"But... orders... attack plan..."
"To hell with orders! To hell with the attack plan!"
Aldo growled lowly, "That's a plan for the British, French, and Polish to die, not you! Your mission has changed, survive, let as many young n as possible survive, hold on to even a toilet-sized piece of territory you're occupying now! Second, hand out dals to your n to honor their 'brave fight' and 'tenacious resistance'. Do you need to teach you how to write the battle report? 'Encountered a tenacious resistance at the enemy's pre-set positions, our troops fought bravely, inflicted heavy casualties on the enemy, and due to being outnumbered and lack of tily coordination with neighboring allies, made tactical adjustnts to preserve combat strength, stabilizing the existing front line.' Blur the casualty numbers for ! Change 'ambushed' to 'encountered tenacious resistance'! Change 'annihilated' to 'reford after significant casualties'!"
Luca seed sowhat bewildered: "Father... can this work? The command will verify..."
"Verify? Who's going to verify?"
Aldo sneered, "The British? The French? They would love to see us embarrassed! The Aricans? That president who was picked by drawing straws? He only cares about how many more days his seat will last! As long as your troops are still there, as long as your guns are still pointed at the xicans, no one will actually care how many Italians died in one battalion! They only care that the Italian army is still fighting as a symbol! We don't need to help the Aricans take back Indiana; we just need to prove 'Italy's existence'! Existence is political capital, do you understand, you military textbook-fed fool?"
Luca fell silent, seemingly digesting the raw and brutal political logic in his father's words.
"And another thing!"
Aldo continued, his tone carrying endless fatigue and a hint of final warning, "From now on, you are deaf, dumb, and blind. The British want you to coordinate an attack? Tell them your troops need rest and resupply, digesting the results. The French want passage? Tell them the roads are blocked by artillery, and engineers are urgently repairing them. The Aricans... if there are still any Aricans, reply 'studying terrain and enemy situation, formulating a prudent plan' to any counterattack orders. Act like the most cowardly quail, bury your head in the sand, and don't make a move unless the sky falls. Preserve strength, watch the situation, and wait for variables. This North Arica chessboard has just started, there are many players, and the pieces… there will be many different outcos. Our Bertolini family will not be the first piece eaten, understand?"
"I... I understand, Father." Luca's voice finally regained a bit of stability, though it was filled with heavy humiliation. "I will hold our current positions and refrain from advancing. I will handle the battle reports as you said."
"Not for , but for your surna, Luca."
Aldo's voice softened for a mont, then beca hard again. "Don't make mistakes again. The family's energy is not infinite, especially after you made such a ss. Rember, staying alive, existing, is winning. The rest can wait until the storm passes."
He hung up the phone. His hand was still trembling slightly.
He took out a fast-acting heart pill from the drawer and swallowed it directly, taking a deep breath.
Why...
Why would such a shrewd man have a son like this?
He slowly sat back in his high-backed chair, looking at the ssy ashes and pieces on the carpet, looking at the silent ancestors on the wall, among them was his great-grandfather, who lost his entire right hand in the Ethiopian campaign but brought back a gold courage dal and a count's territory.
"Tis have changed." Aldo murmured, his voice hoarse. "It's no longer about who is braver, but who can survive better."
He pressed the call bell. Monts later, the loyal elderly butler appeared silently at the door.
"Clean this up." Aldo said, his eyes never leaving the ancestor's portrait. "Then, get the Leader's office on the phone. Private line."
The butler gave a slight bow, his eyes swept over the ss on the floor, his expression unmoved. "Yes, General."
He had to get ready to clean up after his son!
North Arican front, Italian Expeditionary Corps Command.
Colonel Luca Bertolini put down the heavy satellite phone, feeling his palms and back drenched in cold sweat.
His father's roar still seed to echo in his ears, that mixture of rage and disappointnt drained the last bit of soldier's spirit in him.
The sha burned in his stomach, but deeper was the fear, of the military tribunal, of disgracing the family, of a ruined future.
He walked out of the communication compartnt, and the officers in the command center imdiately stopped their actions and looked at him.
There was worry in their eyes, questions, and undisguised panic.
Of course, there was mostly suspicion.
The news of the vanguard unit's near-annihilation had already spread like a plague.
Luca straightened his back, trying to appear calm, cleared his throat, his voice resonating in the silent command center:
"Gentlen, the warriors of the First Assault Battalion encountered a tenacious resistance at the enemy's pre-set positions; they engaged in an incredibly brave battle, inflicting heavy damage on the xicans. Due to the enemy's overwhelming forces and extrely unfavorable terrain, in order to preserve our core combat strength, I have ordered the unit to undergo tactical reorganization and withdraw to a safe area."
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