The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 11

Diary of a Rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by M.B. Khoshnevisan

2025-6-15

The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 11
Diary of a Rescuer

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

***

When Haji passes the same place again in the morning, he sees that the same Iraqis have been killed and some have been captured, and that the man who had raised his hand in military respect was just a statue.

We entered the Fav buildings with the guys and retrieved medical supplies, medicine, and other looted items from a unit there. It seemed that the building also served as a storage place for keeping wine. Additionally, we took a refrigerator and a television. Ambulances were transported to this side of Arvand on large boats. The sky was constantly filled with fighter jets, which bombed one after the other. A bomb struck behind the building where we were, causing me to be thrown from one side of the room to the other. The windows shattered, and one of the guys was hit in the back by a piece of glass.

The wounded were being brought in regularly, with bombardment after bombardment and wounded after wounded. My shattered leg made it difficult to work properly. An Iraqi fighter jet targeted an oil pipeline passing by the road, causing it to burn for five days. Some of the wounded were familiar faces to me. The relentless attack continued without pause. The guys had also taken control of Site Two. Haji Maemqani and a few guys went to the crossroads by an ambulance where they had defended themselves to plan another attack. Beyond the crossroads was Missile Site Three and a supply depot, which we entered. Inside, we found disturbing photos, including some of a woman's body. While searching for a pharmacy, I stumbled upon one with ample supplies, which I gathered in a sack to bring back with me.

They communicated via portable transceiver that the enemy had used chemical agents in the rear area, affecting Haj Askari and some of the children. We went to the location where the guys were constructing a shed to assist them. The enemy sprayed the area with chemical agents two or three times while the guys were wearing masks, and we also worked with masks on. The shrapnel in my leg was causing unbearable pain, so I had to return to Abadan as I couldn't walk. I was then transferred to Ahvaz for an operation on my leg. Following that, I was sent to Mashhad and admitted to Sina Hospital, where the doctor informed me that the shrapnel could not be removed at that time.

I received the news of Hajj Mortaji's martyrdom at Najmieh Hospital in Tehran. The children mentioned that one of the windshield wipers had broken. I immediately traveled to Ahvaz and found the children near the Karun River. Hajji Mamghani and Ghiyassi arrived two or three days later. Unfortunately, many children had been martyred, and a new emergency room had been set up at the hospital.

After some time, I returned to Karkheh and later went back to Tehran to resume my studies as I no longer had any specific tasks there. Operation Valfajr 8, with all its heroic events, became part of history.

In early 1365 (1986), the operation to retake Mehran commenced. I volunteered to join the Hamzeh Battalion and accompanied them to Mehran. In the days leading up to the operation, Iraq launched multiple counterattacks, which were effectively countered by the guys. Mehran had been handed over to the counter-revolutionary forces by Iraq, with Massoud Rajavi, the ringleader of the MKO, leading them. Iraq had turned the evacuation of Mehran into a counter-insurgency operation against our forces' evacuation from the Fav. The night of the attack finally arrived, with the guys praying and shedding tears in hopes of liberating Mehran to bring joy to the Imam's heart.

We moved towards the intersection of Sahib al-Zaman and prepared to advance at a location known as Sang Shekan. After a brief moment of being there, enemy planes arrived and bombed the area. We feared that our operation had been compromised. To our left was the Sarallah Division, and to our right were the Shahadat and Sayyid al-Shuhada battalions. The area where we were positioned to start the operation was flat and level, but the location where the battalions on our right intended to begin had a canal. As evening approached, the guys became even more excited. Tears welled up once more, and hearts quivered like delicate petals in the presence of God's love.

We made our way down the embankment. Leading the way was the one who was skilled in clearing the mines, followed by the intelligence-operations unit, with our battalion bringing up the rear.

As we navigated through a minefield, the Iraqis suddenly fired flares. We quickly dropped to the ground for cover. Once the flare extinguished, we cautiously rose, only to be met with another flare illuminating the sky. Concerned that our operation had been compromised, gunfire erupted from all directions, with bullets raining down on us. We remained prone, unable to even shift our heads or hands. I struggled to move a few stones from beneath my head, pressing it further into the dirt for protection. The sound of Fatima Zahra's call could be heard from several wounded people, and it was impossible for them to get up at all. Mortar shells were plowing around non-stop, and RPG shells were whizzing by and exploding. I pretended to be carefree and fell asleep right there. I really did fall asleep! I probably slept for half an hour. It was a strange feeling! In that terrible storm of bullets and shrapnel, I felt a beautiful peace. I could see the shrapnel whizzing past my face a few centimeters away. Sometimes a cold shrapnel would fall on my body. The fire subsided, and the guys began to crawl forward. Those were very heavy moments, and if anyone didn't believe, they would go crazy.

We lay on the ground for about an hour and a half, pressing our bodies against the soil. The fire became heavy again, making it difficult for us to move. Realizing that we couldn't stay there any longer, we contacted the rear for instructions. The message we received was, "Get up with Ya Hussein and move forward." With that sentence, the operation was decided. I had never witnessed such a scene before; it's hard to put into words. The children, chanting "Ya Hussein or Zahra," stood up amidst the hail of bullets. The first person to rise was the boy from the intelligence operations department; we followed him, stepping over the bodies of the martyrs along the way. We had no other choice. The bullets kept coming straight at us from the front, one after another. I could see one heading straight towards me, but at the last moment, it would change direction. I don't know how! Perhaps it was because of the recitation of Ayat al-Korsi that I was whispering while lying on the ground.

One of the guys of the Intelligence-Operations Unit, while walking and reciting "Ya Hussain," suddenly cried out in pain as he was shot in the leg. Despite his injury, he understood that revealing his wound would hinder their progress. Suppressing his pain, he uttered "Ya Imam Zaman," and continued to move forward with a limp.

I used all my strength to run, but we encountered the enemy minefield once again. We pursued the one who was skilled in clearing the mines, unsure if he was martyred or wounded. The company commander instructed us to take cover. The team sought shelter and engaged the enemy with gunfire. As we contemplated our next move, I noticed a figure in the darkness. I advanced, clutching a grenade. Upon reaching him, I acted swiftly and tackled him. Other comrades joined in. As we turned around, I saw that he was holding a grenade. I disarmed him and realized he was an Arab when he spoke. The guys were ready to take immediate action when he mentioned "Sarallah." We discovered that he was a member of the Sarallah Division, part of the Iraqi Mujahedeen, and skilled at clearing mines in the dangerous desert. He swiftly cleared the minefield, allowing the guys to pass through safely. Other forces were ahead of us, so we reached the barbed wire. The commander said, "The torpedo of Bengal".

To be continued …