"If I killed that kid myself, I'd be doing this G-d damn place a favor." Augustus said quietly to himself, half way hoping no one would hearing, the other not really caring. "Find out how her arm is doing and let me know when you get the chance!" Augustus shouted of the cries and moans of the injured. There was little doubt in his mind that kid wasn't the type to follow through on the request. The kid seemed to still have some hope. It was a nice change of pace from the thoughts that rambled on his head. Still people were dying and the groans of injured was everywhere, now was not the time to contemplate hope. 

Augustus went to work, acting as a medic. With gloved hands he went on about his day, oblivious to the time of day stitching the wounded and passing on those he couldn't help and passing on those that he knew wouldn't make it. Experience taught him what wounds could be mended and those that can't. It wasn't his job to comfort or ease the pain of those that wouldn't make it. Patch whom he could heal, and leave those who couldn't. That was his frame of mind, to him this wasn't a time to get emotionally attached to them. Most of them would more than likely die. This was war and its cold hard effects. They're effects were gruesome and unwanted, but in some sickening way it was his home. It was where he felt the most comfortable. How damaged must he be for a statement like that to be true. Thoughts best left for another time to ponder, thoughts best left for when the bottle was readily at hand.