The soldier, with frantic eyes, quickly turned his frenzy on the medic, holding his rifle to the unarmed man’s head, and demanding that he produce the young man’s weapon. I used a calm voice, more than the logic of the words, to try to calm his fear: “We have just come to pick up the wounded. This is our responsibility here. We are just collecting the wounded man.” The other medic leaned down to check for signs of life. The soldier stopped shouting but the fear and frenzy remained. He seemed shocked by what he had done. He hunted his prey successfully only to discover that his prey was unarmed and anything but dangerous. As the old man approached his son, the soldier’s wrath resurfaced in the form of barked commands: “Go away/Rouh!” He would not permit the father to have a last moment with his son. The hunter-soldier was flanked by three comrades on their guard against other unarmed civilians in the neighborhood. The young soldier on my left looked at the scene, and then at me as I looked at him. He seemed to be trying to comprehend what happened, and to be realizing that the fallen young man was not so different from himself. The frenzied blond soldier turned around and ordered the others to be on guard, at which point they pointed their rifles again in every direction. No danger.