Chapter 9: The World goes Bananas
4th November 1936
“Why can we only send three divisions?”
“Because that’s the system, Mighty Cheesare. If our army was bigger, we’d be able to send more.”
“Or we could just invade Spain, again.”
“…I don’t think the Council would like that, sir.”
Alan and Cheesolini looked over the balcony to the courtyard below, where the surviving members of the Grand Council of Fascism were returning from hospital/the sewer system.
“Somehow I don’t think they will be a problem from now on.”
“The League of Nations, then?”
“This would be the League of Nations that did nothing to stop us committing attoricties in Ethiopia, is doing nothing now our armies are poised to strike the Balkans, and did nothing even as Denmark did their weird little coup and Germany their incredibly bloody civil war?”
“Point. But still, rules are rules. And this one just seems to be a law of the universe.”
“Damn those laws of the universe.”
Beancounter came out to two very glum figures, and decided they could do with a boost. “The 14th Baron of Sillavengo has decided to join SIM.”
“And who is he?”
Once again, a very interesting chap. Makes me wonder who the UK have for their spies, and if Christopher Lee, Jon Pertwee and Ian Fleming are options...
“Mountaineering expert, special forces chap with experience in alpine and desert warfare, engineering and secret murder. Meticulous details man, curiously good at writing, and also a pretty good platoon leader.”
“Why on earth are we wasting him in SIM?”
“Not entirely sure. SIM seems to just be a catch all for everyone to do with intelligence, security, special forces etc. Good catch for us, I think.”
“Sure. Figure out something useful for him to do.”
“At once, Mighty Cheesare.”
Before he could leave, General Catastrophe marched onto the increasingly overcrowded balcony. “Interesting news, everyone. Saudi Arabia has declared war on Oman and Yemen.”
“Goodness me…the British won’t like that.”
“The British have bigger problems. Actually, we all do. Iraq and Iran are also at war.”
“Right…does this matter?”
“Well, it’s awful news for global trade and the British Empire in particular. All their oil partners are now at war, the Middle East is in chaos, they have a mandate to aid a lot of these places and it means both the Persian Gulf and the Suez Canal are no longer safe shipping lanes.”
“Beancounter, I seem to recall you complaining that our supplies from South Asia go via land. Presumably this is through this region?”
“Presumably, Mighty Cheesare, unless for some reason they’ve managed to go through Russia.”
“Will this impact us in any way?”
“Probably not, sir. So long as it remains uncertain as to which route is taken.”
“That makes no sense,” Catastrophe blustered.
“Welcome to bureaucracy, General.” Beancounter made a note. “Is it obvious if anyone will win?”
“Iraq and Iran have similar sized armies and are fighting across a narrow front. So it could be a real long slog for anyone to get anywhere, but personally I doubt Iraq can invade Iran. Loads of mountains and valleys. If the Iranians are smart, they’ll even drop back a bit from the border to lure Iraq into the killing fields.”
“And in Arabia?”
“The Saudis have a slight manpower advantage, plus a huge desert between them and both countries. Oman barely has an army so can serve as little more than a distraction, which might be enough for the more equal Yemen forces to take a defendable forward line. Again, the smart thing would be crushing Oman before anyone can do anything, and then slowly pushing Yemen back…and praying the British don’t get involved.”
“Will they?”
“They might. It would get them a better deal with either side than they already do, especially if they back Yemen and then win.”
“Either way, in either war, there’s not much we can do even if we wanted to,” Cheesolini surmised. “What about Spain?”
“Has the law of the universe been explained?”
“Well, I know about it now. I don’t know about it being explained…”
“The RNG for this timeline has heavily favoured the Republican government in Madrid. The Nationalists have a larger army but its split into two very vulnerable regions, the southernmost one almost certain to fall perhaps even as we arrive to help in the north.”
“Bugger. So can we help the Nationalists at all?”
“Not unless someone else joins in. Or the Republicans split into factions. Sort of outright invasion, it seems likely that the republicans will win.”
“So…mostly neutral or bad news, is it?”
“It seems that way.”
“Hmm…” Cheesolini leaned over the railing and shouted down. “I’ll be taking over the Ministry of Justice. That fine by you?”
There was a long pause, and then a quiet “No.”
“Splendid! Alan, make it so!”
…
Meanwhile, in Denmark
…
Sveinn Björnsson, Grandmaster of the Icelandic Order of Freemasons, and Minister to Denmark, was on the phone again to the King of Denmark.
“No, your Majesty, I have no idea why the Icelandic people seem to view you as a destabilising influence,” he drawled. “I share your concern that the communists now have more than 50% of the popular vote in Norway, however. That can’t be good.”
He paused and nodded to whatever the king said, idly doodling what his official head of state emblem would be.
“Indeed, perhaps you can worry too much about such things. Still, best to ready the troops in case intervention seems warranted. I happen to know there are several Royal detachments here doing nothing particularly useful. Perhaps you could send them closer to home? Wonderful…excellent thinking, your Majesty. TTFM.”
He rang off and rubbed his hands together. “Right, next steps…invite the Americans in.”
…
Back to Italy
…
6th November 1936
The Italian government was trying and failing to figure out what to do with its too small and too weak air force and navy, when General Catastrophe thankfully interrupted with something more interesting.
“The tanks have arrived in Galicia, sir.”
“I thought we were aiming for Granada?”
“Granada is doomed to fall, sir.” Catastrophe brought out the maps. “Quite frankly, if the combined Spanish/Italian assault on the northern Republican pocket fails or gets bogged down, the southern armies will arrive and crush us.”
“So…the Nationalists have not miraculously found a way not to lose then?”
“I’m sorry, Mighty Cheesare.”
“Never mind…never mind. How goes our own army building?”
“The initial wave is a third completed. We are soon sure to have the strongest army of the secondary powers in Europe. Provided we aren’t fighting France or Germany within the next few years, we’ll be fine.”
“Very good. Beancounter?”
“Initial industrial builds are nearing completion, Mighty Cheesare. The peninsula resource sites are nearly up to maximum infrastructure, at which point we’ll switch to building some more civilian factories so we can at least fully commit to two building projects at once.”
“I miss having an entire industirlised contient to build things for me. Italy in 1936 is just pathetic.”
“As you say, Mighty Cheesare.”
Catastrophe was suddenly hit by a bolt of inspirational lightning (it happens), and excitedly began scribbling out something.
“What’s that, General?” Cheesolini said, as everyone else peered out from behind the settee.
“I’ve just realised that we can disband all those useless irregulars, Mighty Cheesare.”
“We already tried that, General. Er…didn’t we?”
“We did. It did not work. But this time it will. We have more soldiers.”
“Um…I’m going to agree and not pursue this line of questioning. Alan?”
“Well, with the irregulars gone and no longer eating up resources, the Red Shirts are now more understrength than ever before, but everyone else will get a bit more supply. Which is nice, I suppose.”
“Do we get the guns and stuff back?”
“No. I specifically asked that question, and the answer is no, Mighty Cheesare,” the General said, emphatically.
“Several thousand armed irregulars just got released into the alps then…okay. Sure hope that doesn’t impact anything later on.”
“That’s foreshadowing, F-O-R-E-S-H-A-D-O-W-I-N-G,” Colonel Kaboom said, idly solving Alan’s crossword puzzle on his way into the meeting room.
“Kaboom? I didn’t know you could read.”
“I don’t make a habit out of it.”
“Hmm. Anyway, everyone…now the irregulars are gone forever and Ethiopia remains ours, and we’re about to make the King of Italy the Emperor…what comes next?”
Beancounter and Alan nodded at each other. “We’ve had a little plot, you might say.”
“This isn’t the death by a thousand micro post-colonial nations again, is it?”
“No, Mighty Cheesare. One massive East African colony/company, which we can add all our current holdings to, plus the British and French bits if chance comes up.”
“Eh, that sounds novel enough to give it a try. I assume we can’t do this until after the Emperor becomes a thing, right?”
“Just so.”
“I do like arbitrary timescales. Excellent work, gentlemen. With just a small number of black shirts left in the high alps, the Ethipopian question resolved, the Grand Council diminished and the rest of the world increasingly turning chaotic, the future seems bright for Italy! Again!”
…
Meanwhile in Denmark
…
11th November 1936
“What is it Hans? I’m in the middle of figuring out how to dress as a military dictator cum absolute monarch whilst also marking Armistice day. It’s very awkward already, even without you bursting in without my trousers on.”
“Beg pardon, Your Majesty” Hans the butler said plummily, “But I am afraid to advise His Majesty that the King of Italy, Victor Emmanuel III, is now also His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor of Ethiopia.”
“Oh,” said the King. “I don’t care.”
“Very good sir. Very good. Oh, and it may also interest Your Majesty to know that Oslo has fallen.”
There was a much longer pause this time.
“Is my brother alright?”
“As well as can be expected sir, given the communists and the bullet holes.”
