Chapter 40: It Is the Vote Counters Who Decide Everything

Under the constant pressure of being watched, Trentin had no choice but to sign the referendum documents. With all of Aosta now under French military control, his meager loyalty to Italy was insufficient to sustain any show of patriotism.

"Very good. You have proven yourself reliable," Koman said, observing Trentin with satisfaction. "The key is to identify the right problem, the crucial problem."

The relationship between Koman and Trentin was simply that of an occupying force and a collaborator. If Vichy France could unearth so many collaborators, it was hardly difficult to find them in Aosta—especially given that this was, by nature, a French-speaking region.

Stepping out of the town hall, Koman held his head high, finding the clear blue sky remarkably pleasing. Only then did Bokassa remark, "Sir, everything you just did was so impressive."

Koman reached out, his tone carrying the air of one who held great expectations for a protégé. "Bokassa, you will be just as impressive one day. You must understand: in a place like Africa, one must hold the military power firmly in one's hands. This is perfectly in line with African tradition; whether in ideal or in reality, everything requires the support of the military. By the way, whom do you admire most?"

Power manifests in many forms, but in Africa, military authority was clearly the most vital. Koman remembered that Bokassa would one day become an emperor, and he did not mind offering a little inspiration. From the perspective of the African landscape, a military government was not necessarily a regressive institution; in a land of total ruin and poverty, could one really expect a system of one-man-one-vote?

"The person I admire most is, of course, the great Napoleon." Although a seed of admiration for Koman had been planted, it had not yet taken deep root, and Bokassa gave the honest answer from his heart.

"Then work hard to realize that dream. Of course, you must survive this war," Koman said with a gentle, encouraging smile.

He now needed to report to his immediate superior, Major Kelt. Koman had pushed through the signing of the referendum in what was effectively three days—a very rushed timeline—and he would need the Major's help to maintain order during the voting.

Kelt listened carefully to the background and the consequences. His face wore the expression of a man who had everything under control, though in reality, he hadn't given it much thought. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from reaching a conclusion: "Is this man, Trentin, reliable?"

"We have already reached an understanding with Trentin, and he is a patriot," Koman replied solemnly. "This region is French-speaking to begin with. We cannot forget the treacherous stab in the back Italy gave us in 1940. We welcome Italians as tourists in the future, but not as immigrants."

After leaving Kelt, Martin had finished drafting the announcement for recruiting a local gendarmerie—in plain terms, establishing a puppet force—ready to be posted at every intersection in Aosta the next day.

"I wonder how Alain is doing in Paris. He must be living more comfortably than we are."

Martin muttered in self-pity, though this was only because the French-speaking conditions in Aosta were still tolerable. If they were to push deeper, they would inevitably face the hardships of war, sleeping in the fields and eating in the open air.

"You two don't have some kind of improper relationship, do you?" Koman reached out and rested his hand on the hilt of his Damascus steel blade, watching Martin with wary suspicion, as if trying to analyze his true motives. "The Youth Division's operations in Paris need someone to follow up; many things cannot be finished in a month or two. It gives us peace of mind having him there."

Whether it was the universal blood bank plan, the purging of collaborators, or the cultural cleansing, these were not tasks that could be decided today and completed tomorrow. Someone had to be watching. One could not have General Delagrange overseeing such matters; with the war still ongoing, if he were distracted by tasks clearly falling under the security domain, what would people think?

Martin was merely complaining about the grueling work of recruiting the puppet force. When he asked about the purpose of Koman's trip to the town hall, he sighed helplessly. "I know my opinion doesn't matter, but I feel it's all too rushed."

"You don't understand; the sooner, the better," Koman said, offering no further explanation. He simply felt the need to make these things a fait accompli as quickly as possible. He believed the window for the referendum was narrow. Even though the campaign was still underway, one never knew when the tides might turn, making it difficult to proceed later.

Aosta was small, consisting of only a few blocks. When the sun rose the next day, the residents found the referendum notices posted at every street corner. People discussed it in hushed tones. Occasionally, French soldiers passed by, but the residents ignored them, seemingly showing no hostility. In taverns and open fields—anywhere people gathered—they discussed the referendum starting tomorrow. The mood was calm, as if they did not view this as a momentous event deciding their future.

"Koman, have you made any preparations?" Martin asked, feeling anxious as the day of the referendum approached, wondering if his comrade had prepared for every contingency.

"None at all," Koman said truthfully. If this were the Saar region, it would be the perfect time to demonstrate one's mastery of political maneuvering. But for a place as small and sparsely populated as Aosta, it was entirely unnecessary. Regardless of the outcome, it would be the result Koman desired. Stalin once said that the voters decide nothing; the counters decide everything.

The day of the referendum arrived with beautiful weather. Though it was late October, the high altitude brought a chill despite the morning sun. It was a joyous occasion, and Koman and his comrades from the Youth Division did their best to enliven the atmosphere, cheering on the long queues and shouting slogans to those scattered across the voting stations. "If you cannot choose a future today that satisfies everyone, then you shall keep voting until you do..."

Koman’s hawk-like eyes watched a polling station. The shouts and cheers echoed in his ears; every time a vote-counter called out "Join France," it was met with a surge of applause and roaring.

The voting began in the morning and the counting ended at night. Ninety-nine percent of Aosta's residents supported their home becoming a part of France. The entire town became a sea of joy, with people cheering loudly to express their happiness over the result.

"As for the one percent who didn't, once we sweep through the other Italian-speaking settlements in the Aosta Valley, we will round them up and ship them to Marseille, then directly to North Africa," Koman said to Martin after hearing the report.

"It's only one percent. That doesn't change the big picture," Martin said, looking at him in disbelief. Was the standard not a bit too strict?

"Ninety-nine percent is not enough. I want one hundred percent," Koman recited the famous words of Rockefeller. "Find any excuse to pin a fault on them. North Africa needs immigrants. Just say the people in the other settlements ran off with the Germans."

Aosta's residents accounted for only one-third of the population of the Aosta Valley; the rest were elsewhere. Strictly speaking, the referendum result was flawed. But could they not simply pretend the Italian-speaking population did not exist?

Action had to be decisive and swift. The one-percent remnant of the Axis powers was found hiding, and following tips from "patriots," the Youth Division soldiers broke down their doors.

While the Aosta Valley was undergoing its historic referendum, the city of Turin was filled with smoke and fire. The streets were blocked by destroyed armored vehicles, and thick smoke billowed from shattered windows. Sporadic gunfire erupted in the streets, occasionally mixed with the echoes of explosions. A man wielding a weapon fired, his bullet piercing an opponent's throat; blood splattered against a wall as the man's eyes slowly lost their color.

The Italian Liberation Army had launched an armed uprising in Turin, coordinating with the Allied offensive to launch a general assault against the combined German and Italian forces within the country.