Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 127: "Mussolini Dares, While the West Sleeps Italy Marches, and Ethiopia Stands Alone”

Chapter 127: "Mussolini Dares, While the West Sleeps Italy Marches, and Ethiopia Stands Alone”

The heat along the Eritrean highland roads was a curse unto itself.

Along the winding mountain routes between Asmara and the Mareb River, Italian military engineers worked with brutal precision flattening terrain, laying gravel, hammering down makeshift bridges.

Colonel Giuseppe Pizzoli stood by a newly laid segment of road and squinted into the sun.

"How far today?"

A junior engineer replied, "Four kilometers. The blasting ahead slowed us down."

"Only four? We promised ten."

"The incline’s worse than the survey predicted. And some of the laborers have heat exhaustion."

Pizzoli glanced toward the slope where a group of Eritrean conscripts, half-starved and shirtless, dragged logs into position.

"No such thing as exhaustion," he muttered. "Not when Rome is watching."

He pulled out a telegram and reread the orders.

"Accelerate road completion. Forward units require armored transport routes by mid-September. Delay is unacceptable.

HQ"

"Mid-September," he repeated.

"They think this is the Autostrada."

The younger officer chuckled nervously. "Well, sir, it’ll be the last thing they see before the war begins."

Pizzoli didn’t laugh.

He turned away, muttering, "Then let it be paved in speed."

Thousands of kilometers away, the Grand Palace in Addis Ababa.

Haile Selassie sat at his writing desk under an open window.

The Emperor was not dressed in ceremonial garb today only a thin cotton tunic, his sleeves rolled.

He finished the final sentence of the letter and put down his pen.

"To His Majesty King George V, Sovereign of the United Kingdom,

As signatories of the Treaty of 1925, I appeal now for the protection of Ethiopia’s territorial integrity and independence..."

He sealed it with the Imperial stamp.

Standing nearby, Ras Kassa looked on with a furrowed brow.

"Do you think they’ll honor it?"

"No," Selassie replied quietly. "But they must be reminded that we did."

The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Tekle Hawariat, entered with the latest League correspondence.

"Geneva remains noncommittal. They propose another commission this one to assess the ’sincerity of Italian troop placements.’"

Ras Kassa scoffed. "Sincerity? Since when does sincerity come with 40,000 rifles?"

Selassie folded his hands.

"We are asking for a conversation. They are preparing for a campaign."

Tekle hesitated. "Would you consider a message to the American government?"

"The Americans are silent."

"But the American people are not. The newspapers especially their Negro press are printing daily. Articles, editorials, even poetry. Harlem marches. Chicago writes."

The Emperor nodded slowly.

"Then perhaps they will carry what their governments will not."

He stood and turned to the aide.

"Send the letter to London. And another to the League. Mark it not as complaint, but as warning."

In London, the Foreign Office was full of activity in the constant bad weather with gloomy sky.

Anthony Eden read the letter from Addis Ababa aloud.

"As parties to the 1925 Anglo-Ethiopian Treaty, we request clarity on the support that may be afforded in the event of unprovoked military aggression."

Lord Samuel Hoare, now Foreign Secretary, leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming.

"Well. He finally said it plainly."

Eden set the letter down. "Do we respond?"

Hoare sighed. "We acknowledge receipt."

"No further statement?"

"And risk a headline about British boots in Africa? The public will not have it."

"Nor, apparently, will Parliament," Eden added. "Some backbenchers are already murmuring about staying out of ’tribal affairs.’"

Hoare muttered, "Tribal affairs with European artillery on one side."

Eden stood and walked to the window.

"We’re watching another Versailles be torn apart. Line by line."

Hoare said nothing.

Finally, Eden turned.

"If we wait for Mussolini to finish drawing his map, there will be nothing left to defend."

Hoare replied flatly, "Then history will record our caution."

But in America, history was already being printed bold, black, and angry.

At the offices of the Chicago Defender, the newsroom buzzed like a hornet’s nest.

James Gentry, senior columnist and former war correspondent, slammed a draft editorial down on the desk.

"Run it top column. I want this in print before Friday." freewebnøvel.coɱ

The editor, Henry Finley, skimmed it.

"Mussolini Dares, While the West Sleeps Italy Marches, and Ethiopia Stands Alone"

Finley looked up.

"You’re hitting FDR again."

"Because he’s quiet again," Gentry snapped. "And silence is complicity. Mussolini’s lining up roads and guns while our State Department sends nothing but polite replies."

Across the room, a junior reporter called out, "We just got a wire from Harlem! The Ethiopian Action Committee’s organizing another rally they’re demanding the U.S. denounce Italy before the League."

"Put it in page two," Gentry said. "And get Du Bois’ latest quote. He’s been blasting this since July."

A young woman at the copy desk raised a hand.

"I’ve got a poem from a Baptist preacher in Alabama. Wants it published. Says, ’For Ethiopia, mother of Black glory, we do not close our eyes.’"

Gentry paused.

"Print that too."

Finley shook his head with a smile. "You turning us into a war paper?"

"We’re already in one," Gentry said. "We just haven’t picked a side."

Back in Rome, Mussolini read the British reply to Selassie.

He chuckled.

"No commitment. Not even a firm word."

Ciano sat across from him.

"The British public is war-weary. Eden speaks with caution, Hoare with ambiguity."

"Perfect," Mussolini said. "Then we will speak with action."

He glanced at the latest roadwork report from Eritrea.

"They’ve finished another seven kilometers. We’ll be at the border before the League finishes its debate."

Ciano nodded. "And the Americans?"

"They bark in newspapers. But Roosevelt is buried in his economy."

Mussolini stood and pointed to a wall map of Africa.

"Soon, this will change. And when Addis falls, the world will tell itself we brought modernity."

Ciano tilted his head.

"Do you believe that?"

Mussolini smirked.

"No. But I believe they will."

And in Addis Ababa, as the sun dipped below the mountains, the sky turned red with dust.

Haile Selassie knelt before a small lamp and prayed.

He did not ask for victory.

Only for time.

Just enough to be heard.