They're the Nile Nailers, remember?
In the midst of patriotic joy they created, Dalip managed to get the DoW on Britain.
[pretentiousness] It is a subtle comment on the disenchantment of the individual when they find that they were but pawns in a greater scheme of things, their struggles and honours but exploitable quantities to be used in a rhetoric for war, a game of infinite violence where the lives of countless individuals, many not so different from their own, are thrown under the juggernaut of political ambition. Contrast the medals on their chests with the unseen fates of so many of the soldiers marching in the background or packing trains headed for the front, who will die but not be called heroes. The sun of youthful enthusiasm sets on their backs, while the shadow of mournful experience is all that remains on their faces - yet it is that same sun that seems to call those throngs of young soldiers forward (who should, but for artistic liberty, be headed east). As the smoke rising from the war-bound train seems to merge with the dark altocumulous clouds on the horizon, so too will the lives of those on board it be swept by the winds of chance to fates unknown, but mostly beyond the reach of the sun's rays. [/pretentiousness]I don't get the last panel...
Someone is channelling a art critic, methinks[pretentiousness] It is a subtle comment on the disenchantment of the individual when they find that they were but pawns in a greater scheme of things, their struggles and honours but exploitable quantities to be used in a rhetoric for war, a game of infinite violence where the lives of countless individuals, many not so different from their own, are thrown under the juggernaut of political ambition. Contrast the medals on their chests with the unseen fates of so many of the soldiers marching in the background or packing trains headed for the front, who will die but not be called heroes. The sun of youthful enthusiasm sets on their backs, while the shadow of mournful experience is all that remains on their faces - yet it is that same sun that seems to call those throngs of young soldiers forward (who should, but for artistic liberty, be headed east). As the smoke rising from the war-bound train seems to merge with the dark altocumulous clouds on the horizon, so too will the lives of those on board it be swept by the winds of chance to fates unknown, but mostly beyond the reach of the sun's rays. [/pretentiousness]