Milan
Marshal Badoglio had been very troubled lately. Ever since the Kingdom of Sardinia announced its annexation of Lombardy on April 7, a whole crowd of democrats had come out in protest.
Needless to say, even he, a marshal, had no say in affairs of state, much less these common folk. Naturally, troops were sent to disperse them.
Fortunately, the Austrian army had already carried out one round of suppression. Most of the hard bones had been killed, while members of the provisional government had either been bought off or placed under house arrest. The remaining people were merely kings of empty talk.
"Marshal, another group has come to petition outside. They demand that you send troops to recover Venice!" the aide said softly.
This was far from the first petitioning crowd to appear—petitions demanding independence, petitions demanding autonomy, petitions demanding increased food rations...
In short, whether Badoglio could make the decision or not, the people of Lombardy seemed to have fixed their eyes on him. Whenever something happened, they came to petition the marshal.
Being a hero was not so easy. To preserve his glorious image, Badoglio had no choice but to put on the appearance of humbly accepting advice.
Other than those demanding independence, whom he had troops drive away, he would receive representatives from the other petitioning groups and explain his difficulties to them.
For instance, "the military does not interfere in politics" was the excuse he used most often.
He had said it so many times that even Badoglio himself was beginning to believe it. Recently, he had rarely involved himself in Lombardy's governmental affairs unless the local government came to him first.
"Let them send in their representatives," Badoglio said with a frown.
There was no avoiding this one. Sending troops into the Venice region