In the back of a truck, there seems to be unconscious soldiers resting and sleeping all over the place. Some are dying, some fear for their survival. There are some who are hugging their rifles. The back of the truck is in a total mess. The helmets, the armour, the guns, the equipment are left all over the place. On every soldier, there are few wounds, wrapped up with white cloth. Every person's face on the truck looks expressionless. They seem to be having peace in their slumber. It seems that the truck of soldiers are on enemy's ground. In the background, there trees in the surrounding, which might suggest that the vehicle was parked in a forest.
But there is one man in the whole truck who is conscious. He is reaching out for the side of the truck, with a worried look on his face. He seems to be lifting himself up to look at the surroundings. Perhaps he is looking out for enemies. Perhaps he is curious about where he is in. Perhaps he is planning to escape.
In my opinion, I think this photo tells a story. A story of one man amongst all the soldiers who is struggling to escape, to go home. I somehow feel that most of the soldiers are dead, because there are some who are covered by equipment and are laying on top of one another. But yet, there is this man in the left hand side of the picture who seems to be in the position of a person who is sleeping. In the foreground of the picture, there is this unconscious soldier who is hugging onto his rifle, it touches me, because the way he hugs it is as though that rifle is his life, it is as though that rife is his last hope of survival, his last hope of defence.
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