Time: One month after the forging of the Persian pact
Location: The grand camp of the Persian army near Anshan
One month had passed since the pact of unity.
The plains around Anshan had now taken on a different face.
Those peaceful lands had transformed into the beating heart of a nascent military force.
Thousands of canvas tents stretched to the horizon in geometric order.
The air was thick with the hum of men, the smell of sweat and leather, the sound of metal, and the neighing of horses.
Warriors from different tribes, from the proud Pasargadae to the hardy mountain men of the Maraphii, were training alongside one another.
An unprecedented fusion of beliefs, dialects, and tribal loyalties that was now to be forged into a single piece of steel.
In the center of this roaring sea, the command tent stood like an island of calm.
Inside the tent, a focused silence reigned.
The light of torches shone on large maps of New Persian paper.
Cambyses paced the length of the tent with heavy steps and a grim face.
He thought of the heterogeneous army outside, and his heart clenched with worry.
He stopped and looked at his ten-year-old son, who was sitting on a low stool with a strange calm.
"Kourosh," his voice was rough and full of concern.
"I look outside and what do I see? Thousands of brave warriors, yes. But I also see thousands of strangers."
"Men who, until yesterday, fought each other over pastures and water. Men who are loyal only to their own tribal chief."
"How do you intend to control this roaring flood in the chaos of battle?"
"One wrong command, one misunderstood message, and this united army will turn into a stampeding herd that will trample us under its feet."
Kourosh lifted his head from the scroll and looked into his father's worried eyes.
"Father, your concern is justified. An army without command is just a gathering of armed men."
"But we will create a single soul and a focused mind for this body we have created."
"We will not build an army that shouts with a thousand different voices. Our army will have one voice."
He rose and went to the map table.
He opened the book "The Persian Art of War."
"Father, we will build a hybrid communication system so that every soldier, at every moment of the battle, knows his duty."
"The first layer of this system is our officers."
"Our commanders of a thousand and a hundred are not just order-takers. They will be our 'tactical interpreters' on the battlefield."
"They receive the main command, but it is their duty to find the best way to execute it according to their own situation on the field."
"We trust them and give them the power to make decisions. In this way, each column of our army will have an independent but coordinated mind."
"But for overall coordination, we need something faster than words. We need the sound of war."
Kourosh pointed to designs of large war drums and long bronze horns.
"The sound of these will be heard across the entire battlefield. For each command, we will have a specific sound."
"Two heavy drum beats: orderly advance."
"A volley of rapid beats: charge!"
"A long, drawn-out sound from the horn: halt and hold formation."
"And a short, clipped sound: tactical retreat."
"Our soldiers will learn these sounds like their own names. They will fight with their ears."
"The eyes will also play a role in our battle."
He pointed to designs of colorful flags and banners.
"Each commander of a thousand will have a flag with a specific color and symbol."
"A red flag moving to the right means the entire right flank must turn that way."
"A blue flag being waved means the archers should prepare to fire."
"With these flags, we can silently change the formation of the entire army in moments and surprise the enemy. Every soldier will know his duty with a single glance at the sky."
"And finally, for complex and unexpected orders, the vital arteries of our army will come into play."
He pointed to a group of swift horsemen and fast runners.
"These are our messengers. They will carry letters written on paper and confirmed with our seal."
"No more will verbal commands be lost or distorted in the dust of battle."
"A precise order for a surprise maneuver will reach the farthest flank from the heart of the army in minutes."
"This hybrid system, these arteries of command, will allow us to fight with a speed that the Medes cannot even comprehend."
Cambyses, who had listened to this comprehensive and flawless plan with his mouth agape in astonishment, now had no trace of worry on his face.
He looked at his ten-year-old son, who spoke with the confidence of an experienced general.
This was not a dream; it was a precise and calculated war machine.
With a voice trembling with admiration, he said, "This... this is a system beyond this era."
He placed his hand on Kourosh's shoulder and walked towards the entrance of the tent.
Arash was waiting there for orders.
Cambyses, with a voice that now held the firmness of a confident king, roared:
"Arash!"
"Gather all the commanders of a thousand and a hundred. The training begins at dawn tomorrow."
"We are going to teach this plain the sound of war."
"Every command that Prince Kourosh issues is law."
"Go and build this army!"