The last time Benito saw Adolf in Italy, a couple of AWOL soldiers almost blew their heads off.  It was the summer of 1943, and those shots could have fast-tracked the Euro war’s end. Benito practically invented fascism and Adolf had a bromance with him. These bad dudes could be finalists in “Dictators got talent” and guilty of horrible shit from A to Z. If they ended up on today’s social media, you would unfriend, block, report and/or ghost. 

        Ernesto and Armando, in ragged Italian army uniforms, sat in the woods behind the Villa Gaggia, twenty miles north of Venice. The soldiers could see into the villa from a line of tall bushes and served as camo.  Ernesto wore radio headphones taking orders from the partisans who were hiding in a nearby cave. Through binoculars Armando had a view of Benito and Adolf, the dictator duo, in the dining room eating lunch. 

       Armando noted, “Rat one and rat two are eating pasta.”  

       Ernesto fiddled with the radio. “Two dangerous clowns planning the end of the world.” Then handed Ernesto the binoculars.

      “Soon to be dead clowns.”

      While Benito tucked into his plate of pasta Adolf was doing a monologue on the magnificent new weapons the Germans had invented to terrorize countries, people, and annihilate the enemy. 

      Armando noticed a Gestapo officer approaching and gestured to Ernesto to be cool. 

 The Gestapo drew his gun and circled the boys noticing their radio, weapons and ammunition   Ernesto piped up in German, “Hold off, asshole, we’re guarding the house.” 

       Then Armando tripped the Nazi, grabbed his knife from his boot, and threw it to Ernesto who slit his throat. They rolled the dead dude under a bush and covered him with leaves and branches then returned to their mission.

        The radio signaled and they were certain it was show time. Ernesto and Armando were going to stop the war then and there.  Ernesto listened carefully to his instructions from headquarters.

       “Are you fucking kidding me?”  He remarked and turned to his buddy, “It’s off.” 

       “Who the fuck called it off?” Armando asked.

        “The Pope,” replied Ernesto, adding, “he’s afraid with those two dead, Stalin will turn the whole fucking continent communist.”

        The two Axis dictators continued their lunch until a German officer interrupted with a telegram. He handed it to the Adolf who shouted, “God damn, it’s in Italian” and handed it to Benito for translation, who read it out aloud.

         “The Americas are bombing Rome and destroyed all communications.”

Adolf got very pissed and stormed out hollering in German.

       Benito quipped with the German officer, “It’s a curse. Every time he comes to Italy something bad happens.”   

       Adolf’s visit to Italy ended early. As he and pal Benito bid their goodbyes in German, while the Italian fascist boys, Dino and Carlo, wearing their signature black shirts, scowled. They leaned against the black car that was ready to take Benito to an airstrip for the trip back to Rome.

       “The Duce looks even more depressed.” Dino grumbled to Carlo.

       “He’s the problem not the solution.”  Carlo responded as he threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it.  At that point there were plenty of other black shirts around throwing shade on Benito. They did not like what Benito was doing to the country or his cozy deal with Adolf.  Italy was war weary and sick of the Nazis calling the shots.

        After Benito embraced Adolf he shouted, “Boys, let’s get the hell out of here.  The Americans are massacring Rome!” 

        Ernesto still hidden in the bushes watched through binoculars as Benito drove away, “Someday we’ll get that bastard.”

        A week later Benito entered his fancy office in the Palazzo Venezia in Rome. It had a large desk, and a life-size painting of himself in uniform. A Chopin piano concerto played on a Victrola, which was his favorite music for screwing. He was awaiting the arrival of his fav babe, almost thirty years younger. Claretta was an obsessed fan.

        When she was twenty, Claretta spotted Benito, in his flaming red Alfa Romeo, while driving in a car with her parents and boyfriend.  She was so nuts she instructed the driver to tailgate Benito while she hung out of the car window screaming, “Duce, Duce.” Benito stopped when he saw the gorgeous young brunette and it was love at first sight, or scream. She love-bombed him with poems and letters for years.

       Claretta kept a diary with details of all their adventures, and phone conversations. She wrote that Benito, “shouts like a wounded beast” and that he bit her shoulder so hard he left teeth marks.”  She also wrote jealous rants about the other women. She marked a “si” for yes on the day she had an orgasm.

        Claretta was his regular, but Benito was a textbook sex addict and even predator. 

 His staff would sort through the fan mail to summon the hot married women to his office for a booty call. Some women came voluntarily, and some did not. His carnal activity resulted in five kids with his wife, and nine more with other women.

       On that July day, all the top Fascists boys waited next door in the Grand Salon while Benito finished his afternoon business with Claretta. Benito was trying to please her as she sat on the windowsill, but he became sweaty and agitated. 

      Sometimes Benito was “impo man” and would rely on a German natural remedy to get it up. He ignored the knock at the door, then pulled up his trousers and grabbed a vial of pills.   

        His right-hand man, Nicola, continued knocking then reminded him that the entire Fascist council was waiting for their second meeting in twenty years. Benito tried again with Claretta, still on the windowsill, but no dice. He relented, zipped up his uniform trousers and was ready to face the angry boys next door. 

        As Benito walked down the hall, he saw Dino and Carlo who were smoking and chatting. Dino had just handed Carlo a grenade and said, “We made need this at the meeting.”  A worried Carlo slipped the grenade in his pocket.

       Benito entered the Grand Salon covered in velvet, gold trimmings and ancient tapestries. There was a U-shaped table with a throne in front for Benito. He called the meeting to order of the present twenty-seven fascists. They sat around debating for nine hours about breaking up with Adolf and handing back power to King Emmanuelle. By two am, the boys were exhausted, and the espressos were flowing. Nicola came in and served Benito a glass of milk.

      “What the fuck is this?” Benito asked while looking at the glass in disgust.

        “For your ulcer, Duce.” Nicola responded.

         Dino announced, “We’ve been here nine hours. We should adjourn and reconvene tomorrow; I mean later today.”  

       “It’s shameful to go to sleep when Italian soldiers are dying for their fatherland! Let’s vote now!” Carlo shouted.

         Dino, smart-ass, wanted to show off his Latin.

        “Pacta sunt servanda?”   Dino then translated for the rubes, “The traitors betrayed. The Germans have left us to be destroyed!”

        Benito conceded, “Let’s vote, boys.”

       It turned out bad for Benito; nineteen in favor, eight against and two abstentions. And so, they voted Benito’s ass out of the fascist council and restored power to the King. Ciao Benito.  Even Benito’s own son -in-law voted to oust him.

      Disgusted with his gang of black shirts, Benito stormed out of the Grand Salon. Carlo took the grenade out of his pocket and asked Dino,” Do we still need this?” 

       A few hours later the King summoned Benito for an audience.

Benito dragged himself to the Palace, the Villa Savoy, on no sleep, unshaved, groggy, and basically a train wreck knowing he was probably no longer in charge of Italy. 

       When Benito arrived at the royal palace, the 74-year-old, five-foot tall, white mustached King was standing in a military uniform on the grand staircase. The King looked very serious and held up a document. Benito knew it was his pink slip.

        “Your majesty, this document is not legal. They’ll change their minds by tonight,” Benito pleaded.

        The King looked around then spoke in a low voice. 

       “The country is broke, desperate and everyone hates your guts. Game over, Benito.”  He said and led a reluctant Benito up the grand staircase to his study. 

        At the top of the staircase, they found Marshall Pietro, also in uniform, a career officer with a checkered past and war crimes in Ethiopia. 

          “Time to go,” chimed in Pietro then gleefully reminded Benito how his own fascist gang had booted his ass out of the club. 

          Pietro handed Benito a resignation document to sign that gave power back to the petite king. While Benito read the document the King whispered to Pietro.

         “What the hell do we do with him?”

         “Hide him and make sure the Germans don’t find him and put him back in business,” replied Pietro.

         The haggard Benito exited the grand staircase as the King’s servants watched and whispered.  His secretary, Nicola, ignored the whisperings and was determined to follow his boss to the end.

         As they exited the palace, Benito and Nicola were faced with a friggin’ army outside pointing guns, armed policemen, and a Red Cross ambulance. A policeman directed Nicola towards a police car and two officers hustled Benito into the ambulance. As Benito entered the ambulance he pointed to the “Red Cross” marking and quipped. “I qualify as a casualty.” 

       As the ambulance rushed down streets blowing a siren, the driver turned on the radio that aired an official address.

        “Attenzione Italiani! His majesty the King and Emperor has accepted the resignation of Prime Minister, Secretary of his Excellency, Benito Mussolini. The newly appointed head of the government is Prime Minster, Secretary of State, and Marshall Pietro Badoglio.  God save Italy!”

         Benito shouted. “Seriously, that’s their move? Turn that shit off.” 

        The ambulance took Benito all the way to Naples then to a ferry heading to an island off the Amalfi coast.  Benito was allowed an occasional phone with Claretta who was also in hiding.  Benito had no interest in seeing or talking to his wife, Rachelle. He probably thought she would only give him shit for losing his job.

        The Italian military began the game of “Hide Benito,” hoping Adolf’s’ bros wouldn’t find him.  Meanwhile back at the Nazi ranch, Adolf was fighting several fronts apart from the millions of deportations, displacements, and the horrific camp operations.

        Heinrich, Chief of Police and Joseph, Minister of Propaganda were SO not looking forward to telling Adolf that Benito was MIA.  They expected Adolf would have a major meltdown especially now that Pietro was prime minister. 

        Adolf paced and gave orders, “Treason! Treason! March into Rome.

Arrest the King, The Crown Prince, Pietro, and the Pope for treason. We can apologize later.”  

       Joseph spoke calmly to the overly excited German chancellor.

       “My Führer. I suggest restraint against annihilating the macaroni eaters.”

        Heinrich chimed in, backing up his pal Joe, to steer Adolf away from more crazy.

        “Any action on the Pope could look very very bad, my Führer. “

         Adolf calmed down then instructed. “Just get the Duce out of their filthy hands. “

         Joseph looked at Heinrich, “We have to find him first.”

           They looked at a map with German flags on all the occupied countries and the areas across northern and central Italy. Heinrich pointed to Rome.

         “We can send the 44th towards Rome and free the Duce.” 

          Joseph disagreed. Rescuing Benito was probably a good thing but not top priority. Joseph and Heinrich were not big fans of the macaroni eater and found him a pain in the ass. Heinrich made a proposal.

        “I say delay rescue of the Duce until we have all Italy occupied and again, in our control,” too which Adolf responded, “Do it at the same time. Get it done, like now. God damn it!”

        Joseph had an idea, “get Otto on the case. He’s very dramatic and fearless. He’ll probably rescue the Duce himself!”

         Unlike the top Nazi dude, Otto was six foot four and like the Führer, 

  was Austrian born. Otto was also an SS colonel with a signature dueling scar from lip to ear across his cheek, along with shrapnel in the back of his head from the Russian front. Otto had been one of Adolf’s bodyguards and was known for his unconventional commando warfare methods. This fierce dude knew no fear, but he was no intelligence officer. They called the mission to rescue Benito, “Operation Oak.”

         Otto threw himself into finding Benito but was roped in to acting on phony leads. He was surprised at the bad intel coming from the now Allied controlled southern Italy.  Not even Adolf’s favorite astrologers and psychics could locate Benito. 

        Benito’s first ten days as a captive of the Italian army were spent on the island of Ponza, walking around the village, reading, and writing in his diary.  True to form, Benito attempted to hook-up with a local woman on the beach while wearing white boxers.    

         The prisoner was a loose cannon, so the Italian army moved him to the island of Maddalena near Sardinia. Thanks to Prime Minister Pietro, Benito was allowed correspondence with his family and Claretta. The love crazed girlfriend wrote hundreds of letters to her “Ben,” and her diary filled with detailed future sex acts.

         German spies intercepted a letter to Benito’s daughter sent to the island Maddalena.  Otto then launched a series of crazy exploits to find and pluck Benito from Italian hands.

            Plan A was sending Warger, an undercover Italian speaking German officer, to pose as a drunken sailor. He would drink with the Maddalena island locals and smoke out Benito. The problem was Warger didn’t drink and needed lessons before his mission. 

          After the drunken sailor plan failed to find Benito’s location, Plan B involved Otto himself doing air reconnaissance over the island. The British aircraft spotted Otto and his plane. The German plane lost engine power and glided into to the sea. While the cockpit filled with water, Otto and the crew climbed out of the downed aircraft and swam to safety.

        Meantime Benito was clueless about Operation Oak, He would hang out at cafes and the beach, chatting with locals. The Italians had arranged for a Red Cross seaplane to get him the hell off the island if needed.

        Otto’s plan C was more aircraft reconnaissance, landing boats, cutting off the entire electricity on the island, disabling the Red Cross sea plane, finding Benito, and whisking him back to Germany.  Otto and Warger decided a day before the mission to do a last check. They dressed as sailors, landed on the island, grabbed a basket of dirty laundry, and headed to a washerwoman. They causally mentioned Benito and she introduced them to the fisherman who helped him onto the plane earlier that day that whisked Benito away. “The Duce is gone,” the fisherman said, then flapped his arms.

        Otto was devastated and now had to face Adolf who was going to be really mad. But new intel indicated that Benito was now in the Abruzzo Mountains near the Adriatic coast.  Back in Berlin Otto had to face the Führer.

         “You failed three times to rescue Benito. What next, Otto?” asked Adolf.

         “Then those sneaky Italian bastards moved him again. But we have a marvelous plan.” Otto replied and was confident he would succeed.

          Otto knew there was no room for more screw-ups. He would plan a rescue in a region still Nazi controlled, though full of pesky partisans.  It was daring but could work.

          It was end of summer 1943 and Benito was stashed in a hotel resort at the top of the mountain Gran Sasso. Sofia, a mature maid, would come to his room and tidy up. After a week Benito looked depressed.  He was convinced it was a matter of time before the Italians would hand him over to the enemy, the Americans or the British. 

        One morning Benito heard airplanes approaching.  

       “Those bastards are not taking me alive!”  He ran into the bathroom and took out his razor.  Sofia entered to make up his room and heard him in the bathroom.

       “Your excellency?” Sofia called out.

        “Do you hear that? They found me,” Benito shouted back.

          Benito slashed one wrist with a razor blade as Sofia burst in the door. She screamed, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his wrist. 

         Overhead, Otto was the only passenger in a Storch biplane and was yelling at the pilot, “Dive, crash land as near to the hotel as you can. “

          At the same time German aircraft dropped multiple parachutists with gliders that landed on the mountainside.   

         Benito and Sofia leaned out the window when they heard an Italian policeman shouting and pointing to the aircraft. “It’s the Germans! It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

 A solider yelled, “That asshole’s not worth it. I’m outta here.”

         Several dozen Italian policemen and soldiers scurried down the mountains as German parachutists landed around them on gliders. Benito watched and announced joyfully,

       “I knew my pal Adolf wouldn’t leave me here to rot.” Benito said grabbing a suit off a hangar. Sofia laid out his overcoat and fedora on the bed.

       The Storch plane with Otto landed in front of the hotel. The parachutists surrounded the hotel and pointed guns, but all the guards and police had fled. Not one shot was fired.

       Otto jumped out of the plane as Benito stood in the hotel entrance dressed in an overcoat and fedora. Benito greeted Otto with a “Heil Hitler” salute.  Otto pushed Benito into a seat next to the pilot then he squeezed all six four of himself into the fuselage. The plane took off as Sofia waved from the ground.

        Benito and Otto felt relief as the Storch gained altitude but suddenly hit a rock and descended rapidly. Just as they feared a crash, the pilot recovered, and they were on their way. Mission accomplished!

        The Germans held Benito in Munich for a while together with wife Rachelle but they soon shipped him back to Italy. Adolf ordered Benito to establish a new fascist German puppet state, the Republic of Salò, in the north of Italy near Lake Garda. 

          Benito had delusions of again re-emerging as top dog, He was installed in fabulous digs near the lake with breathtaking views, northern Italian cuisine, and Claretta, his hot babe.  However, he was basically under Nazi SS house arrest. 

        The following summer of ’44 also was also not so good for Benito. The Allies were coming up the boot of Italy getting closer by the day, as were the partisans. It looked very bleak but at least his main squeeze, Claretta, was now with him in Lago di Garda.

         Benito’s wife, Rachelle, was pissed that her husband and Claretta were playing house. So, Rachelle decided to try to storm the villa to confront her husband. She tussled with a guard leaving him bleeding from fingernail scratches. The soldiers dragged la Signora Mussolini away as she raised her fist towards the villa, “It’ll end badly, bitch!”

         By the spring of ’45, the end was very near for the Axis powers. Adolf was in deep denial and American forces had reached the north of Italy. Just before the Americans reached Benito and Claretta’s love nest, they escaped and headed for the Swiss border. Italian partisans quickly intercepted and arrested them. 

        Benito and Claretta sat in the back seat of a sedan with their hands bound. One partisan sat next to them with a gun pointed at the couple. An armed partisan leader sat in the front passenger seat but couldn’t help reciting Shakespeare.

        “O monstrous traitor! I arrest thee, York, of capital treason against the King and crown.” 

       “Henry the Sixth,” replied Benito.

        “An educated dictator. All the knowledge, Duce, and look what’s it done for you,” said the Partisan leader.

        “Ben, I’m cold.” complained Claretta.

        “We’ll be warm soon enough, my love. Probably never feel cold again. Right, boys.” remarked Benito who knew the end was very near.

        The dude with a gun pointed at Benito and Claretta may not have been a partisan. Some believe it was a secret British agent named Captain John, ordered by Winston himself.   No one knows who gave the order and who pulled the trigger to assassinate Benito and Claretta. Was it a partisan, a communist or a James Bond type guy?

       After they were shot, the bodies of the Benito and Claretta were taken to the Piazza Loreto in Milan.  A crowd gathered around the corpses and pelted them with vegetables and garbage. Some even peed and spit on the bodies. Then several men hoisted the bodies upside down and hung them on meat hooks, which was a throwback medieval thing. 

         By the summer of 1945 Benito’s body had been dug up sixteen times and reburied, and at one point it was missing a leg. 

        Another bad summer for Benito.

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