The Italian grenade has a peculiarity in that it can be restored by simply inserting it back into place if the safety bolt is not completely pulled out.

Both Mussolini and Badogglio knew this, so they immediately put the safety hook back in and re-fastened the safety cover, and as long as they didn't throw it harder, the grenade was in a very safe state.

Mussolini held the grenade in his hand and showed it to the people around him, like a beautiful souvenir. At the moment, he tried his best to act like a fearless tough guy, in order to offset the panicked image before.

Italy's dictator raised his chin high and scanned the panicked crowd around him with contemptuous gaze, and photojournalists rushed around him to capture the scene. The caption of the photo has already been thought of, and the Italian prime minister has contempt for death, just like the heroes of ancient Rome.

"Only the most cowardly and nasty things would choose assassination." Mussolini shouted.

"Italian people, as you see now. They chose the wrong method, they don't want to take me down with this method, and they don't want me to be scared about it. Let these inept clowns tremble in the dark corners, and I'll pull them out of their hiding holes one by one, expose them to the sun, and crush them to death with my leather boots like worms. Mussolini handed the grenade to the guard standing next to the car, and then he waved his arm vigorously.

"No one can defeat Mussolini! I am the leader of Italy! My people love me! Only traitors and conspirators would want to kill me! Mussolini shouted, and the blackshirts around him echoed in agreement.

"Long live Mussolini!" A blackshirt shouted.

"Hooray! Our Leader! Banzai! Mussolini! An arm suddenly rose around the Italian prime minister.

"Hooray! Italy! Mussolini raised his right arm in return, and he was extremely pleased with his performance.

But in the next second, a ball of blood suddenly burst out in the middle of Mussolini's collar, black shirt crumbs and bright red blood beads splashed in the air, and then the Italian prime minister plunged into the convertible car in full view.

The killer, a teenage boy wearing a somewhat large black shirt shirt, sneaked up on Mussolini in the midst of the black shirts and shot at the prime minister at a distance of only two meters.

The young Assassins wielded a palm-sized single-shot craft pistol, a delicate weapon that was once very popular among Italian ladies and ladies who could hide it in small handbags and use it for self-defense, but for ease of use by women, the caliber of this weapon was generally very small, and the amount of ammunition was only one or two, so most of the time it only served as a deterrent.

The boy was holding one of them, only five millimeters in diameter, but because the shot was too close, the bullet did not cut its kinetic energy in the slightest, and made a hole in Mussolini's throat with precision.

The boy opened his mouth as if he wanted to shout something, but before he could utter the second letter, he was thrown to the ground by a group of soldiers from the Black Mountain Legion next to him, followed by a violent punch and kick.

Mussolini's limp body was curled up in the back of the car, his head resting on Badogrio's knees. The marshal felt a warm liquid already wet his trousers, and it was still running down his calves to the floor.

The Italian Supreme Imperial Marshal was completely stunned, he looked blankly at Mussolini who was lying on his lap, feeling every struggle and painful gasp of the other party, Badoglio did not know what was really happening at the moment, nor how he should react.

An entourage dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant colonel of the Italian Army jumped into the carriage, grabbed Mussolini by the shoulder, removed him from the marshal's lap, and then straightened Mussolini's body and carefully examined the prime minister's injuries.

"The bullet penetrated Mussolini's trachea and esophagus and almost hit the back of his spine." Werler reported to Xu Jun.

"It was our people who examined the injuries for him, so we knew the details of the injuries. Mussolini did not make it to the hospital and swallowed his last breath on the way. In fact, he died of suffocation, and as the words come from, he drowned in his own blood. Because there were no rescue equipment on the scene, the blood flowed into his trachea, blocking his breathing, and it only took thirty seconds...."Weierle clapped his palms back and forth.

"I've seen a lot of similar gunshot wounds on the battlefield, and if you're lucky enough to meet an experienced medic, there's a 30% chance of surviving, but there are always a very few lucky people, and most of them don't make it, and this kind of death is tragic." Feng. Bock said, holding his cheek on his cheek.

"He shouldn't have died like this...... I don't mean to say he didn't deserve to die, just to die as a leader of a country like him in such a despicable assassination..."Keitel brushed the hair on the back of his head.

"What should we do now, this is not a trivial matter, will his death affect our plans." Brauchitsch picked up the half-nibbled fennel pancake from the plate in front of him.

"There's no need to worry too much, we're fully prepared." Wierle took off his monocle and slipped the report back into his pocket.

"Believe me, soon our scheduled successor will take the initiative to come to the door and seek our support and protection." With one hand on his knee, Wierle leaned over and picked up the teacup from the table.

"Who's the successor you're talking about?" Rundstead asked curiously.

"Badoglio, Supreme Imperial Marshal." Weierle didn't sell it either, and said the name very calmly.

"This coward?" Feng. Bock despised the kind of behavior of betraying his companions for fear of death.

"Don't say that, Marshal Bock." Xu Jun laughed, and he put the cigar on the ashtray.

"We are talking about the future Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Italy, not to mention that his current military rank is higher than that of anyone in this room." Hearing this, everyone present burst into laughter.

"Actually, you can promote yourself to the rank of Imperial Marshal, my Führer." Rundstead said with a smile.

"Do you see I'm fat?" Xu Jun deliberately puffed out his cheeks, which provoked laughter in the room.

All the marshals present here know that Goering once proposed to increase the rank of Imperial Marshal purely to satisfy his personal vanity, but according to Xu Jun's meritorious service for the country, becoming an Imperial Marshal is completely deserved.

"There has never been a reich marshal in German history, and I will not set this precedent for myself." Xu Jun said with a smile, and several marshals nodded approvingly.

"The German units stationed in Italy were ordered to enter the first level of combat readiness, ready to occupy vital areas at any time. The borders were strictly sealed, and until further orders were given, no Italian aircraft were allowed to take off, and all aircraft flying over Italy were ordered to land immediately at the nearest airfield. Xu Jun pondered for a while with the black tea, and then issued a series of orders, and several adjutants quickly took out their notebooks and began to record on them.

"Are you preparing to clear the air?" Weirle asked.

"To prevent some people from fleeing the country in the midst of the chaos, hopefully this order will not be too late." Xu Jun said.

"Hannagan, go and get the radio in, and immediately contact the communications office of the High Command, and let them issue orders to the Roman Command immediately." Brauchitsch ordered loudly to his lieutenant.

"Yes, sir!" Colonel Hannagan slammed the heel of his boot, turned and hurried out of the room.

"Send a telegram to Cüchrel, and Rome will immediately enter martial law. The troops were ordered to closely monitor the Italian barracks and gendarmerie organs, and to prohibit the movement of troops more than one platoon without the consent of the German command. After 8 p.m. in the city, citizens are forbidden to move around the streets, and those who dare to violate it will be punished according to the severity of the offense. Xu Jun continued to order.

"Curfew, is this necessary? My Führer. Rundstead asked.

"I think it's necessary, marshal. These are extraordinary times, and this can save a lot of trouble. It is believed that now the news of Mussolini's death has spread in Italian society, and it is not known how many people are waiting for such an opportunity. I want these people to understand that no one can cause **** in Italy without my permission. Those who dare to challenge our authority have no value in living, and the Wehrmacht will gladly pluck off the heads of such fools and use them to preserve the dignity of the German Reich. Xu Jun pulled out a cigar from the paper humidor, and Tysenhofen struck a match neatly on the side.

Xu Jun then issued several orders, all for the purpose of maintaining social stability in Italy, Germany had already got what it needed from Mussolini, Italy was already regarded by Xu Jun as an important asset of the empire, how could some blind bastards be allowed to take advantage of the chaos.

When the meeting was over, it was getting late outside, what needed to be done had been done, and Xu Jun didn't want to rush back to Berlin.

The High Command brought in large communications vans and mobile vehicle-mounted generators from nearby bases, and placed a battalion of guards around the farm, and the gendarmes set up a cordon on the road outside the woods to check the documents of all passing vehicles, and they caught a few unlucky people who had slipped out of the barracks to relax in a nearby town.

Feng. The Heinzberg farm was now almost a makeshift command centre, where the Wehrmacht was astonishingly efficient.

The grass outside the courtyard was filled with various military vehicles, the most conspicuous being the Führer's car, its chrome alloy armor gleaming in the surrounding headlights.

A large tent was erected in the courtyard, and officers in crisp uniforms lined up in front of the field cooking cars.

From time to time, a communications soldier with a document bag on his back, jumped on a two-wheeled motorcycle, and then rushed out of the courtyard gate of the farm with a roar of a motor.

"Weierle." Xu Jun stood on the balcony on the second floor of the small building, looking at the lively scene in the courtyard.

"Yes, my Führer." The lieutenant general replied respectfully.

"How exactly Mussolini died, I want to know the details." Xu Jun turned his face and looked at his chief of staff.

"It's true that he died from a gunshot wound, but—" A strange smile appeared on the corner of Weierle's mouth.

"Ensign, you go drive... Get us out of here! The lieutenant colonel hugged Mussolini's body and shouted loudly to a guard standing beside the car, bewildered.

"Yes, sir." The second lieutenant reacted, and he quickly saluted the lieutenant colonel in the back seat, then opened the driver's door and dragged the dead driver out of the driver's seat.

"Turn right when you go to the street." The lieutenant colonel commanded.

"Don't you go back to the Prime Minister's residence? Sir!" The second lieutenant turned his head in surprise.

"You're crazy, the assassins will most likely arrange an ambush on our way back." The lieutenant colonel shouted.

"The Prime Minister's injuries are serious and require immediate surgery, do you know where the nearest hospital is nearby?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then take us immediately!" The lieutenant colonel clutched the wound in Mussolini's throat and yelled loudly.

The Fiat convertible, honking its horn continuously, rushed out of the crowd and drove out into the street next to the palace with the help of a group of blackshirts and guards.

"How's he doing?" Badogglio seemed to have just woken up from his panic, and he looked nervously at the lieutenant colonel.

"The bullet penetrated the esophagus and probably bruised the trachea, but luckily it didn't hurt the aorta, and if he can stay awake and breathe on his own, and we can get to the hospital in time, he has a good chance of surviving." The lieutenant colonel pressed Mussolini's wound with his hand.

By this time, the Italian leader was dying, his mouth was full of blood, and it was still flowing out of the corners of his mouth, but he could still breathe through his nose, and his breathing rate was a little rapid, and his mind seemed to remain awake.

Italy's dictator seemed to want to say something at the moment, but all he could do was a puppy-like whimper, a bullet hole in his throat was bleeding profusely, and pink foam was coming out of his fingers when he pressed on the wound.

"Did you do it?" Badoglio asked in a whisper, in somewhat stiff German.

"If I said we didn't do it, would you believe it? Your Excellency the Marshal. The lieutenant colonel replied in German.

"I knew you'd get rid of him, but I didn't expect it to be so soon." Badogglio said.

"We didn't do it, marshal, we won't use such a rough and direct means, there is no beauty at all." The lieutenant colonel let go of the hand that was pressing on the wound and put Mussolini's own hand on it.

"Press the wound hard, and you can hold on for half an hour." The lieutenant colonel leaned into Mussolini's ear.

"So what's going on here?" Badoglio felt slighted, and he asked in a somewhat angry whisper.

"He has too many enemies, and I don't know which side of the attack, but it's not bad now, and he saves us a lot of hands." The lieutenant colonel turned his face to look at Badoglio.

"What do you mean by that?" The marshal's expression became nervous again.

"That's what it means." The lieutenant colonel held out two fingers and pinched Mussolini's nose at once.

The dictator's eyes widened in horror, blood loss and lack of oxygen made him unable to resist, and Mussolini tried to breathe but could not breathe in a breath at all.

The viscous blood in his mouth was sucked into his trachea, and Mussolini immediately began to twitch violently, at first he could swing his arms and struggle twice, but soon lost consciousness due to suffocation, and under the fearful gaze of the Supreme Imperial Marshal, the Italian dictator finally kicked his right leg hard, and then stopped breathing forever.

"You see, dear marshal, as I said, there is no beauty at all." The lieutenant colonel let go of Mussolini's nose and wiped his blood-stained fingers on Badoglio's sleeve.

PS: Things are going well, I finally don't need to ask for leave today, update at normal times, ask for monthly passes, ask for recommendations, ask for clicks and subscriptions.

Thank you all for your support. (To be continued.) )