Shortly before we left the UN compound for Dili's airport and safety in Darwin, Father Peter Hosking, a Jesuit from Australia, said Mass in the main hall.
It was a touching service, with around 90 frightened Timorese taking some comfort from the strength of the local nuns who were there, and also from the solemnity and obvious distress of Father Hosking.
But this was our last day. Finally, after the 24-hour stay of execution, we had to leave Dili to its fate. At 7 a.m. precisely, the first convoy of eight trucks was loaded with local UNAMET staff and a handful of overseas personnel.
Looking terrified, the first crew was driven out through the razor-wired entrance of the compound. Throughout the morning more convoys began to leave. Finally, despite my best efforts to stay as long as I possibly could, it was time to go as the last convoy was called and I began to think about the place we were leaving.
It is clear that East Timor has been sacrificed and its people terrorised and killed, possibly as part of a wider political attempt by the Indonesian military to render President Habibie ineffective and stage a takeover.
The two-pronged move to force the depopulation of Timor and mount a scorched-earth policy is almost complete. According to senior intelligence sources, the move was orchestrated by a small group of senior Indonesian military figures, probably led by Gen Wiranto, head of the army and also defence minister.
While the army organised the militia gangs, the civilian ministries mounted an anti-UN propaganda campaign accusing the international body of pro-independence bias. Although most of the claims were laughable, they were given widespread coverage in mainly pro-Jakarta media and helped rally other Indonesians against UNAMET.
Another key figure thought to be involved in the destruction of East Timor is Maj Gen Zaki Anwar, a career intelligence officer believed by many to be a rival to Wiranto. Other players include Noah Muas, the former commander of Timor and Probowo. Although some had thought Muas sidelined, he was reportedly extremely active behind the scenes.
Before they were either scared out of the country or trapped in the UNAMET compound, journalists witnessed numerous instances of the military openly backing the militia. They looked on as Aitarak militia members fired at the main tourist hotel, the Mahkota, and handed out weapons to the militia gangs. As the week progressed "psychological operations" became more organised.
Militia roadblocks were mounted at strategic points around the city, while houses of pro-independence supporters would be burnt and their occupants either attacked or forced to flee.
At night, there was an ever-increasing racket of gunfire. Much of it was probably into the air, but the effect on both locals and foreigners was dramatic. Long police trucks would pull up outside hotels frequented by journalists and those inside would warn of an imminent Aitarak attack. Foreigners would then be loaded on to the back of the trucks and driven to the airport.
Outside the capital the situation may be even worse. The town of Maliana was deserted the day after the poll, and militia gangs took control. There were other reports of atrocities coming in from Suai, Los Palos and Baucau.
On Wednesday the UN compound in Baucau came under fire, forcing the staff to evacuate to the capital. It was also a day when the stakes were raised as the compounds of Bishop Belo and the International Commission for the Red Cross were attacked.
Up to 2,000 refugees in each place were forced at gunpoint out on to the streets. Many were marched by the TNI and militia down the seafront in the heat of the midday sun. The military ruled the town, and there was little movement on the streets apart from army trucks and militia gangs.
Within the UNAMET compound tempers frayed, with the combined effects of heat, fatigue and fear taking hold as the days wore on.
Up to 2,000 refugees had crammed in. Open piles of excrement grew. Flies swarmed around and children played in foetid puddles.
At 3.45 a.m. on Tuesday, as the sickening pops of gunfire echoed around the UNAMET building on the edge of Dili, 29-year-old Juana de Souza Preitos took a deep breath and pushed baby Pedro into the world. Pedro's first day on Earth was spent amid the hellish confusion and chaos of this makeshift refugee camp.
"His birth was helped by UNAMET staff, so I make that his middle name," Juana explained with a wide grin.
Pedro and his mother spent the day on a makeshift camp bed, crammed at the end of the corridor in the small medical clinic at the back of the compound. As the sun went down and people settled in for what will be a long, long night, Pedro was breast-fed by a tired but proud mother.
"My boy has been born at a crucial time in our history," she said. "I only hope that one day he will be able to help secure East Timor's future."
Unaware of the suffering and pain around him, Pedro's red face relaxed into a peaceful sleep.
But there is no lasting peace for East Timor. On the way to the airport yesterday, we saw part of the systematic destruction of Dili that had gone on while we were trapped inside the compound.
As we turned the corner just outside it, an off-duty TNI in militia uniform appeared from behind the wall of the house and gave us the finger, his face tight with hate. While many streets were untouched but deserted, other buildings and even whole streets were burnt to the ground, blackened corrugated iron roofs still smouldering on the rubble.
We drove on to the airport. Aitarak militia members mixed freely with the TNI. Their mood was jubilant.
Leaving behind the defenceless refugees was one of the hardest decisions of my life. In the few days we spent together they opened their hearts to the foreign visitors and showed us kindness and love.
But UNAMET ordered all foreign journalists to evacuate or leave the compound. To step out on the streets was death. So, with a heavy heart and a sense of utter powerlessness, I waved my friends goodbye.
In just one hour, on board an Australian C-130 Hercules plane, we were in Darwin in comfort and safety.
It was hard to believe we had finally left behind the nightmare of Dili, its shattered buildings and terrorised people.