps we should have more contact with the Pope in the Vatican. Didn’t the German Führer just have a son? We can find a good title for his son. I’m sure the Führer will not refuse this gift,” the most marginalized army general quickly advised. If not for the fact that he had a few tricks up his sleeve, with the army’s disastrous combat record, he would have been eliminated by Mussolini countless times already.
This idea made Mussolini’s eyes light up, and he quickly nodded. This gift was absolutely the best choice, even more to Akado’s liking than any physical gift. Even if Akado himself didn’t care for it, his wife, Mercedes, would certainly accept this good news from the papal court with a smile. After all, a child who could alarm the Vatican was a rarity in the entire world.
“Let the papal court give the child a title… the rank of a duke. The Greater Germany Party has been advocating for Akado’s enthronement recently. If his son has such a title, he will accept it whether he has the intention of becoming emperor or not,” Mussolini muttered to himself as he nodded.
Previously, Italy had laid the groundwork for Mercedes’s family. Not long after her marriage to Führer Akado, Mercedes had been recognized as a noble by countries like the Vatican and Italy and had her own noble title. Now, to grant a title to Mercedes’s son had become a matter of course.
And so, the leader of Italy, Mussolini, personally went to the Vatican, gave a large sum of money to the cardinals of the papal court, and also donated a dozen luxury Mercedes-Benz cars to His Holiness the Pope. The public relations effect was extraordinary. Later that day, the Pope announced a stunning piece of news: in the Führer’s residence in Berlin, a child favored by God had descended from heaven. The King of Italy and the former Queen of the Netherlands, Wilhelmina, almost simultaneously came out and recognized Akado’s son—a little boy who had not even opened his eyes yet—as the Grand Duke of the Iron Cross.
The little fellow did not yet know that he was already a grand duke of distinguished status. The sparse golden hair on his head was as soft as satin. He was sleeping with his eyes closed, nestled in his mother’s arms, enjoying the most meticulous care and love in the world. The thick smoke of the front lines and the sea of blood in the concentration camps seemed to have nothing to do with him. He just lay there quietly, letting the kind gazes of the people around him caress his smooth, porcelain-like skin.
“The little one is sleeping so sweetly. When he’s nursing, he’s like a little beast, very forceful and impatient,” Mercedes said with a smile, whispering to the Führer and Anna, who were sitting beside her, about her son’s cuteness and mischief.
“Look at all these people, what kind of congratulatory gifts are these?” Anna said with a pout, clearly unimpressed with the gift-giving level of the high-ranking celebrities of the Third Reich. She looked at the table piled with gifts, casually picked up a golden pistol, and made a disdainful expression.
Field Marshal Krupp had given the little one a tank model. Old Sir August had given him a huge map of Germany. Krupp had brought the deed to a castle at the foot of the Alps. Jelinek had given his own grandson 3% of the tax-free shares of the White Orchid Group. The gifts of gems, famous watches, cars, and other things from the dignitaries of various countries were countless. Of course, the most frightening gift was from the commander of the SS, Heydrich—the gold-plated pistol in Anna’s hand.
“There is a good gift, and it is on its way,” Akado said with a helpless smile. It seemed the gift-giving level of these people was indeed no match for the Italian leader, Mussolini. “A gift that neither Mercedes nor I can refuse.”
Published: 2025-09-06T04:26:41.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-01-01T17:17:46.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c570-gift-138254065
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