If he looks over the cranes and containers, due west across the bay, he can barely make out the mountainous silhouette of the Bata’an Peninsula, some forty miles distant. Following its black skyline southwards—tracing the route taken by the Nipponese in ’42—he can almost resolve a lump lying off its southern tip. That would be the island of Corregidor. This is the first time he’s ever been able to see it; the air is unusually clear today.