Kiwi troops patrol terrorised streets of East Timor

DILI - In the Comoro district in East Timor stands what is left of a family home. It is here that one of the worst atrocities of the crisis enveloping East Timor took place.

About 10pm on Friday, almost 100 men with guns, machetes, clubs and rocks burst into this house.

They clubbed to death two children near the front door. Then they chased two others aged under 10 into the next room and bludgeoned them, leaving shocking wounds to the skull.

The mother, with a 3-year-old and another youngster, tried to hide in the bathroom. The killers followed her in. The mother died trying to shelter her 3-year-old in her arms.

Before they left the killers poured petrol over their victims, whose crime had been to be relatives of Interior Minister Rogerio Lobato, and set them alight. Now, what remains is six piles of ashes, each marked with a sprig of red flowers.

Colonel John McLeod was one of the New Zealanders who discovered the bodies.

"It was f****** awful," he said, fists clenched and jaw tightening. "Just horrendous, particularly the mother with the kids. When you saw it you just couldn't stop the tears running down your face."

In the narrow streets and back lanes of Dili, the killing, looting and burning continues.

Yesterday the city woke to the sound of praise as thousands of Timorese flooded churches to give thanks for the arrival of foreign troops.

Convoys of armoured personnel carriers growled off landing ships and powered down the streets towards key points in the Australian Army's plan to shut down the city.

Outside the New Zealand Embassy the first New Zealand troops to arrive patrolled the beachside Rua Sergio de Melo, which Ambassador Ruth Nuttall had been forced to flee on Saturday as mobs threatened to attack and kill all within.

Platoon Commander Major Anthony Robinson had led his men from an RNZAF C130 Hercules late on Saturday night, weapons at the ready.

As a military rule of thumb, it will take 24 to 36 hours to end major violence in the city once soldiers and armoured cars are on the streets in full strength.

And yesterday the violence continued. In the suburbs of Surikmas and Hudi Laran, gunshots had been heard overnight and everyone knew trouble was returning in the mindless and brutal cycle of payback that has overtaken Dili in the past two weeks.

The approaches to the area were blocked by barricades of broken furniture and masonry and other debris.

Australian soldiers fanned across the street, blocking the passage of a gang of 100 youths, armed with machetes, axes, long lead pipes, spears and rocks.

As they turned back the local men grinned and called as they saw our small convoy of two white four-wheel-drives with a kiwi symbol. It can be a potent protection in many situations among a people that remember New Zealanders kindly.

Some called "Kia ora", others chanted "Xanana! Xanana!", marking their allegiance to President Xanana Gusmao.

They reached in and shook our hands, smiling, weapons of war at their sides and murder in their hearts.

Deeper into the maze of shanties, six houses were alight. Rosario Magno says it was the gangs again, taking revenge for earlier injuries suffered at the hands of rivals.

Down on the street, an ugly situation is developing. A gang of about 50 armed youths see our group and stride towards us.

At first they seem friendly. But the mood changes quickly to a sense of deep and unpredictable unease.

Several break from their ranks and kick at houses or smash walls with pipes.

The soldiers driving our vehicles rapidly execute three-point turns as we walk back, trying to stay calm but with a rising sense of danger.

We reach the four-wheel-drives, wind up the windows and quickly leave. Further into the area Lourenco Camnahas stands with a group of nuns and despairs at the destruction.

"Tonight there will be revenge."

Volatile men whose readiness to kill was brutally demonstrated in last week's slaughter of nine unarmed policemen are to be feared. They watch us as we pass.

But Maria Antonia Gomez sees the kiwi on the vehicles and runs after us, calling and crying. We stop and she runs into Colonel McLeod's arms, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, thank you," she says. "Now we can sleep at night."

As we leave Comoro, a thick plume of black smoke pours into the sky on the city's fringes. Further east, a black hawk helicopter circles above another column rising into the air.