< World War II - Belli dura despicio (7) >
July 29, 1940
Berlin, Northern Germany – Governnt Complex
In Northern Italy, the attack on the Veneto region began under the command of Generals Rundstedt, Bock, and Blaskowitz.
Shortly after, large-scale riots broke out in India, and finally, a declaration of war against Germany ca from France.
Them declaring war first reduced our burden, and we had made our own arrangents for the French front, but we were now facing a rather flustering situation.
“What? You’re saying Britain can’t provide the promised funds?”
“That’s right.
Since we didn’t declare war, but France did first, they say they can’t give us all the promised funds and want to renegotiate. It seems that with the riots in India, they have a lot of expenses, and they’re sore about us snatching their companies.”
What is this nonsense? Of course, if asked whether we did the right thing, it’s hard to answer with confidence.
But they had their fun taking shares in companies that had collaborated with the Nazis, joining in on every negotiation with this excuse or that, and now they pull this in this situation?
I felt a throbbing in my temples.
British pride, honestly…
My argunt to increase arms support to prevent Poland's collapse was already t with my father's condition to review it after receiving funds from Britain post-declaration, and now this happens.
“General Roml’s unit is ready, but…”
“Put them on standby for now.”
“Excuse ?”
Regardless of my bewildernt, my father showed a rotten smile that truly revealed his nasty personality.
“It seems they don’t need our help, so we might as well use General Roml’s unit as reserves for the defense of the German mainland.
Britain’s in chaos with India and its ho country under attack. When they need us, they’ll keep their promise.”
“Indeed, an excellent idea. This is a good opportunity to show who has the superiority in our bilateral relationship.”
While I stood there, mouth agape, Minister of Defense Field Marshal Ludwig Beck expressed his approval. He even looked inwardly pleased.
I sent a pleading look to Weizsäcker and Kordt from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but Weizsäcker shook his head, and Erich Kordt, the forr Director of the Europe Bureau, spoke up.
“It might not be just that, Chancellor.
With Britain's power in doubt, the Commonwealth is hesitating to enter the war. It could be a decision that they must show Britain's latent power on their own, not by relying on Germany.”
Indeed, Undersecretary Kordt’s opinion has a valid point.
“Hmm, either way, we can’t run a charity while facing a front with France.
Put General Roml’s unit on standby.”
At my father's subsequent words, I finally let out a sigh and replied.
“Understood, Chancellor. There’s no sign of the main French force invading yet, but there’s no harm in being thoroughly prepared.”
Tactically, it would be best to quickly settle the British front and give them breathing room, but things get tiring when politics and economics are involved.
But even as we speak, Poland is being pushed back to the west bank of the Bug River as the Sikorski Line collapses under the Soviet Union's massive offensive.
The Soviets may look like a pushover now, still suffering from the Great Purge and getting into scuffles with Finland and Poland, but they are not an opponent Germany can lightly face even without Lend-Lease, and there’s no way to let them know that.
If history followed its original course, Zhukov, who would have been appointed only at the end of Operation Barbarossa, is already the Chief of Staff, and the brilliant Soviet commanders who were locked in the Gulag have been released.
The mont the junior officers finish adapting to the battlefield, the full might of the Soviet Union, without the damage from a surprise attack like in the initial Operation Barbarossa, will be approaching…
Of course, we are not Nazi Germany, but from what I recall, nothing good ever ca of it when Churchill got stubborn. I’m endlessly anxious.
In this situation where France still maintains its full military strength, it would be a great help if Britain just maintained the status quo and tied down de Gaulle and the French Navy. I just hope there are no problems.
-
July 30, 1940
diterranean Sea, near the island of Malta
The island of Malta, located just below Sicily which is attached to the Italian peninsula, was a site of fierce close combat in the original history due to its geopolitical importance as a midpoint between Gibraltar and Suez.
The air raids that had been so relentless in the original history were absent, as the Italian Air Force had been all but annihilated by the Luftwaffe, but Malta's fate was nonetheless not a smooth one.
Instead of the air force covering the skies that had been Malta's battlefield in the original history, the Italian Navy, the Regia Marina, was covering the sea as it approached the island of Malta.
The ambitious offensive prepared by the Italian Navy, which had been intimidated for a while after the Taranto raid and moved its capital ships to the safer port of Naples, consisted of a large-scale fleet.
The sight of the grand fleet, which mobilized 5 battleships, 10 light cruisers, and 58 destroyers, gliding across the sea was nothing short of majestic.
Admiral Campioni didn't stop there; he also ordered the fleets in Sicily and Taranto to sortie, planning to attack the British diterranean Fleet from three sides.
However, the expression of the Commander-in-Chief, Admiral Inigo Campioni, who was leading this majestic fleet, was not very bright.
“I wonder when I’ll ever be able to lead a fleet like this again.”
At the admiral’s lant, his chief of staff, Admiral Giuseppe Fioravanzo, also wore a regretful expression. The Italian Navy’s fuel stockpile was a problem, but their ho country was currently under attack.
The Italian Navy's attack on Malta wasn't really because they thought they could occupy it, but because Malta was a key area for maintaining Britain's command of the sea in the diterranean, so attacking it would force the Royal Navy's diterranean Fleet to co out and fight.
The fact that it was close to the port of Naples, their new assembly point instead of Taranto, which would an less fuel consumption, was also a reason the high command had seriously decided on Malta as the target instead of Alexandria.
It was an infuriating situation that the Regia Marina, which had stockpiled enough fuel to continue operations for at least a year, now had to worry about remaining fuel when choosing an attack target.
“It's a miserable situation, but even if we win the naval battle, it's doubtful that our ho country, which is busy trying to stop the German Army, can send troops to land on Malta.”
Admiral Campioni gave a bitter smile upon hearing his chief of staff's words.
“Thinking that far will only depress us, so let's forget it.
We are the Navy, let’s just do the Navy's job.”
Of course, even as he said that, Admiral Campioni found it hard to shake off the gloom that his country's fate did not seem bright.
“The enemy's main ships are the carrier Glorious and three Queen Elizabeth-class battleships. Although the Queen Elizabeth-class is an obsolete line of ships, they have been refitted and have eight 15-inch main guns.
They are not an opponent to be taken lightly.”
“I am aware, Admiral.”
Their expectation was that the performance of Italy's prized Littorio-class battleship was incomparable to the obsolete Queen Elizabeth-class, but the realistic judgnt was that the other four ships, even after refitting, were only ard with ten 12.6-inch guns, so their firepower on a per-ship basis would be inferior.
Admiral Campioni felt a pang of regret, thinking that if the Littorio had co along, he wouldn't have to worry about losing in the unlikely event, but he quickly composed himself and spoke.
“We are Italy's pride and hope.
We must ensure this battle ends in victory.”
“Yes, sir!”
-
The British intelligence service, MI6, had already detected Mussolini's last-ditch effort and had accurately identified the date of the Regia Marina's operation to capture Malta.
Thanks to this, the Royal Navy's diterranean Fleet, which had been preparing in the port of Alexandria, also set sail to et the Italian offensive and was heading for Malta.
“Urgent news from Valletta Harbour! A fleet of over 70 ships, including 5 battleships, is approaching Malta from the direction of Naples! Enemy fleets have also sortied from Sicily and Taranto…”
“…That’s a lot.”
The Commander of the diterranean Fleet, Admiral Andrew Cunningham, swallowed dryly.
The Royal Navy had staked its life on this battle, scraping the bottom of the barrel from the fleets in Malta and Alexandria to mobilize 1 aircraft carrier, 3 battleships, 3 heavy cruisers, 6 light cruisers, and 45 destroyers, and even then, they were severely outnumbered.
“I had hoped the results of the Taranto harbor raid would have restrained them to so extent, but it seems to have been of little use.”
When Victor Crutchley, captain of the battleship HMS Warspite he was aboard, spoke, Cunningham shook his head.
“It could be a last-ditch effort.”
No, it probably was.
Admiral Cunningham thought so.
With their mainland under attack by Germany, Italy must have to show so results to get reinforcents from France.
This war was like a cheap cody.
To be surprise-attacked by a forr ally, France; for there to be no coordination between the new allies, France and Italy; and for Britain to be in a position where it had to rely solely on help from Germany, a non-ally, and Arica.
It was ironic to think that the lack of proper coordination between France and Italy was the only hope for him and the diterranean Fleet.
“In any case, if Valletta Harbour on Malta is captured by them, Britain will lose command of the sea in the diterranean.
That situation must be prevented at all costs.”
Admiral Cunningham said so, then gave a bitter smile.
Who could have ever imagined that a day would co when the Royal Navy, which had ruled the seas, would be at a disadvantage in a naval battle?
“Report from the Glorious! Enemy destroyer fleet confird northeast, distance 36,000!”
“A reconnaissance screen, I see. So their target is us, not Malta.”
It was obvious the diterranean Fleet would sail from Alexandria, but Italy would be sailing from Taranto, Sicily, and Naples, so it was almost impossible to avoid them.
“If we retreat here, Malta will fall, Admiral.”
“That’s right. We’ll have to have it out in the end.”
Admiral Cunningham swallowed dryly.
Facing 5 battleships, including one modern one, were 3 battleships, including two that were only halfway through refitting, and one carrier.
And the number of auxiliary ships was a nearly two-to-one disparity.
No matter how you looked at it, winning would be difficult, but if they just gave up Malta, Britain's command of the sea in the diterranean would be finished for good.
As expected, the Italian destroyer fleet was just loitering, showing no intention of approaching and rely buying ti.
“They must be waiting for the enemy's main fleet approaching from Naples.”
“It certainly seems so. No matter how many auxiliary ships they have, charging a fleet with battleships without their own main force is a suicide mission.”
Admiral Cunningham thought it was a relief that they had at least one aircraft carrier. Being outnumbered in ships and also outmatched in reconnaissance would have been a nightmare.
And finally, the inevitable arrived.
Right after the report ca from the Glorious's scout plane that the enemy main fleet was approaching, a situation arose where the enemy main fleet was on the port side, while enemy destroyer fleets loitered to the starboard and front.
“Hmm. The enemy on three sides.
This is not good.”
“Not good at all.
Their admiral knows how to use his superiority. But what can we do, we still have to fight.”
At Admiral Cunningham’s words, Captain Crutchley smiled faintly.
“Belli dura despicio (I despise the hardships of war).”
“That’s a sha, Captain. This Grand Old Lady (Warspite’s nickna) is already going through her second war.”
After exchanging jokes with the Warspite’s motto, Admiral Cunningham gave his command.
“Alright, let’s do this.
Entire fleet, single file line. No need to worry about the enemy air force.
I trust the skills of the gentlen of the Royal Navy. I expect that every man will do his duty!”
“Yes, sir!”
The flagship Warspite took the lead, and the Barham, Malaya, and the rest of the ships began to follow.
“All gun batteries, prepare to fire! Prepare for gunnery battle!”
“Port side lookout reports! Large enemy ships approaching, distance 23,000!”
“Captain, do you trust the gunnery officer’s skill?”
“Of course, Admiral!”
Hearing Crutchley's reply, Cunningham grinned.
“Well, then let’s call it suppressive fire and take a shot.
We're outnumbered, so we have to lead in spirit, don't we?”
“Haha, excellent! Gunnery Officer! Seize the initiative! Fire turrets one and two!”
In a battleship-to-battleship gunnery battle, the maximum range for expecting a hit was 22,000. So muttering was heard from the command tube, but the captain just laughed cheerfully and paid it no mind.
Soon, the two 15-inch twin-gun turrets of the Grand Old Lady—Warspite, the victor of World War I—belched fire, signaling the start of the battle.
They were idly waiting the 30 seconds or so for the shells to land and watching the enemy’s reaction, when a situation that flustered everyone erupted.
“P-Port side lookout reports! E-Enemy ship hit! Fire on deck!”
“Huh?”
The Battle of Malta, which would decide the fate of the diterranean, began with the admiral who gave the order, the captain, and even the gunnery officer who made the shot, all being flustered.
It was a strike that would be recorded in history as the longest-range direct hit in a battleship-to-battleship engagent.
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