For the Empire- Intro & Feedback! [EX]

Note: This is a "What If" scenario, starting with the Italian invasion of Yugoslavia in December 1938 to the Invasion of Hungary in April 1939, Takeover of Cote d' Azur and Provence-Alps March 1940, and the Paris Campaign May 1941.

Background Information: Germany fails their assault on France in 1940. In a combined assault in late 1940 and early 1941, Italy calls upon a Tank Commander to take Paris for Italy and Italy alone.
Name: Justin
Setting: 1939-1941 with flashbacks to 1938
Genre: What-If

ITALY- BATTALION 113, TANK GROUP 9​

NEAR THE BORDER OF HUNGARY- APRIL 1939​

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“My friends! Today we will make yet another push into Eastern Europe!” He could hear the men cheering and clapping. All around him he could see dozens of tanks, all of them the new M13/40 medium assault tanks. Armed with a 47mm cannon it could easily stand against any tank in the world, save of course, Germany's. Their first live-fire experience was the Italian-Yugoslav war of December- February of 1938/1939. They had proved nearly unstoppable against the Yugoslav armor, loaned from the Russian tank army.​

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It was, strange enough, snowing lightly, but the flakes were large enough to be confused as a snow-covered 20mm cannon round. The air was cold, at about twenty-degrees Fahrenheit. Mussolini himself had had winter coats shipped out to the front lines for his troops. This may have saved lives- January of the same year may've been known as Italy's coldest winter in history, at nearly minus ten-degrees Fahrenheit. ​

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He had stopped talking, listening to the radio perched on top of the turret of an M13/40 right next to his. The volume was at his highest for everyone around him to hear.​

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It was their commander in chief, Benito Mussolini himself.​

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“For the greater good of the Italian people, I instruct that our nation's army, navy and air force, to conduct an assault on the Eastern European country of Hungary. This is the beginning of the war against Hungary. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this attack, the Italian people, in their power and glory, will win through to absolute victory.”

There was clapping, cheering, yelling over the radio as a crowd of thousands listened. The same was coming from all around him- tank crews and infantry yelling and cheering as their leader declared war on an inferior nation that needed liberation- it's people were suffering under their oppressive government and the Italians needed to save their allies from this terrible fate.​

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Breaking through the endless cheering, he yelled, “Friends! Mount up! Generalissimo just ordered us to move out!”​

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He closed the hatch of the tank over his head. In inside of the tank was cramped- but welcoming. He had driven with it since October of last year, the first tank of this type he trained in. His crew of 3 men- one driver, gunner and loader- were all familiar to him. This tank, along with the crew and himself, had all gone through the tough but supremely victorious Yugoslavian campaign of the winter of 1938-1939. He had managed to destroy nearly a dozen tanks, and therefore had been promoted to Tank platoon lieutenant to Captain, XO of Tank Group 9, Battalion 113, Division 89, Corps 4, Army Group North C. North C was, obviously responsible for the fall of Yugoslavia. North B bordered Germany just for “security reasons” (Mussolini claimed) and North A bordered the small expanse between France. It was the largest Army Group under Italian control. Army Group South A was in Libya, and Army Group South B was in Ethiopa and the rest of the expanse of Italian colonies in Eastern Africa. ​

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The nearly two-dozen pale-yellow tanks had gotten a quick, ragged paint over of a white camouflage. It didn't mess with anything, and could easily be removed for the later campaigns against France. It did the job it had to- it camouflaged the tanks from any enemy aerial units.​

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With a loud rumble, the tanks were off. They were in a loose, randomized formation. Hard to destroy them all in a single artillery barrage. ​

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The sparse trees- most of them dried out and hibernated for the winter, some slowly regaining their health- were being run over by the massive 14-ton tanks. Behind them trailed Infantry Group 3 of the same Battalion 113. Composed of about one-hundred experienced troops, they and Tank Group 9 had assisted each other throughout the Yugoslavian campaign earlier before. Infantry Group 3 contained ten anti-tank riflemen, eight machine gunners, thirty-two submachine gunners, and fifty riflemen. All worked in effective lines- squads were equally balanced, and one squad of twenty men once held off an entire Yugoslavian infantry company. He remembered the man's named- Captain Antonio Russo- a common name. He had, himself, received a bullet wound to the shin, but had recovered so quickly and returned to the field the doctors said it was “a miracle”. He was, in fact, injured on December 19, the same day the tank captain was field promoted, because he received his highest kill count in a single day- four tanks. ​

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As they rounded a large grouping of forests, the lead tank commander shouted through the radio: “We got somethin'! Looks like a tank squadron, about seven of 'em!”​

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The captain shifted where he was. “Here we go men, we've got some action. Load 47mm rounds and fire on my mark.”​

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His tank rounded the corner. His driver, looking through the visual port. “Contact, Captain. We have seven Hungarian tanks, about one kilometer out. They've started their run, we're converging on each other.”​

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The Captain nodded and looked up at the armored hull of the turret. He opened the top hatch and breathed. The cold spring air was blowing in his face. He looked out at a large white-brown cloud up ahead. They were traveling at least 20 kilometers per hour, a good speed for a light tank or tankette. On his briefings the day before at division headquarters, he shifted through the Hungarian's tanks- small details were visible- a very small main gun, about fifteen feet long- it must be a Toldi I. 20mm cannon. ​

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He brought his mouthpiece of his radio to his lips. “Gentlemen, we have a special today. Toldi tanks with a side of fried Hungarian, served with a dish of 47mm cannon rounds.”​

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Laughter rung out throughout the tank group. He glanced back behind him, at the 3rd Infantry Group, taking up positions several dozen meters behind his tank group. One shot several rounds into a flimsy tree, knocking it over and taking cover behind it. If their “mighty” tank group failed to destroy the Hungarian tanks, they would be the last stand against the Hungarian tank platoon.​

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He sank back into his tank and closed the hatch. He himself, up in the turret, had a small visual panel to look out- but the Captain always looked out into the enemy through the open air, to see, feel his target.​

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His tank crew, combined with the entire tank group combined, had the highest kill count in the entire division- over 40 total.​

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His driver reported below him. “Sir, they are within range. The smaller tanks can't shoot at us, it would be ineffective. Now's the time.”​

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He took a breath. “Open fire! All tanks!”​

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The thunder of twelve tank cannons rang out, including the loudest, his own tank. They soared nearly half a kilometer. There were puffs and slams- the rounds slamming into the ground and tanks, respectively.​

Looking through his viewport, he could see that of the seven tanks, three had been hit and destroyed. The others continued on toward them.​

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“Reloading!” called his tank loader, and the Captain heard him open the bolt and let the spent cannon round fall out. He grabbed another and put it in, closed the chamber and loaded the round. “Ready!”​

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The rest of the tank group's loaders called out to their commanders as well, and he yelled, “Fire!” over the radio and to his crew.​

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The thunder again rumbled through his ears. Looking through his viewport, all tanks had been hit- fire sprouted across the horizon, followed by smoke.​

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“Victory!” the captain yelled over the radio. The tank group continued on toward the spent Hungarian Toldis. The carcasses were deformed- all with gaping holes in their forward hulls. Some had their turret popped off, others had unused ammunition explode and bounce out of the hull. Others just simply had their fuel reserves set alight from the Italian cannon shells.​

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The tank group stopped and disembarked. While the infantry group caught up with them, they established a temporary forward HQ for the two groups. They unloaded all the spare fuel, ammo and other supplies. They had fires start.​

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The sun was out now, the gray, dull clouds still present- the snow and clouds together, making the sun look pure white.​

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They had achieved a great victory. Thankfully for the driver, he had traced the exact shells to their tanks. They had knocked out two of the seven tanks alone. Ten more and he would probably be a major and the commander of Tank Group 9... not much, right?

The infantry group had caught up. Captain Antonio Russo had exclaimed his gratitude during the skirmish. No tanks had received any damage of the sort, adding to the great victory. ​

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The man's name was Captain Giuseppe Rossi, son of a general during the Great War. He had commanded Division 73, the same division that had assisted Division 89, Division 102, Division 35, Division 19 and Division 67 in taking Belgrade from the Yugoslavians.

Like father, like son, they would always say.

"Captain, nice move there. You're very own blitz, heh?"

"Maybe. But I'm not German, am I?" Giuseppe said with a smile. Guiding Captain Russo into the command tent, he brought him up to the table with the "infamous map" on it. On it were two armed soldiers and three M13/40 tanks. One soldier stood for fifty men, half an Infantry Group, and one tank stood for four tanks, 1/3 of a tank group.

He picked up the tanks and soldiers and displaced them in a random pattern where they currently were. "Now, General Marino promises me we will have fresh supplies, reinforcements and orders by tomorrow." He took a quick glance over his shoulder, the sun about one or two feet from the horizon. "Orders. Now, some of my men are claiming we will march straight to Budapest. But hell, that will take a while. No, I think we're going to assist some of those jockies. The rookies, who think they're the shit?"

Russo laughed. "I doubt it. We're the most experienced units in the 113th, and they wouldn't place experienced tanks and infantry with inexperienced tanks and infantry."

"Eh, my ass. High Command thinks that they are the ones who took Yugoslavia. They think they're taking Hungary! Do you believe this, Captain? They're stealing all the credit!"

Russo cringed. "I thought you liked Mussolini."

Rossi spat on the ground. "He's okay, but the rest give me the creeps."

Russo laughed and left the tent.

Rossi sighed and leaned on the table, studying the map. Nearby were six Italian single Divisions, two Corps. Hungary had two single divisions and one half-corps. They wouldn't stand a chance.

The patter of automatic fire erupted across the snowy landscape. Then the scream of Russo echoed: "Everyone, get out here! We're under attack!"

Rossi's eyes widened and he sprinted out of the tent. About half a klick from camp were nine Toldi I tanks, accompanied by at least three-dozen automatic-armed infantry.

"Damn. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!" Rossi ran to his tank. His crew were already inside. He jumped and caught the side of the turret. Climbing upwards, he crawled into the turret hatch and shut it closed.

"Cannon ready, sir!" Rossi could already hear tank cannons, his very own, opening fire on the Hungarian offenders. Discipline was going to hell, the Hungarians had surprise. Why were his soldiers relaxed when the attack came? Hadn't he and Captain Russo taught their men to always stay alert? It seemed that six months of training went to hell.

"Fire once loaded, sergeant! Keep firing, I don't give a damn who you are at! Just get those Hungarians out of here!"

The sergeant nodded and fired the cannon. The driver began to moved in a criss-cross pattern. Rossi clenched his fist around the 8mm Breda machine gun. Looking through his visual port, he spotted three clumped-together Hungarian soldiers and held the trigger. They went down as small clumps of snow were thrown into the air.

Russo's voice yelled over the radio. "Their tanks aren't caring shit for ours. They just ran over an entire squad of my troops!"

So much for civilized warfare.

Behind the Scenes:
*Mussolini's Declaration of War against Hungary mirrors Franklin D Roosevelt's Declaration of War against Japan on December 8, 1941
*Unlike in real history, the M13/40 Italian medium tank entered service in Winter of 1938, instead of early 1940.
*Captain Giuseppe Rossi despises the Germans and thinks that all of Europe belongs to Mussolini and his Empire.
*Unlike in real history, Italy has one of the most powerful militaries in the world, and, which will be proved later in the story, is powerful enough to face the French military alone and triumph.

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GERMANY- PANZER DIVISION 7, TANK GROUP 14
NEAR THE BORDER OF FRANCE- APRIL 1938

"Heil Hitler!"

The thirty soldiers all did so, including the tank crews, standing on the top of the gray-armored hulls. The man returned the salute and continued walking, his arms folded behind his back.

The tanks were numerous- dozens of random tanks, some Panzer I's, II's, and III's. Others were some painted-over Italian tanks, a green-brown camouflage over four M13/40 medium tanks and two Fiat L6/40 light tanks. They were, too commanded by Italians.

They were ordered to stay on the border "until the war began", claimed by Field Marshal von Runstedt. He had already been stationed there two months, and the French border was just three kilometers away- and he, too could see several dozen French tanks and an infantry camp not far from there.

General Erwin Rommel looked at his new tank- the new Panzer IV tank. His crew were the most battle-hardened in the entire division. They saluted him crisply- he returned it and climbed down the hatch into the tank.

It was beautiful- no scarring marks, a completely unused gun- a beauty to behold, any tank commander would kill for something like this.

Literally.

The War in Europe was drawing closer- with Mussolini's invasions of Yugoslavia and Hungary he doubted France would even have allies, save Great Britain, by the beginning of the war. Czechoslovakia and Austria had fallen, all that remained were France, Holland, Belgium, Poland and Denmark... it seemed like many, but then again, Herr Fuhrer had the strongest army the world had ever seen.

But how long would it last?

How long would it take for the world to unite under a single banner and destroy the Fuhrer's army of greatness? That answer, Rommel did not know.

He boomed throughout the hull of the tank, "Driver, take us around the perimeter. 16 kilometers per hour- let's see what she can do."

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nvm- Reserved for next post

 

lol That's kinda weird.

 

True.

Was your grandfather in any theater of WWII?

 

I see...