If ever a little girl deserved to cry it is ten-year-old Aysha. For three days without food or water, she had clung desperately to her mother as the terrifying battle to liberate Mosul from the clutches of the barbaric Islamic State raged outside their home.

When salvation finally arrived, in the form of burly Iraqi troops, she bravely fought back tears and with fear, trauma and relief etched across her pretty face desperately thanked her rescuers, offering even to kiss their feet.

Their village of Kafer, 18 miles from the northern Iraqi city of Mosul, has been under the control of the Islamist fanatics since 2014 when the army fled in the face of their ruthless advance.

But last Thursday following days of relentless air strikes and fierce fighting, liberation finally came.

A young girl (pictured) and her mother are safely evacuated from their home by Iraqi Army forces

She had lost her father to ISIS and she feels the relief at the end of the oppression in Kafer, Iraq

TV cameramen captured the moment when little Aysha, wearing a sparkly T-shirt and pink leggings, was rescued by an armed military police unit that has been fighting alongside the Iraqi Army as they fight to regain territory from the murderous IS.

Barely able to contain her emotions, clutching biscuits and bottled water handed to her by the soldiers, she poured out as if fearful she would not survive to tell the full horror of her ordeal: 'I'm so thankful to you. I thought you would never come for us. We have had no food or water for three days and it was just me and my mother, my father was taken and killed by the terrorists.

'The IS men have taken away so many children from my village and we don't know what happened to them. Some of them died. The men made my mother give them her money and jewels and we have had nothing. Thank you, thank you. I would like to kiss your feet.'

Instead the soldier beside her, in his armour-plated vest, affectionately leaned down to kiss the top of her head, then scooped her into his arms and carried her off to safety.

She and her mother were taken to the nearby village of Qayyarah, already cleared of IS fighters, but elsewhere the deadly battle continued. In the latest developments:

The US-led coalition was accused of killing dozens of civilians in an air strike on a funeral procession in the town of Daquq, with Russia claiming the strike had 'all the signs of a war crime';

IS hit back in the city of Kirkuk, killing more than a dozen members of the Iraqi security forces;

The fanatics launched a rocket attack on an Iraqi convoy in a town near Mosul that had been recently retaken;

As many as 1,000 people were treated for breathing problems after IS deliberately set light to a sulphur plant and oil wells.

IS overran Mosul, Iraq's second-biggest city, and surrounding areas in June 2014 and terrorised its 1.5 million residents, abducting young boys to recruit as fighters and girls to be their sex slaves.

All normal life closed down. Children could not attend school and families barricaded themselves in their homes in fear.

Yesterday I saw signs of life in one grey and ghostly settlement on the banks of the River Tigris that had been deserted when IS raised its black flags. Now residents are coming back to Qayyarah to reclaim their homes and lives.

But I found an oil-blackened cloud darkening the entire village as I drove through it, the result of sabotage by retreating IS fighters who also set light to 13 oil wells in an act of revenge.

Creative in their evil, IS also attacked a chemical factory at nearby Mishraq, releasing poisonous sulphur into the atmosphere. Choking and coughing ourselves from the noxious fumes, there were reports that nine people had died and many others were taken to hospital.

Their village of Kafer, 18 miles from the northern Iraqi city of Mosul, has been under the control of the Islamist fanatics since 2014

The militants blew up the factory producing sulphur – often used as a fertiliser – on Wednesday, releasing a huge white cloud of toxic fumes that hung over nearby towns, leaving locals coughing and reducing visibility to a few hundred yards.

IS appears determined to fight back against Operation Resolve, the American-led offensive which is battering them day and night through tactical skills honed over the past two years.

The Iraq Army, which collapsed and fled in the face of an IS onslaught back in 2014, has re-formed and been re-trained by American, British and other forces, including elite units specialising in search-and-destroy tactics, street by street fighting, and the use of drones for intelligence-gathering.

Today every assault unit in Iraq, including militias and also hosting British, Australian, American and French troops, has assembled at the huge Qayyarah military base. It is the forward operations site for the battle for Mosul and everything about it says this mission is not in doubt.

We have had no food or water for three days

Tank commander Lieut Col Muntha Ibrahim Obed told us: 'This time we will not stop until IS is run out of our country. They are an intelligent enemy, but brutal. They don't care if they die and that makes them very dangerous. To see suicide trucks driving at your troops, the men you want to protect, is a terrible thing. I always go with my men on sorties because I want them to see I will take the same risks as them. But this IS enemy is difficult with its snipers and its clever ways with explosives.

'They made chlorine bombs – using the blast device to disperse the chemical – and two of my men were killed, another two injured. This is not warfare. This is the devil's work. We hope to end this evil within weeks. We can do it because we have the training and the equipment and the will to get our country back and restore it to its people.'

I spent an uncomfortable and sleepless night in Qayyarah's makeshift barracks. Heavy artillery was firing into the night alongside the continual clatter of small-arms exchanges with IS intruders attempting to breach the perimeter.

She and her mother were taken to the nearby village of Qayyarah, already cleared of IS fighters

Less than a mile away, Russia-made katyusha rockets fired by the Iraqi military blasted their way spectacularly into the night sky leaving a blazing trail and rattling the walls and doors of our dormitory. The ground literally shook.

From the base where I had taken shelter, I heard the unmistakable thud of mortars at hourly intervals after a squadron of bombers took to the night sky to bomb IS targets.

This 'Shock and Awe' is intended as the endgame between Iraq and Islamic State.

But even as the Iraq Army announces the liberation of 59 villages in six days, with 473 IS killed and 22 captured, the jihadis have scored an unexpected victory in the oil city of Kirkuk 60 kilometres away. In a surprise raid on Friday they attacked a gas station, government buildings and a police HQ, killing more than 30 before taking casualties themselves in suicide attacks.

This is not warfare, this is the devil's work

The Governor of Kirkuk, Najmaldin Karim said: 'They came here to die. They inflicted as much damage as possible and they didn't care if they were killed in the process.'

At Qayyarah yesterday there was sniper fire at first light as tanks and armoured personnel carriers lined up for another operational day at the front. They are working on a solid line through villages en route to Mosul and hope to enter within weeks.

There is a fresh new discipline and pride about the Iraq Army, the undisputed front-runners when the moment comes to liberate Mosul. Above them at all times there is the comforting sight of American Chinooks escorted by Apache helicopter gunships, their daily schedules informed by British intelligence.

As even the rival militias of such notorious guerrilla leaders as Moqtadar al-Sadr and his nemesis Hadi al-Amiri of the Badr Brigade join forces with the coalition fighting to eliminate IS, there is a sense that Iraq could at last restore its country to its people.

THE TRAPPED: I dream of being freed from the daily terror of IS

Here, an academic living with her family in the besieged city of Mosul writes for The Mail on Sunday about her hopes for freedom following the start of the offensive. We are not naming her for her safety.

'It is finally here. We have been waiting for months with fear and glimmers of hope but now the military operations have begun to eject the accursed IS from Mosul, my home city for all 40 years of my life.

I heard the news as soon as I woke up last Sunday – finally the Iraqi Army will come back after we were abandoned to the terrors of IS. I felt a whirlwind of emotions – a mixture of relief and fear of the unknown – as I brace myself for what could be a long battle.

But the fear is not overwhelming: it has become part of my everyday living, like breathing and blinking. But now there is also some hope, that perhaps, just perhaps, this could be the final battle against the extremists who hijacked our lives.

The intensity of air strikes increased rapidly this past week. We hear the throb of planes in the distance, then intermittent loud thuds of attacks nearby.

I have not seen IS fighters on our street while phones have been cut off so I cannot reach friends to know if they have seen them. They usually congregate in the busier parts of town, especially around the old university campus and souk. Many of the men with guns forcing us back to the dark ages do not look like Iraqis.

I live with my parents and four siblings. We have spent months preparing for this battle. Our kitchen is stacked with non-perishable foods – a lesson learned from the 1991 war when food became scarce.

The Syrian Orthodox Monastery Mar Mattai, (St. Matthews Monastery) overlooking Mosul, Iraq

We have prepared also for the possibility of leaving our house – the place I was born and raised. I worked on preserving our most prized possessions, our photographs, scanning them all in case we have to leave them behind. We have packed small bags of absolute essentials.

My father oversaw collection of identity cards and official documents in case we must flee.

But we have endured war before and never left. I would miss every inch of this house.

For over two years, since IS stormed into Mosul in June 2014, I have been housebound with my sister and mother. I went out just twice – once to my uncle's place since my nerves could not stand another mind-numbing moment in the house, once to the dentist.

Both times, I wore the full face veil and black garb imposed by IS for the first time in my life. Never in the history of Mosul have women been forced to cover their faces; now it is a matter of life and death. We hear tales of women taken by force by IS men to become their 'wives'. This has been the biggest fear for me and my sisters. My brothers and father rarely go out but were forced like all other men of Mosul to grow their beards. They refuse to have photographs taken in this state.

I sense they feel ashamed to bow down to IS thugs, but what choice do we have? Anyone who rejects their medieval rules faces certain death.

The phone lines and internet were cut off in July.

They feel ashamed to bow down to IS thugs

We have no idea if the government or IS cut it off. Sometimes we feel like we are trapped between the various sides.

I worry now especially for my two brothers living with us. We have heard reports of young men taken by Iraqi militias and security forces under suspicion of being IS members.

I shun the thought whenever it comes to my mind and we do not speak about that fear, hoping that not acknowledging the threat might somehow help keep it at bay. Our home has been our entire world these past two years of hell. We cannot imagine abandoning it now. My garden has been my sanctuary. We dug out the grass and planted vegetables: spinach, eggplant and tomatoes. It helps provide sustenance, while watching life overcoming death all around us has been a source of rare comfort.

The electricity has been cut off for at least 16 hours a day. Thankfully the weather is kind, in the upper 20 degree Celsius range, so we no longer crave air coolers to fight off the oppressive heat.

While electricity cuts are exhausting, it is being cut off from the internet that is most difficult since it adds to a sense of isolation that haunts us.

How can we make ourselves heard? I have seen the pamphlets thrown to us from the air by the government, as though pamphlets can compensate for lonely isolation forced upon us.

There is a radio station set up by the anti-IS coalition. But we rarely hear their news and instructions as we are terrified of being caught if IS fighters storm into our homes.

I dream of the bittersweet day when fighting reaches central Mosul: bitter in the bloodshed it will bring, sweet in the hope to being free of IS.