INDONESIAN army death squads have murdered at least two young people under the noses of the United Nations and a host of foreign aid groups helping survivors of the Boxing Day earthquake and tsunami, according to eyewitnesses.

The killings have sown terror among local people who are trying to rebuild their lives in towns and villages wrecked by the great wave.

The murders are a direct challenge to efforts by foreign donors, including Britain and the United States, to stop gross abuses of human rights in the rebellious province of Aceh and to encourage a negotiated settlement to one of Asia’s dirtiest conflicts.

The two killings verified by The Sunday Times are likely to be part of a wider campaign of intimidation that foreign military aid has enabled the security forces to carry into rebel strongholds.

Details of the abuses emerged as the clear-up continued after last week’s earthquake in Indonesia’s Sumatra region that killed at least 1,300 people.

More tragedy struck yesterday as nine Australian military personnel died when their navy Sea King helicopter crashed on the island of Nias, off the west coast of Sumatra. Two survivors were being treated for serious injuries. The helicopter was from a transport ship that for the past three months has been providing tsunami relief.

As Indonesia reaps political gains from this latest natural disaster, the international community seems to be turning a blind eye to what the Acehnese call the “ghost war”.

There were no blind eyes in the village of Kayu Jati, a place of haunting beauty west of Banda Aceh, when we arrived last Friday to discover the fate of a 16-year-old boy called Zulfiadi.

We did not know his name at first but whispers among frightened aid workers in the city of Medan had suggested a tale of evil that belonged in the era of Indonesia’s fallen dictator, Suharto.

When we slipped past the armoured cars and goons with guns on the coastal road to Kayu Jati, the villagers had one hopeful question: “Are you from the United Nations?” Like many Acehnese, they were pleased that the disaster had opened up a province which had been sealed off for years under military control — but fearful that when the foreigners leave, state brutality would resume in earnest.

Zulfiadi, by all accounts, was a boisterous teenager who had come to live with his brother, Zulfikar, a fish farmer, in the huddle of tents and huts by the coastal road. The brothers went by only one name, as do many Indonesians.

Zulfiadi’s school shut down after the tsunami and, with nothing to do, he found a job delivering supplies for a small aid agency that receives funds from Christians in Europe. But he also liked to hang out with the other young blades glowering at the soldiers, marines and paramilitary police patrolling the road.

They were guarding a dock area where two ships were last week unloading food supplies into a series of giant tent warehouses set up by the UN.

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