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Thirty-seven war elephants, eighty thousand infantry, twelve thousand cavalry. Fifteen days to cross the Alps in October, 218 BC — late in the season, snow already on the higher passes. I lost perhaps half my army to cold, avalanche, ambush by the Gauls, and the descent on the Italian side, which was worse than the ascent.

The Romans had calculated this was impossible. Scipio had been sent to Spain to intercept me; when he heard I had already crossed into Gaul he sailed back to Italy in disbelief. I was waiting for him on the Po plain with whatever remained of my force.

The elephants mostly died during the first Italian winter. But they were not the point. The point was to appear on Italian soil with an army when no one thought it could be done, to demonstrate to Rome's Italian allies that Rome could not protect them, and to detach them from the Roman alliance. This worked for fifteen years. It did not ultimately work. I should have marched on Rome after Cannae. I chose not to. History does not forgive hesitation.