((Cisalpine Gaul, 52 BC))

Viran finished listening to Bruce’s long winded hypothesis about their predicament, “So Bruce, you seem quite knowledgeable about the suspected timeline that we find ourselves in, where did you garner all this vast amount of information and insight?”

“Well, luckily for us, I did my grade 12 history final research project on the late Roman Republic. Got an A- on it too.” Bruce said, sounding quite proud of himself.

At this point the large Celtic army was about 2 kilometres away, still marching up the road towards them through the valley. The depression they had been hunkering down in, was at the edge of the military crest of the hillside. The hill itself wasn’t overly steep or rugged, and was dotted with a variety of trees and otherwise covered by the tall wild field grass.

As there was a break in the conversation, the group of inadvertent interdimensional time travellers all heard a sound coming from the top of the hill behind them.

*Duh dun, duh dun, duh dun* and it was accompanied by the sound of clanking metal and shifting armour.

“Calvary, it’s got to be.” Bruce said.

Just then a group of 8 horsemen crested the hill behind them, and the trio heard one of the mem say, “There, look Optio. I told you I saw a group of Gauls scouting our lines.”

The ornately dressed Optio, who wore an embossed chest plate and a helmet with grandiose plumage smiled and ordered his men to “Charge.”

The group spurred their mounts and charged down the hill directly towards Viran and company.

“Oh no no no, we’re gonna die, save me Mr. Vulcan.” Baxx grovelled as he clutched at Viran’s pant leg.

Bruce just looked on in awe, the dark skin of the cavalry men other than the Optio clearly implied that they were Roman auxiliary, likely Numidians. Though he was in mortal danger, he couldn’t help but marvel at the sight.

Viran shook off the Bolian clutching at his leg and moved towards the charging cavalry, “We are not hostile, and I assure we are not Gauls.” He said in a loud but neutral tone.

When it became clear that the horsemen weren’t slowing at all, Viran grabbed the only object he could conceive of as a weapon, a rock, and hurled 2-3 pound hunk of stone at the leader of the group. He had been aiming for the Optio himself, but due to the chaotic movements of a horse at full gallop, the stone ended up smacking the Optio’s horse right in the eye causing it to rear up and buck its riders off before leaping around a few more times and then bolting back up the hill.

The other darker skinned lightly armoured riders kept charging, lowering their spears as they rode towards Bruce, Baxx and Viran. But just then a chorus of battle crimes and yelling erupted on their left, and 2 of the Numidians were struck with arrows, and a 3rd was unhorsed as he was struck by a short throwing spear with a long narrow metal head that Bruce immediately recognized as a Roman style Pilum.

“Its an ambush! Retreat!” One of the remaining riders shouted, and the few remaining Romans whirled their horses around and galloped off.

The unhorsed Optio had been momentarily knocked unconscious from the fall was coming to and started to reach for his scabbard and pull his gladius. Viran swiftly rushed over to the Roman and nerve pinched him back into a limp state.

“Thats right, flee in terror! Latin scum!” A large shirtless, moustachioed Gaul hollered as he and several others clamoured into the defile with them.

“Fabulous work my friends, baiting the pigs in for us…who sent you up here, I was told that we were the only skirmishing party on this flank?” Asked another shirtless, muscular, moustached, axe wielding Gaul, who was the scouting units leader.

Thinking quickly Bruce leapt up and said, “No one sent us, we were captured by the Roman demons a week ago, and we escaped only yesterday and have been trying to return to our lines.”

“Glorious, you are lucky we found you then, the enemy cavalry have been roaming around these hillside for several days trying to slow our advance to Genua.” He looked skeptically at the trio’s attire for a brief moment.

As Baxx recovered his wits, stood and turned to face their rescuers one of the Gauls exclaimed “Whoooooah, fucking cool war paint brother! Who’s your druid, I barely get a few finger strokes of blue across my face before a battle.”

Before the horrified and speechless Bolian was expected to reply, the Gallic leader asked, “Your attire and tongue seem strange, from where do you hail, what tribe?”

Again, thinking quickly, and likely saving their lives in the process, Bruce said, “We are from Britannia, of the Boernici tribe, vassals of the Caledonii…the Latin dogs even forced us to shave our moustaches.”

The leader of the patrol turned to one of his warriors who was standing on the edge of the depression and motioning his chin at him soliciting his opinion. The target of the chin flick was a former member of the Parisi tribe who had been born and raised in Britannia before migrating to the continent and joining the Carnutes tribe.

The nearly nude spearman just shrugged, “Northerners have always been over dressed and spoke with odd accents.”

The answer seemed to assuage the leaders’ concerns, at least for the moment.

“Well, we must continue on to scout ahead of the main force. You 3 should quickly head back to the camp and arm yourselves, lest you’ll miss all the action tomorrow.” The leader motioned his head back towards the direction of the army they had spotted early. He pulled a dagger from his waistband and held it out towards Bruce.

“Your pale skinned friend is a talented rock slinger, but take this, just in case you run into any more patrols.”

“You honour me brother. I am called, Brussilanus.” The rocker from Risa said, slyly celtifying his name.

“Well met, I am called Trabbiorix, of the Carnutes.” He and Bruce then clasped each other’s forearms in the common fashion before Trabbiorix and his party departed to continue their patrol.

“For Kirks sake, I thought we were done for…thank you, both of you.” Baxx said as he let out a sigh of relief.

“Indeed, your knowledge of this historical era proved quite fortuitous Bruce…ilanus. You have my gratitude aswell.” Viran said as they began to head off in the direction the Gaul had indicated. None of them had any idea what they were actually getting themselves into, but knowingly or not, for better or worse, they had chosen a side. In the momentous cataclysm that would come to be known, in that timeline and reality, as the “Battle of Genua Plains”, they would serve with the Great Celtic Alliance.