By Ian Williams
NBC News Correspondent

One of the Sumatran orangutan’s richest habitats, an area of swampland containing the highest density of the red apes on the planet, is being illegally slashed and burned by palm oil companies to make way for palm oil plantations.

“If we can't stop them here, then there really is no hope,” said Ian Singleton as we stood on the edge of what had once been pristine forest, home to hundreds of orangutans, but now reduced to a charred wilderness as far as the eye could see. As he spoke we could hear the distant sound of a chain saw.

Singleton runs the Sumatra Orangutan Conservation Programme, an organization at the forefront of a battle to save what remains of the forest and the apes.

WATCH THE FULL REPORT: Orangutans dying as demand for palm oil soars

There are fewer than 7,000 of the critically endangered Sumatran orangutans left in the wild, according to a 2008 survey completed by Singleton and other scientists. The largest number live in a vast area of swampland and lowland forest close to the northern tip of the Indonesian island of Sumatra.

“Orangutan paradise,” Singleton calls the area – but it’s a paradise under threat.

Land cleared, drained and burned in the Tripa Peat Swamp Forest.

The key battleground for Singleton is the Tripa Peat Swamp Forest, much of which has already been converted to palm oil plantations. The relentless march of the palm oil business is the biggest threat facing the orangutans.

A cheap, edible oil, palm oil is found in almost half of all packaged supermarket products, from instant noodles, to cookies to ice cream, and Indonesia is the world's biggest supplier.

“Look, look,” said Singleton, handing me a pair of field glasses. In the distance a large male orangutan moved gracefully across the canopy of trees. We would soon see three more.

WATCH ROCK CENTER VIDEO: 'Orangutans are dying here as we speak'

There is something spell-binding about seeing an orangutan in its natural habitat, and for a while we were glued to that point, watching these high-wire masters at play. But excitement here was quickly tempered by the realization that the area of forest we were looking at was isolated and surrounded on three sides by plantations that were moving ever closer.

Singleton concluded that these apes had just about enough forest to survive - for now.

When he believes an orangutan is in danger, he said, he sends in a team to track and sedate it, transferring the animal to a sprawling rescue center he runs on the edge of the Sumatran city of Medan.

Singleton sometimes refers to the center as a “refugee camp.”

“These are the lucky few,” Singleton told me during a visit there. “They are effectively refugees from forests that no longer exist.”

And like in refugee camps across the world, there was no shortage of agonizing stories of suffering and survival, but also resilience and hope.

Chocolate, a 2-year-old toddler, rescued from animal traders

Among the 55 orangutans in Singleton’s care was a scrawny and bewildered 2-year-old named Chocolate, the newest arrival. Merely a toddler, Chocolate wrapped his arms and legs around Singleton, who lifted him carefully from a cot designed for a child.

“He’s a bit thin, but otherwise quite fit and feisty,” Singleton said. He believes the mother was probably shot.

“There’s no way a mother would allow a baby to be taken from her, not while she’s still alive – never in a million years,” said Singleton. Among orangutans, the bond between mother and child is one of the strongest in the animal kingdom, a child staying with its mom for as many as nine years.

Most orangutans arrive at the center as toddlers, many lacking even the basic confidence to climb trees. You’d have thought that came naturally to a great ape, but some youngsters will only scale the branches in the presence of a keeper, who acts as a surrogate mom.

That’s not a term Singleton likes. The aim of his organization is to build the animals’ skills and independence for an eventual return to the wild, though initially many are dependent on him and his staff.

He also introduced me to Leuser, a big male, probably more than 40 years old and blind.

“One day he went too near farmers at the edge of the forest and they took pot shots at him. They put 62 air rifle pellets into him, mostly around the head,“ Singleton said. Forty-eight are still there, and the X-ray resembles the speckled roof of a planetarium.

In the top corner of a nearby cage, 9-year-old Bahroeni was sitting inside a large tire, one of his legs dangling, encased in a cast. He, too, had been sold as a pet when he was a toddler and, as he grew up, the nylon rope that tied him to a fence was never removed.

Plantation owners and small holders frequently regard orangutans as pests, though there is profit to be had in illegally selling off the babies as pets.

“The law is very clear, but the enforcement is very weak,” Singleton said, tickling one of the toddlers, who reacts with child-like convulsions.

The center aims to return its refugees to the wild, in an undisturbed part of the forest, as soon as they are able to go.

As we spoke, a group of keepers from the rescue center carried on a stretcher an anaesthetised young male named Dito. They lay him out on an operating table in the medical center and after making a small insertion in his neck, they implanted a transmitter.

The transmitter will help Singleton monitor Dito’s movements, “so you know what they’re doing, where they’re going. That they are OK.”

Singleton and colleague Graham Usher launch drone with camera to monitor illegal deforestation.

On the Tripa frontline, Singleton and his team are now deploying a powerful new weapon: a drone, equipped with a small camera that will help them identify illegal forest clearing.

The area is supposed to be a protected forest, and using fire to clear the land as well as converting deep peat are illegal practices under Indonesian law.

Conservationists did have one recent victory, when one of the worst culprits, a company called Kallista Alam, had one of its operating permits revoked. That’s never happened before, since Indonesia has a terrible track record in enforcing its own environmental laws.

And Singleton says satellite imagery shows that burning has continued, even after Kallista Alam’s permit was revoked.

He is now urging criminal action against such companies and others involved in the illegal clearing, asking for their permits to be revoked, and the peat land to be restored.

For all the horrible destruction laid out before us in Tripa, Singleton remains optimistic, believing that the tide may now be turning in favor of Indonesia’s once lonely conservationists, and that the impunity with which the plantations destroyed the forest is at last being challenged.

Before leaving Sumatra, Singleton took me to an area where his refugees are being re-located. He told me that for him nothing can quite match the satisfaction of seeing the often bruised and terrified animals that turn up at his rescue center back in the wild.

“Now they have a second chance of spending 30 or 40 years in the wild, and of having four or five babies,” he told me as we tracked some recently released orangutans days later.

There was a sudden movement of red fur through the thick forest canopy above us.

“I get a real kick out of this,” Singleton said. “It’s as if they never left, and if we’d not been here they’d have died.”

Editor's Note: Ian Williams' full report, 'At What Cost?' airs Thursday, October 18 at 10pm/9c on NBC's Rock Center with Brian Williams.

KAREN STATE, Myanmar – At first light, a haze from dry-season fires hung low over the Moie River, which marks the border between Thailand and Myanmar (also known as Burma).

It was a good time of day for a discrete crossing from one of the many small clearings in the thick tropical undergrowth lining the Moei's muddy waters.

It took just moments for our long-tailed boat to reach the Myanmar side, where after making our way over a rickety make-shift bridge and climbing the steep river bank we were welcomed to the seventh brigade headquarters of the Karen National Liberation Army (KNLA), the military wing of the Karen National Union (KNU), which has been fighting the Myanmar government for decades.

We were greeted by Saw Hla Hgwe of the KNU, a short bespectacled man, wearing a red Ferrari baseball cap.

"We have two big problems in this country, ethnic rights and democratic rights," he said, "and until both these problems are solved there can be no peace and stability."

The mostly Christian Karen people have been fighting against Myanmar’s central government for 62 years, which makes this one of world's longest-running – and most brutal – civil wars.

It's also one of the world's great forgotten conflicts. Not even Rambo could change that; his last movie was set here (though filmed in Thailand), with Sylvester Stallone taking on what appeared to be the entire Myanmar Army in an effort to rescue a bunch of Christian missionaries kidnapped by soldiers as they were taking aid to Karen villagers.

Ian Williams / NBC News

A rag-tag group of KNLA soldiers listen to a pep-talk from their commander Saw Jorny. Some wore flip-flops and carried a variety of weapons from ageing AK-47s to newer-looking M-16s.

New era?
In January, though, the KNU signed a ceasefire deal with the Myanmar government, and KNU leaders are in Yangon this weekend for further talks. They are also planning to meet pro-democracy leader Aung San Suu Kyi, whose election to parliament last weekend is just the latest and most significant development in a fast-moving reform process.

But it’s a reform process that has been greeted with extreme caution by the KNU.

"Right now I think that they are not trustworthy," Saw Hla Hgwe told me. "We have heard this kind of talk many times, but it never comes to reality, so this time we are being careful and cautious."

It doesn't help that the KNU itself is faction-ridden and has been much weakened by successive army onslaughts. It is also just one of a patchwork of ethnic groups that make up 30 percent of Myanmar's population. Most have their own militias, and the U.S. has said that ethnic peace is a precondition for fully lifting sanctions on Myanmar.

"For genuine peace, the government must prove that it is willing to share power," said the KNU's Saw Hla Hgwe.

Soldiers in flip flops
The seventh brigade camp consisted of a series of small wooden buildings, set around a dusty parade ground, where their commander, Saw Jorny, gathered about 50 members of his rag-tag army for a pep-talk, reminding them not to break the ceasefire – but to remain on their guard.

His soldiers carried a variety of weapons – from ageing AK-47s to newer-looking M-16s. Many wore only flip flops on their feet.

One young soldier had a prosthetic foot, and when I asked him what had happened he just shrugged. "Landmine," he said. "Over there, behind the mountain."

Ian Williams / NBC News

Some young Karen refugees in Thailand.

In fact I was surprised not to see more missing limbs, since this is one of the most mine-infested areas on the planet.

The Myanmar army has been accused of gross human rights abuses against the country's ethnic minorities – ranging from rape and forced labor to torture and murder.

Tens of thousands of Karen have been forced from their homes, their villages destroyed. Many have fled across the Moie River to take refuge in sprawling camps that cling to the Thai side of the river.

Aid groups say there are around 160,000 refugees in Thai camps and hundreds of thousands more have been displaced inside the country. The biggest single group is the Karen people.

‘Hope to go back’
Most Karen refugees we met said they wanted to return to Myanmar – someday. Few had heard about the reform process in Yangon, and for many the horrors they'd experience were still raw.

Ian Williams / NBC News

Ma Aye, a Karen refugee, who fled to Thailand with her children two years ago.

"They came to our village, shooting at us and planting landmines," said Ma Aye, who fled to Thailand with her children two years ago. "We just couldn't stay anymore."

Nearby, Wee Thwa was building a new home from wood and dried leaves. "We were afraid. We couldn't stay after the army came to our village," he told me. He too had heard nothing of the reforms sweeping Myanmar, but he added: "I hope to go back when the situation is good."

By all rights, Karen State should be a prosperous place, sitting on a wealth of raw materials and minerals, including rich deposits of gold. But the conflict has impoverished the area, now riddled with malaria and malnutrition.

The success of Myanmar's reforms may well be determined here, and in other ethnic areas, rather than in Yangon or Naypyitaw (the newly created capital city), and by the government's ability – and willingness – to make a lasting peace and overcome decades of conflict and mistrust.

"It's all about trust," Saw Jorny, the seventh brigade commander, told me. "The Karen people want peace – but genuine peace."

Ian Williams / NBC News

Junko Takashi, 79, stands outside her temporary home in the tsunami-devastated town of Otsuchi, Japan. All of the town's residents over 65 have a yellow flag they put out in the morning and take down in the evening. If no flag appears in the morning, then officials come and check on them.

OTSUCHI, Japan – When 79-year-old Junko Takashi saw the tide fast receding in the bay below her house, she remembered the warnings of her mother and her grandmother, that this was a sign of a tsunami.

But still she hesitated.

"I lived on high ground, on the hillside," she said. "I never thought the water could reach here."

She decided to take no chances, and leaving all her belongings behind her, she climbed to higher ground. She didn't see the tsunami rolling in, but remembers the terrible noise – like a waterfall, only far, far louder, she recalled.

By the time it was over, all that was left of her house were its foundations.

Some 70 percent of her town, Otsuchi, was destroyed and 10 percent of the town’s population of 16,000 are dead or missing. Its fishing industry, the backbone of the local economy, was obliterated.

Yellow flag marks sign of life
One year on and Takashi lives in a temporary home, consisting of a tiny living room, narrow kitchen and bathroom. It's one of a cluster of 80 temporary homes erected on the outskirts of what remains of Otsuchi.

She lives alone, her belongings neatly arranged in little cubicles around her. We could barely squeeze into her living room as she pointed to the television, fridge, microwave and heater, all donated by charities who were at the forefront of a massive aid operation in the weeks and months after the disaster.

Toru Yamanaka / AFP - Getty Images

This combination of pictures from Otsuchi, Japan shows a catamaran sightseeing boat washed by the tsunami onto a two-storey home on April 16, 2011 (top) and the same area on January 16, 2012 (bottom). Click on the photo to see a SLIDESHOW of before and after pictures.

Now much of that initial support has gone. "We're on our own now," she said.

"You've got to be positive. I am 79-years-old, who knows how many years I have left."

She told me that before the tsunami she was pretty self-sufficient, since she had land to grow all the vegetables she needed, and her two brothers were fishermen. Now she had to buy everything with her pension, while trying to save for an uncertain future.

But free temporary housing, in which 2,000 of Otsuchi's people now live, is only available for two years.

Outside her home, and outside those of many of her neighbors, flutters a little yellow flag. I asked her what that was for.

"They are for everybody over 65 and living alone," she replied. They are asked to put the flags out in the morning and take them down in the evening. If no flag appears in the morning, then officials will come and check on them.

Ian Williams / NBC News

A mountain of debris in the Japanese town of Otsuchi.

Mountains of debris and uncertain plans
Otsuchi appears to have made great strides in cleaning up the twisted wreckage that was once their town, and removing the fishing boats flung inland.

Looking down from the surrounding hills and all you see is a flat plain with a dusting of snow, just the foundations marking where buildings used to stand.

But the remains of the town has essentially been scooped up and piled into vast mountains of debris, which will take years to dispose of.

Takashi believes she will be allocated a new apartment once she leaves her temporary home, but the town of Otsuchi has been slow to draw up plans for the future. There is still no blueprint for what will replace a town virtually wiped from the map.

The local mayor has pledged to build a new 50-foot high seawall, more than twice the height of the one tossed aside by the tsunami. But there is no agreement as to where any new town will be built, nor how it can be made economically viable.

Elderly people, who dominate many of these small coastal towns, are wary of grand plans for new (and more economically sustainable) towns. They form an important political group.

"I want to live where I used to live," Takashi said. "I was comfortable there."

Staying positive
The future looks daunting, but Takashi is remarkably upbeat, showing me photos of some of the charity workers and celebrities who have visited over the months.

"I like visitors. I like to talk with people," she said.

"It's always been my policy to be positive about what lies ahead."

By Ian Williams, NBC News Correspondent

I never thought I'd see the day that Ratko Mladic was finally brought to justice.

I witnessed his Bosnian Serb underlings at their most cruel and barbaric, reporting in 1992 on the horrific detention centers in which Bosnian Muslims were incarcerated – bringing back memories of Nazi concentration camps in scenes we thought we would never again witness in Europe.

The sheer terror in the faces and voices of those herded behind the wire is something I will never forget.

Over the years, I have kept in touch with many of those who survived the camps. Dr. Idriz Merdzanic, a doctor in one of the camps I reported from, is one of the bravest men I have ever met.

He took photographs of some of the appalling injuries he had to treat in the Trnopolje concentration camp in northern Bosnia and, in the face of enormous personal danger, gave the film to my ITN colleague Penny Marshall to smuggle out.

He's now in Germany, where he started a new life. He still sends me Christmas cards, asking about my family. He says he'd like to return one day, but the scars from that period will take a long time to heal.

The television reports from Marshall and I were the first to expose the horror of the camps set up by the Bosnian Serbs. (Click on the video link above to see the original 1992 report).

Kevin Coombs / Reuters file

International forensic experts examine dozens of bodies, believed to be some of the 8,000 missing persons who fled Srebrenica in July 1995, in a mass grave in the Serb entity of Pilicer, Bosnia in a September 18, 1996 file photo.

I still recall roaming around the camp, trying to interview the terrified prisoners. They desperately wanted to talk, to expose what was happening there, but they – and I – knew that for them to speak too openly was a death sentence, as their guards watched and listened. So they spoke in coded English, only hinting at the horrors they faced.

I worried terribly afterward that I might somehow have made things worse for them, but have been enormously grateful over the years for all the letters from former inmates saying how things improved after the worldwide outrage that followed our reports – that our reports helped save lives.

I never met Mladic, I just saw his handiwork. 

The Bosnian Serb wartime army commander is facing international war crimes charges, including some stemming from the slaughter of 8,000 Muslim men and boys in the Bosnian town of Srebrenica during Bosnia's 1992-95 war. After 16 years on the run, he was arrested Thursday in a northern Serbian village. A Belgrade court ruled on Friday that he will be extradited to a U.N. tribunal at the Hague.

Over the years, I also met many of those who had tried to track him down. In Iraq I came across a group of British special forces who had been tasked with grabbing Europe's most wanted man in the mid-‘90s. They described weeks of undercover work in Serbia, which culminated in their grabbing the wrong man – an innocent farmer, whom they quickly released after arranging some quick compensation for the rattled Mladic lookalike.

Those I have kept in touch with had largely given up hope that Mladic would ever be found. His capture probably reflects the changing political situation in Serbia. It’s hard to imagine that his whereabouts were not known over the years. His capture will never erase the appalling memories of those who suffered and lost loved ones at the hands of his thugs, but it will bring some relief that he is at last to face justice.

Related links:

See a Channel 4 report on Ian Williams' reporting on the concentration camps in 1992: Ratko Mladic arrest: life-saving journalism

Opportunity lost: How U.S. backed off in hunt for Mladic