Into The Jungles Of Arawe plunge men of the assault waves who have just landed from
the tracked Alligators. They move cautiously and fearfully across the narrow beach,
probing the tangled foliage for snipers and machine guns hidden behind coconut-log bunkers.
Strafed By Zeros, men crouch behind shattered palm trunks and try to cram their whole bodies
under the helmets. The roaring Japanese Planes spit white tracers at the troops.
Here and there an angry soldier rises to fire back at the planes in a fine but futile gesture.