Hannibal was a logistical genius—he never sent his troops into a void. For the elephants he packed dry grain, barley, and even bark from pine trees, which they could chew on when forage was scarce. He had a convoy of supply wagons that hauled the same stuff from the plains, and he’d also hired local shepherds to bring him fresh hay from the high pastures. Soldiers? He kept them in rotating shifts so they could rest and eat when he found a spring or a patch of edible vegetation. He carried salt, dried meat, and even a small stash of wine—there’s a story that he made a pact with a local tribe, promising to bring them the spoils of Rome in exchange for safe passage and forage. Morale was kept by constant communication. He’d give brief speeches in front of the front line, reminding them of the glory that awaited in Italy. He also sent messengers to announce when a hill was over, when a valley was cleared, or when he was planning a night ambush, so the troops felt they were moving forward. And when the elephants started to falter, he had a contingency: a few were put to rest in caves, and the rest were used sparingly to keep the rest of the army in line. His insistence on keeping the troops together, offering small comforts, and the promise of a triumphant return kept them marching through the Alps.