Oh god oh god I'm so sorry this took so long oh god oh god...

Sorry about that. Well, as promised, here's the update showing the Italian War (1950-1953) between North and South Italy.

Feli's speech in the first part is inspired by a cutscene from the Swedish game World In Conflict (My little brother plays it like crazy, at top volume, so my hearing this particular cutscene was kind of an accident) which I thought would be perfect for this scene. All I can say is, Su-San had a pretty dark imagination when he came up with the game. While you're reading the speech scene, try to imagine scary army music blaring in the background.

I do not own APH or World in Conflict.

June 25, 1950

Terni, Democratic People's Republic of Italy

0600 Hours

The sun was slowly rising over the city of Terni, Italy, giving an orange glow to the buildings and trees. On the northern side of the border between North and South Italy, a flurry of activity was taking place.

Radios blared patriotic music, soldiers joked and laughed, and flags flew. The air was one of tension, and yet of confidence and determination.

Through the midst of it all, a short man in royal blue combat fatigues strode confidently through the crowd of troops. As he passed by a nearby lieutenant whom he had met during World War II, he raised his hand in greeting.

"Ve! Welcome back, Cesare!" he said, smiling in his usual carefree way. "How was your leave?"

The Italian officer returned the greeting with a wave and a yell of, "Boring!"

Feliciano Vargas laughed good-naturedly. "Ve! But necessary, Comrade Cimitelli! Those recruits will soon be needed to serve the Dear Leader and Italia!" He turned away and continued his walk towards the town square where most of the soldiers in that particular battalion were concentrated.

"Compagni!" His yell commanded the soldiers' attention instantly, and the Italian People's Army snapped to attention and saluted the flesh-and-blood manifestation of their country.

"It's good to see you all here today!" He strode around the square, animating his speech with energetic hand gestures. "And it will be even better to see you soon BREAKING THROUGH THAT BORDER!"

This was met by a loud cheer as dozens of North Italians raised their American rifles and roared their approval.

Feliciano smiled, raising his voice even more. "And we'll teach those Southern dogs how to fight!" There was a louder cheer as North Italy climbed the turret of a tank and stood before his troops, the rising sun seeming to give him an aura of power and resolve.

"The Russians and the Southern traitors thought that they could bully us into submission! They thought that we would give way and fall!"

To the North Italian troops below him, Vargas's eyes glinted with madness and insanity, and in their bloodlust and patriotic fervor, the expression on the face of their nation only stirred them up more into a frenzy of conquest and war.

"BUT TODAY, WE SHOW THEM THAT THE PEOPLE'S ARMY BOWS TO NO ONE!"

North Italy slashed his hands through the air, and then stepped forward to the edge of the tank's turret.

"Today, we'll show them the unstoppable might of ITALIA!"

As Vargas's speech reached its climax, and as the Northern battalion cheered and roared, a squadron of jets flew overhead, painted in the North Italian colors, streaking south to begin the attack.

North Italy saluted the jets, then turned to his troops. "VE! GET TO YOUR VEHICLES, MEN! WE'RE GOING TO WAR!"

The sound of a hundred engines starting up at once filled the courtyard, along with the sound of tramping boots and bombastic military music.

On June 25, 1950, the Italian War began.

!_!_!_!_!_!

Three Months Later

Agropoli, South Italy

Lovino Vargas had had many names in his lifetime. Naples, Sicily, Spanish territory, Romano. But his new name, Republic of Italy, was not entirely true.

For he was not the entire Italian peninsula, and he was no longer living with his brother. He was just South Italy, a country only independent thanks to the shadowy, covert struggles between Russia and America.

He was hunched forward, shivering, as rain splattered against his military helmet. In the trench to the right and left of him, the battered, demoralized remnants of his army were doing the same. They were fingering rosaries, writing in diaries, or simply sitting on ammo boxes and benches. They were surrounded, with no way out. It seemed there was nothing they could do but die.

South Italy's head snapped up as he heard a familiar sound, one that was completely unwelcome to his ears: the shrieking, whining noise of incoming artillery shells. From his brother's artillery guns.

"Get ready, you stupid bastards!" Lovino yelled. He had never been very good at fighting, but he had had to learn very quickly in the past year. There was a great rustling and clattering as the South Italians rushed under the sheltered lip of the trench.

They waited with bated breath as the shrieking grew louder and louder and closer and closer and

BOOOOM!

A massive shower of dirt flew into the air a few yards away from Lovino as the first shell landed. He shrank back, praying to God above that his dugout would survive the attack.

More shells landed nearby, and the shrieks of the wounded began to mix with the deafening roar of explosions.

Lovino could feel the deaths of his men in his gut, like a stab to the belly every time a shell hit its mark. He felt tears slide slowly down his face as the barrage refused to let up.

For twenty hellish minutes of screams and pain, the trenches were bombarded mercilessly. Finally, the guns went silent, and the barrage petered out. One year ago, Lovino would have breathed a sigh of relief. But he now knew what came after the artillery.

"Everyone on the edge! Get going!"

Rifles were raised, machine guns were loaded, and the surviving South Italians popped their heads above the edge of the trenches so they could shoot. Lovino stared down the sights of his weapon, waiting.

Then he burst forth from the smoke, clad in his blue military uniform. Behind him came what seemed like the entire Italian People's Army.

"Fire!" Lovino cried, pulling the trigger.

As one, the South Italian Army began to shoot. The harsh staccato of machine guns added to the CRACK of rifles and the deafening BOOMs of artillery, creating a terrible symphony that tore into South Italy's ears.

The first row of North Italians was cut down like wheat before a scythe, but their comrades simply stepped over their corpses and continued running forwards. And he continued to walk almost calmly, twirling his knife in his fingers. Three bullets hit him, but they harmlessly passed through his body as if they were made of air.

Then he was in the sky, spiraling downwards, his knife a slashing silver arc. There was a scream, and a South Italian soldier fell backwards as the blade pierced his chest.

Feliciano Vargas, also known as the Democratic People's Republic of Italy, yanked his blade from the dying man's body and turned to face his older brother. His amber eyes bored straight into Lovino's hazel ones, and he began to walk forward as if in a trance. An unfortunate South Italian bravely tried to stop him. Feliciano smashed the poor man's helmet and his skull in without a second glance.

Lovino raised his rifle and took careful aim. Can't miss can't miss can't- He pulled the trigger, and the rifle bucked against his shoulder. It would have hit Feliciano straight between the eyes, but Feliciano's head was no longer where it had been. He flashed forward with unnerving speed, slashing downwards with his knife.

Lovino brought up his bayonet, barely blocking the strike. There was a clang as the two blades met.

"Ve! Dammit, Lovi! Die already!" Feliciano spat, slashing again.

Lovino had no intention of doing so. He deflected his brother's blade, and then struck back with the butt of his rifle. Feliciano grabbed it with one hand, ripped it out of Lovino's grasp, and broke it over his knee.

South Italy backed up fast, fruitlessly drawing his combat knife. North Italy knocked it to the ground in seconds and pounced on him, raising his blade.

"Italy... mine... All mine..."

There was the roar of a gunshot, and Feliciano's blade suddenly disappeared in a cloud of sparks. North Italy stared at the owner of the gun in shock. "R-Russia!" he shrieked.

"GET OFFA HIM, NORTH ITALY!" Russia yelled. He was flanked by Finland and Poland. All three of them were holding weapons. "I said, GET OFF!" Russia raised his pistol.

Feliciano snarled and leaped away. Finland and Russia chased after him, while Poland helped Lovino up. "Like, oh my god, are you okay, Lovi?"

"Get off me, bastard!" Lovino roared. "And don't call me Lovi!"

"Yeah, you're so totally okay."

The two nations ran after Ivan and Tino, who were in turn pursuing Feliciano. In a few seconds, Lovino and Feliks had joined the chase.

"Good to see you alive, da?" Russia grinned happily at South Italy as they ran after the North.

"Ah, shut up, vodka bastard."

The war was not over yet, and North Italy was far from defeated, but South Italy had been saved.

Phew... Longest update yet...

I have to thank my brother for helping me figure out how combat scenes work, 'cause I had no idea how they happen.