There’s a man naked fishing on a Guadalcanal beach one day when Japanese planes have paused their bombing runs and the U.S. offshore big guns are not plastering what remains of the Solomons’ vegetation. His mind keeps casting to a wife who is carrying the child he left in her on leave convinced he won’t die here desperate to receive letters in answer to all his, read by a censor in San Francisco then re-routed again so far to Ballarat, Victoria, Australia where he’d gone on R&R. Up the beach a soldier waves. Fisherman drops rod and runs thrashes Jeep…