Song He sat at his desk in the evening, slurping down ramen as a news video played on the computer in front of him.
Dust billowed through the streets. Sheets hung between the narrow buildings to shield people from snipers. Thick smoke rose in the distance, and dull explosions could be heard from time to time.
A bearded Black reporter wearing a helmet hunched his shoulders and tightened his bulletproof vest, microphone in hand.
"I'm Usha, an Al Jazeera reporter stationed in Eria. I'm currently on Eria's First Avenue. Two hours ago, a shell landed in the middle of the street and injured seven people!"
"This is the very center of the city. We're now heading to Eria Church Hospital. We've already lost contact with the city's other three hospitals. Apart from a few small clinics that can only bandage external wounds, the church hospital is the last hospital remaining in this city!"
"Yesterday, NATO warships launched an airstrike against positions outside the city, but several missiles landed in a densely populated slum. More than three hundred wounded people were brought in during the night, including over a dozen pregnant women who were injured and miscarried. This has happened twice since the war began. NATO officials have yet to respond. We don't know whether the missiles malfunctioned, went off course, or if there was some other reason."
The camera shook as it moved, apparently a handheld camera with poor stabilization. Usha spoke as he hurried across the sand-covered streets and rushed into the hospital.
The area in front of the hospital was packed with people. Dark-skinned refugees had gathered inside to take shelter, and many were sobbing.
An old ambulance happened to barrel in. As soon as its doors opened, the medical staff quickly carried out the stretchers. Four children