CCT[ee]

1221 CE – Near the Indus River The sun had just crested the ridge when Jochi, a teenage scout of the Tumet tribe, crept to the edge of the ravine. Below him, the enemy army stirred—Persian banners snapping in the breeze, horses being saddled, a catapult crew dragging their machine into position. He counted fast: five siege engines, two cavalry wings, and one exposed supply train. His heart thudded—not from fear, but from duty. Jochi wasn’t a warrior. Not yet. He didn’t carry a bow or sword. He carried fire. He opened the waxed pouch on his saddlebag, pulling out a small mirror and a crimson signal cloth. From his elevated perch, his job was simple: see everything. Say little. Move faster than death. He flashed a signal west—three glints, paused, then five. That would reach Subutai’s signal officer, stationed a mile away on another ridge. The pattern meant: enemy engines seen, center vulnerable, cavalry exposed on right flank. Then, Jochi reached into his belt, pulled a strip of leather