Tamara had quickly confirmed the exact location. Satellite images showed numerous mining camps in the general area, all quite similar from six thousand miles up, but Tab had organized a surveillance flight by a Falcon 50 jet of the French air force, six miles up instead of six thousand, and Hufra was easily identified by the large black square of burn damage caused by Abdul’s gasoline fire. They now understood why the drone search for the bus had failed: they had assumed the bus would head north as the quickest way to a paved road, but in fact it had gone due west to the mine.
It had been a challenge to alert everyone and co-ordinate plans with American and French armed forces in such a short time, and there had been moments when the unflappable Susan Marcus looked almost flustered; but she had succeeded, and they had set out in the early hours of this morning and made a rendezvous in the starlit desert an hour ago.
It was the largest operation yet by the multinational force. The rule of thumb for offensive operations was three attackers per defender, and Abdul had estimated a hundred jihadis at the camp, so Colonel Marcus had mustered three hundred soldiers. The infantry were now in place just out of sight. With them was a Firepower Control Team in charge of co-ordinating air and ground attacks so that no one shot at their own side. The air assault was led by Apache attack helicopters armed with chain guns, rockets and Hellfire air-to-surface missiles. Their mission was to crush jihadi resistance rapidly in order to minimize casualties among the attacking force and the non-combatants in the slave quarters.
The last aircraft in the fleet was an Osprey helicopter carrying medical staff with their supplies plus social workers fluent in Arabic. They would take charge when the fighting was over. The slaves would have to be cared for. They would have health problems that had never been addressed. Some would be malnourished. All would have to be returned to their homes.
Tamara saw a smudge on the horizon that quickly resolved into a habitation. The fact that there was no greenery indicated that it was not a normal oasis village but a mining camp. As the fleet drew nearer she saw a mess of tents and improvised shelters contrasting vividly with the three neatly fenced compounds, one containing the carcases of burned-out cars and lorries, one with a pit in the middle that was obviously the gold mine, and the third with cinder-block buildings and what might have been missile launchers under camouflage covers.
Susan said to Tamara: ‘I think you said that the jihadis go to great lengths to keep the slaves out of the fenced areas.’
‘Yes. They can be shot if they climb fences, Abdul said.’
‘So everyone inside the fence is a jihadi.’
‘Except for those in the light-blue-painted building. They’re the kidnapped girls.’
‘That’s helpful.’ Susan flicked a switch to talk to the entire force and said: ‘All personnel inside the fenced areas are enemy soldiers, except those in the light-blue-painted building, who are prisoners. Do not fire on the light-blue building. All other friendlies are outside the fenced area.’ She clicked off.
The place was dismal. Most of the shelters looked barely adequate to keep the sun off. The pathways were filthy with litter and other kinds of waste. It was only just first light, so few people were in evidence, just a handful of ragged men fetching water, and a small group relieving themselves a short distance from the camp at what was obviously the latrine.
The noise of the choppers reached the camp and more people quickly appeared.
The lead aircraft was equipped with a powerful public address system, and a voice now said in Arabic: ‘Move into the desert with your hands on your head. If you are unarmed, you will be in no danger. Move into the desert with your hands on your head.’
People in the slave quarter ran out into the desert, in too much of a hurry to put their hands on their heads, but they were obviously unarmed.
It was different in the third compound. Men poured out of the barracks buildings into the open. Most had assault rifles and some carried hand-held missile launchers.
All the helicopters quickly gained height and moved away. Apache fire was accurate from as far as five miles. Explosions peppered the compound and destroyed some of the barracks buildings.
Most of the infantry approached from the desert side, to draw fire away from the slave quarters. There was little cover, but a squad set up a mortar battery in the pit and began to lob shells into the compound. Someone in the air must have been giving them guidance, because their aim rapidly became devastatingly accurate.
Tamara was watching from a distance, though to her it did not seem a very safe distance, given the sophisticated targeting systems of shoulder-launched missiles. However, she could see that the jihadis had no chance of victory. Not merely outnumbered, they were fenced into a clearly defined space with nowhere to hide, and the carnage was dreadful.