“Help me!” screams a young man in sheer terror as he is dragged away by Ukrainian draft officers—to be sent into the kill zone and, quite possibly, to his death. Listen to his scream, you who sit in Brussels deciding the fate of Ukrainian men. Listen carefully. May that scream haunt your sleep. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—as will the blood of tens of thousands of other working-class men sent to the front against their will.