The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 2

Diary of a rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by M.B. Khoshnevisan

2025-4-13

The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 2
Diary of a rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by M.B. Khoshnevisan
Persian Version (1990)
Sooreh Mehr Publications

***

The intense physical training resumed, this time at the Imam Hussein (AS) barracks in Tehran. Unlike before, strict discipline and respect for military principles were required. Upon entering the barracks during Ramadan on a Thursday, we were instructed to return home and arrive at 5 pm on Friday. I arrived a bit past 5 pm on Thursday and, along with a few others who were also late, was punished by having to crawl in civilian clothes for an extended period of time.

We were a company led by a man named Reza Qoli Khani. He had a brother known as the mountain goat due to his mountaineering skills. On the first night, I warned the guys not to sleep in their clothes because of the military environment, where there was a possibility of being shot at night. Despite my warning, no one listened, but I slept in my full military uniform. Around 1:00 am, the shooting began, initiated by Reza Qoli. Chaos ensued as everyone scrambled and fell over each other. Some lost their footing and others ran out in panic, one even in pajamas. The company was in disarray as tough physical training started. We ran, fell, crawled, sat, and stood up, with Reza Qoli firing bullets at anyone who paused. Many guys were seriously injured, about half of them. Reza Qoli then singled out those without boots, dragging them along. Everyone was sweating on that cold night.

The training was tough and grueling, requiring full preparation. We would strip down and roll naked down the steep slope, toughening our bodies and skin in anticipation of war and battle. Each day, the training grew more challenging, leading some to drop out until only 75 of us remained from the original 150.

The final night's battle took an unexpected turn with the prayer of supplication. We were accustomed to everything except for this one thing: it was the Tavassol supplication.

 Around three hundred of us trainees were gathered in a hall when suddenly, the curtain in front of us was pulled aside and chaos ensued. Some began shooting, tear gas filled the air, and the situation became unbearable. Tears streamed from the children's eyes as they struggled to breathe through the burning sensation in their eyes and throats.

One trainee stood by the door, masked and shooting relentlessly, preventing anyone from leaving. Acting quickly, I rushed to his side, leaped on him, and ripped off his mask. With the help of the other guys, we disarmed him. We had no other choice but to break the windows.

Everyone who was able to reached the window and stuck their head out to get some fresh air. The glass had cut my hand. One of the guys told me to go and get a bandage. I replied, "They're waiting there. As soon as I go there, I'll get beaten." One of the guys, who had taken the gun from my hand, asked, "What happened to your hand?" I hesitantly answered, "The glass got into my hand, it's been torn."

Hooshmand, with his short stature, lifted me up and threw me on his back, taking me to the hospital. In front of the hospital, where about 40-50 people were lined up, they escorted me to the emergency room and bandaged my wounds.

On our final night together, we bid farewell for about 4-5 hours. Our entire lives were on one side, while that last night stood on the other.

There was someone who had guided us, and on the final night, he brought a stick and said:

- Whoever I beat, come forward and make amends.

- With this statement from Hadidi, everyone began to cry.

In late Mordad 1362 (August 1983), I set off for the war zone for the first time after Operation Valfajr-3 had just ended. We left in the afternoon, and on the way, the guys were getting to know each other. We arrived in Islamabad in the middle of the night and then headed towards Ilam, specifically the Shahid Borujerdi or Ghalajeh camp. The Shahid Borujerdi camp was located in a valley surrounded by trees and high cliffs, providing protection with tall guards. The area was very interesting for military training, as it was the location of the 27th Division, consisting of four brigades, each with three battalions.

The health building, the recruitment office, the kitchen, the nursing home and other buildings were located separately. We entered the camp late at night and found accommodation in the health section. We spent the night in a deep sleep with all the fatigue of the journey.

It was dawn when the camp manager came and got ready. We prayed and left for the morning when they checked in and out and then training and education began.

The camp was an ideal place with a pleasant atmosphere and ideal people. No one spoke harshly, lied, or shied away from work. There was no hypocrisy, grudge, or envy at all. We would head to the mountains early in the morning and then engage in some exercise. Along with military and physical training, we also received moral and ideological guidance. Every Friday night, we would gather to pray the Komail supplication.

All the tasks were divided evenly, and no one passed off their responsibilities to others. Some children would often attempt to take on tasks that weren't their own. Each tent's children had a well-organized schedule. Each day, one person would be in charge of cleaning the tent, which included sweeping, doing dishes, and other miscellaneous chores, on top of their personal duties. This person was known as the mayor of the tent! Every day, a new mayor would be appointed.

One evening, they announced their desire to visit the region. We embarked on a bus journey towards Ilam, a city nestled among high, rugged mountains that offered a safe haven for its residents during air raids.

The first military station we passed on our way, Saleh Abad, was also the first Salavati station. After a quick drink break, we continued on to Mehran, which bore visible remnants of the recent operations and Valfajr-3.

There was Kalleh Qandi Hill where the guys of the 27th Division had operated. They were sharing stories about the operation when they were surrounded by Iraqis. Their situation worsened, and they had to be airlifted food. The Iraqi commander, Colonel Jassem, was rumored to be a relative of Saddam. When he realized his forces were defeated, he disguised himself in Basij uniforms, infiltrated the Iranian forces, and killed several guys before being captured. It's unclear if he was killed, but he was reportedly badly beaten. As we headed towards Mehran, we crossed a bridge over a calm river.

From there, it was another 25 kilometers to Mehran. Along the road, we passed a burnt palm grove, its trees bare and lifeless. After about 200 meters, we arrived at the camp.

The emergency department of the 5th Nasr Division consisted of forces from Khorasan, where our mission was located. A person came and guided us, providing explanations and justifications. We were instructed to rest for the night and prepare to familiarize ourselves with the emergency department the following day. Before anything else, we were tasked with selecting a person to be in charge. We chose a student named Reza Asadi. And so, life in the new camp began.

To be continued  …