Bill eyes burned from the lack of sleep and the constant headache and the visceral images that constantly ran through his head were never ending. The past six weeks had been the most shocking of his life and absolutely nothing could have prepared him for the level of destruction and devastation he found once he’d eventually gotten into Bangladesh.
Bill had built his reputation on being the guy on the spot, the guy who could get to the heart of a story no matter how difficult, but nothing could have prepared him for the sites and smells that he was to find. Making his way with the aid convoy toward Dhaka he realized that the death toll was going to be enormous. Initial estimates, had been up to 10,000 but from what he now saw it must have been many more times that as the destruction, with the countryside being completely decimated, god only knew what he was going to find in Dhaka he thought to himself as the convoy slowly rolled on…
Upon arriving into the decimated capital he tried in vain to find his colleague, after finding the locating the local office, or the pile of rubble that once was the local office, it was then that he realized for the first time that his colleague was most likely a casualty.
Bill’s resourcefulness had come in handy time and again during his relatively young career and this was no exception. Quickly establishing contacts within the various aid groups that he accompanied each day to provide food, water and assistance where possible.
His daily stories were gripping first hand accounts of the brutal situation that was now unfolding inside the capital and indeed across the country, but Bills difficulty was now getting the news out of the country.
John had surprised him and had gotten a message to him via the International Red Cross, that he had a contact within the Bangladeshi army that would provide him with access to a telex machine that had been set up by the military in the basement of the Hilton Hotel.
His time in Bangladesh had tested his resolve on so many levels, at times he felt more like a humanitarian aid worker rather than a journalist, as he found himself helping pull bodies from the still swollen rivers and from the thousands of piles of rubble so that they could be either buried or burned.
His new colleagues within the aid agencies had been quick to point out to Bill that the biggest worry they now all faced was the threat of Cholera, and he could tell by the look in their eyes that they’d had some experience with it other global hotspots over the years.
He was at the end of his tether, exhausted both physically and emotionally, and at the end of four hard weeks he telexed John to say that he was done. John had been reflecting on the situation and as a newspaperman knew deep down that the story had run its course and that the outside world had moved on. So when Bill telexed him to say he needed out, it was a straightforward process for John to approve it, effective immediately.
By this time Dhaka airport was again open for business and now a central hub for international aid, although few commercial flights were coming in or out of the country John, through his vast network of contacts had again surprised Bill by getting him on a Canadian Hercules scheduled to leave the following afternoon for Bangkok.
Bill put in a call to Phuong at the office in Hanoi. As luck would have it he answered the phone on the fourth ring. “G’day Phuong” he said as brightly as possible, there was a short silence before Phuong replied “Xin chào Mr.Bill”.
His mind was mush and so couldn’t translate anything into Vietnamese, “listen mate, can you please book me on a flight out of Bangkok for Wednesday night? I’ll pick up the ticket at the airport”. Phuong could sense the tiredness in Bills voice and at once agreed to his request. “Are you well?” he questioned. “Yes, mate I’ll be fine as soon as I can get into a hot bath and get some shut eye” Bill replied. See you when I get back he said before hanging up.
The phone went dead in Phuong's hand as he slowly replaced the handset.
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