novelAbuy Chapter 725 Proton
Chapter 725 Proton
"Mr. Prime Minister, these plans are very bold."
Boseli nodded.
"We must be bold. Small-scale actions will not earn Germany's trust."
Hindenburg remained silent for a few seconds.
"But do you know what that means?"
Boseli nodded.
"I know. This means Italy is completely breaking with Britain and France. There's no turning back."
"Your twenty divisions will face the elite French forces on the French front. They may suffer heavy losses, or they may be completely wiped out."
"Know."
"Your navy will be facing the Royal Navy's Mediterranean Fleet. They may not be able to leave port, and they may never return."
"Know."
Hindenburg looked at him, a complex light flashing in his eyes.
"Mr. Prime Minister, you're gambling."
Boseli laughed. That kind of laugh reminded Hindenburg of the soldiers in the Verdun trenches—the kind of laugh that came from knowing they would die but still charging forward.
"Marshal, I'm gambling. I'm gambling that Germany will win. I'm gambling that Lanfang will come. I'm gambling that Italy will get a share of the spoils after the war."
He paused.
"If we don't gamble, Italy will just wait to die. If Britain and France win, they won't be grateful to us. If Germany wins, they'll consider us traitors. We'll lose no matter what we choose. Only by gambling can we have a chance to win."
Hindenburg fell silent.
The fire in the fireplace burned even brighter, and the crackling sound of the burning firewood was particularly clear in the quiet living room.
After a long while, Hindenburg spoke.
"Mr. Prime Minister, I see your sincerity. But it's not enough."
Boseli paused for a moment.
"What else does the Marshal want?"
Hindenburg stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the snow was still falling, and the world was a vast expanse of white.
"We need hostages."
Boseli's expression changed.
"hostage?"
Hindenburg turned to look at him.
"Yes. Hostages. Hostages that would prevent Italy from betraying us."
Boseli's hands were trembling.
"Who?"
Hindenburg's voice was calm, but every word was like a knife.
"His Highness Umberto, Crown Prince of Italy."
The living room was deathly quiet.
Boseli sat there, motionless. His face drained of all color in that instant, turning as white as the snow outside the window.
Hoffman looked at him, a complex emotion welling up inside him—pity, or something else? He didn't know.
Hindenburg stood there, waiting for his answer.
After a long silence, Boselli spoke. His voice was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own.
"Marshal, do you know what you're saying?"
Hindenburg nodded.
"I know. The Crown Prince is a hostage. As long as he's in Berlin, Italy won't dare to betray us."
Boseli suddenly stood up.
"He is the future king of Italy! He is the symbol of Italy! Send him to Berlin—will Parliament agree? Will the king agree? Will the Italian people agree?"
Hindenburg looked at him calmly.
"Prime Minister, you just said that Italy's betrayal this time would be a betrayal of Britain and France. But what if you betray Germany again?"
Boseli opened his mouth, but couldn't say a word.
Hindenburg continued, "You showed me the plan, gave me promises, and gave me a plan to mobilize twenty divisions. But these are all on paper. Paper can be torn up at any time."
He walked back to the sofa and sat down.
"I need something that I can truly believe in. Something that can convince Germany that Italy is sincere this time."
Boseli stood there, trembling.
He remembered Umberto. The young man, just over twenty, tall and thin, with a shy smile, blushing slightly when he spoke. He was the only son of King Vittorio Emanuele III, the hope of the Italian royal family, and the future in the hearts of countless Italians.
Send him to Berlin—
Those are hostages.
That is to hand the knife to the Germans and let them hold it to the Italians' necks.
"Marshal," his voice trembled, "do you know how difficult this is?"
Hindenburg nodded.
"I know. But this is the only guarantee I can accept."
He stood up and walked over to Boseli.
"Prime Minister, you just said you're gambling. And if it's gambling, there have to be stakes. Your twenty divisions, your navy, your political pronouncements—these are all stakes. But that's not enough. The real stakes should be your most valuable possessions."
He looked directly into Boselli's eyes.
"Your Highness Umberto is your most precious possession."
Boseli closed his eyes.
He recalled the king's words before his departure: "Boselli, no matter the cost, you must make the Germans believe in us. Italy has no way out."
Regardless of the cost.
He opened his eyes and looked at Hindenburg.
"I need to consult with the King."
Hindenburg nodded.
"Yes. But I must tell you—Germany doesn't have much patience. I need an answer by December 25th."
Boseli nodded and turned to walk towards the door.
After walking a few steps, he suddenly stopped and looked back at Hindenburg.
"Marshal, if the King agrees, when will His Highness Umberto depart?"
Hindenburg thought about it.
"January 1st. With your army."
Boseli was silent for three seconds.
Then he pushed open the door and went out.
When Boseli stepped out of the villa, the snow was falling even harder.
Snowflakes fell from the sky, landing on his head, his shoulders, and his thick leather coat. He stood there, head tilted back, gazing at the gray sky, motionless.
His deputy, Gaspare, climbed out of the car, opened a black umbrella, and ran to his side.
"Prime Minister, get in the car. The snow is too heavy."
Boseli did not move.
He stood there, letting the snowflakes fall on his face and into his eyes, turning into cold tears that flowed down his face.
Gaspare was startled by his expression.
"Prime Minister, did the talks not go well?"
Boseli shook his head.
"It's settled."
Gaspare was stunned.
"You've reached an agreement? Then why are you...?"
Boseli looked at him and gave a wry smile.
"Gasparé, do you know what the Germans want?"
Gaspare shook his head.
Boseli's voice was very soft, broken and intermittent by the wind and snow.
"They want Prince Umberto as a hostage."
Gaspare's face turned pale instantly.
"What? The Crown Prince? This—"
Boseli waved his hand, interrupting him.
"Get in the car. Back to Rome."
He turned and walked towards the car. After a few steps, he suddenly stopped and looked back at the villa hidden in the wind and snow.
A blurry figure stood at the second-floor window, looking this way.
Hindenburg.
Boseli stared at him for a long time.
Then he turned around, got into the car, closed the door, started the engine, and slowly drove away from this white world.
The car was quiet. The only sounds were the roar of the engine and the crunch of the wheels over the snow.