Title: It's All for Nothing
Day: Whumptober 2023, Day 8
Prompt: "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier" Overcrowded ER/Outnumbered/"It's all for nothing."
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Word Count: 846
Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl
Rating: T
Characters: Dr. Knox
Warning: Ishval
Summary: Dr. Knox didn't just do autopsies in Ishval. Sometimes, when the casualties were high, he was called in to help with the wounded—something that, surprisingly, felt worse to him than the autopsies he did.
Notes: NA
It's All for Nothing
Even though his primary function in Ishval was to do autopsies, Knox still ended up pulled into the general hospital tents from time to time. And every time that he was, he hated it, because it meant that there were too many wounded, too many dead or dying for the regular doctors to handle. This time was no different.
Soldiers were everywhere. They surrounded the tents, sitting, laying or just collapsed all around with no clear end or boundary. Nurses and a doctor were already moving among them, triaging the soldiers as quickly and as best they could. It was a grisly job at the best of times. At times like these? It felt dehumanizing, in the sense that one couldn't think about the wounded as people with lives and families, but only as a collection of tissues that may or may not be able to be knit back together.
Knox shook his head, breaking free of those thoughts for the moment. There was no way that all of these soldiers would be able to be seen. There were too many of them, and too many of them were wounded. Which commander was in charge of this? Then again, it didn't really matter did it? Whichever commander it was, it was obvious that he didn't care for his men.
"Cannon fodder," he muttered under his breath as he waded into the fray, ignoring the pleadings of the people he passed.
The wounded outnumbered the doctors and nurses at least eight to one, if not more. At least one of the doctors and a team of nurses were out there, doing triage on the wounded, laying tags on them. Knox knew the system well. Reds would be taken first, followed by yellows. Greens wouldn't be seen unless all of the reds and yellows were taken care of. Blacks wouldn't be seen at all. They were as good as dead, if they weren't already, and it was no use wasting resources on them.
It was a harsh, callous way of thinking, but it was necessary. Save who you could, and don't waste on those you couldn't.
Knox recognized the doctor who was doing the tirage, Dr. Fredricks. He was a fine surgeon, although a little too soft-hearted for his own good. Knox could see him wavering over some of the decisions that had to be made, could see how they pulled at him. Knox knew that he would do more good on the inside, where he could be saving people, not out here where he was condemning them. And with the way that the medical tent already looked overcrowded, they could definitely use a surgeon that knew his way around an operating room.
"What unit are these people from?" Knox asked as he approached.
Fredricks whipped his head up. "Fessler's," he said with a hint of anger in his voice. "They're all under Fessler's command."
Fessler. Knox had heard of him. He was in it for the glory of war, for the mighty commands, and cared little to none about his men. Knox had no respect for him.
"Figures," Knox said. He made a motion for the tags that Fredricks had. "Gimmie those."
Fredricks blinked at him. "What?"
"I said, give me those," Knox repeated, a little harshly. "You know the staff and the way things work in there," Knox said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder towards the overflowing medical tent. "And I'm used to dealing with bodies. I'll know who's not going to make it."
Fredricks looked a little shocked and taken aback at Knox's callousness, but he handed over the tags, nonetheless. They both knew the truth and logic in Knox's words, even if they were harsh. Fredricks paused, gave Knox a nod and then ran off towards the medical tent. Knox snorted, and then started looking around at the soldiers and the nurses.
"Alright," he said. "I'm in charge of triage now. Don't take your time! Assess, label, and move on. We don't have time to coddle anyone!"
The nurses and the soldiers looked at him a little wide-eyed, but Knox didn't care. He didn't even care when her heard some of the things muttered about him. No, instead he focused on doing his job. There seemed to be an unending number of wounded coming in, clearly outnumbering the medical staff—and the mortally wounded outnumbering those that would survive. There was no time for Knox to care about his reputation.
And as he worked, placing black after black label on soldiers that he knew would not survive, all he could think was that this was all for nothing. Chances were these men's sacrifices would be for nothing at all. Fessler would have killed all of these men, and the territory would just be retaken. Then the state alchemists would move in and retake the territory, and Knox would have fresh corpses to autopsy again.
Just like there would have been, even if Fessler had waited.
Which made these soldiers' sacrifices all for nothing.
He grit his teeth and kept working. What a waste.
