Golden Blooded

1. Captured.

He growled, staring down at the papers in his hands. They were losing ground- too much, too quickly. His hand twitched, a silent urge to be holding a gun or a weapon or something.

"My General," another- his second-in-command- walked in, giving a low bow, bent at the waist, "I have more papers for you. Do you want them now, or later?"

"Now, My Commander," he said, the other angel stepping forward and placing a thin file folder on his mahogany desk. He took it into his hands, dismissing the other with a wave of his hand. The other stalked out, not even passing a glance back.

His fingers slipped over the beige cardstock, before unraveling the string and opening it. Black lettering with a fair amount of neat yellow highlighting stood out in the front. He only read what was highlighted. They were getting pushed back again. His face fell into a scowl, and he stood.

There was silence outside of the room. The garrison watched him, eyes never leaving their general. His commander walked behind him, only a little to the right, his gaze down and his wings tight against his back. He walked up to the communications room, the two guards giving a firm, hard-faced salute, before pushing the double-doors in.

In the middle of the room sat a chair. A few people bustled around, their hands firmly set onto the computers before them. Holograms floated, reading messages from all across the world in a formal font. He sat down.

Another hologram, this time one that was more useful to him, appeared in front of him. His black gloves met the blue, reading the white lettering that came to life before him. He began to write a message to his higher up, asking it what exactly he should do next. He wasn't backed into a corner. He knew what he wanted to do- but if he didn't get permission, then he'd be in trouble.

It's white lettering appeared, one at a time, spelling out words with a particular caution that normally wasn't seen much in the garrison. He read them to himself, knowing the people in the room were tuning him out- if they listened, if they retained, what he said, they each knew they'd be put to death.

The only one who was allowed to know was the Commander, who did his very best not to shuffle uncomfortably around on his feet, his gaze down as he listened to the Generals whispered 'conversation' with a being he'd never seen.

Eventually, the General stood, addressing the room in one sweep, "Tell the army we move now to the front. Bring everything of use."

Nobody argued. Coms were turned on, allowing the communicators to give swift orders to gather all weapons and tents, and that they would be going to the front lines and die for their General and for their Elder.

There was cheering in the halls as the General exited the room. The sun was beginning to rise, the high windows beginning to spill bright light into the grim and dark garrison. The light illuminated his golden hair- that was something every soldier noticed when the General passed, his Commander creeping along behind him.

Some had tears streaming down their faces- they were glad to die for their Elder, and for him. Why wouldn't they be happy? This was their purpose. Everything since their birth had been for this moment. They trusted their General's judgement- if he believed them ready for the front lines, then so did they.

"My General," the Commander whispered to him as they finally came back to his office, "what do you wish for me to pack?"

"My tent, and my rations. To gain the trust of this new group," he said that with noticeable disdain, "I must live among them, and like them, for a while. Give news to my Northern fraction. Alert them that I will be coming to aid."

"As you wish, My General," he bowed again, low, walking out of the office, but not into the hallway. Into an adjacent room. The General hummed, fingering through the papers he had left on his desk.