The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 16

Diary of a Rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by M.B. Khoshnevisan

2025-7-27

The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 16
Diary of a Rescuer

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

***

The sky in this part of the earth left many stars for us in its crimson album. The soil of Shalamcheh was like an open embrace from heaven; a flat land of martyrdom where the hands of the brave could easily reach God. "Davood Rahimi", after his martyrdom, was seen in a photo wearing a clerical robe when the guys visited his grave. No one knew during his time at the front that he was a religious student. "Ali Rahimi" was always laughing. He was the first student of the IRGC's medical assistant program and had been serving in the army's medical department since 1362 (1983). "Abolfazl Hajjarian" loved Surah Al-Waqe’eh and always had the Quran with him. "Seyed Ali Mojadi", "Etesami", "Seyed Mustafa Hadian", and others were also remembered fondly.

We were in Bakhtaran in early 1366 (1987) at the Shahid Chamran camp. The guys had relocated to a new spot, so a few of us decided to go find them. As we were driving, the road widened to three lanes, and we crossed over to the opposite side. We made it to the Shahid “Jahadgar” Bridge and continued on to Monafeqin Hill. Before reaching the hill, we found a spot to set up an emergency camp. There was already a partially completed camp there, which we finished in just a few days. Due to the numerous waterfalls in the area, the guys decided to call it the “Waterfall” location. Once the emergency camp was ready, we received a call saying, “It's been leaked,” so we headed back to the Shahid Chamran camp.

Some time later, unbeknownst to us, we were tasked with relocating to Sardasht. Haj Mojtaba and Brother Nouri, who had been overseeing the division's medical care for three months, went to Sardasht for reconnaissance. After a few days, we also moved the rest of the guys. Our mission in the Sardasht region was to establish a chemical emergency, similar to the one in Khorramshahr during the Operation Karbala 4. It was during this attack that the lifeless body of "Din Sho’ari", the division's deputy destruction officer, was brought to the aid post. Despite the circumstances, his face bore a smile, as he always did. He had a knack for lifting the spirits of the combatants.

It took only four days for the emergency to be ready to receive the operational forces. We were informed that the Seyyed al-Shohada Division had operated in the Mavat area and had taken over the city. This attack was named Nasr 4.

 A few days later, the 27th Division also began their work, ending with the name Nasr 5. The guys joined forces with the Najaf Ashraf forces in an operation that was somewhat successful. Dopaza was the next point where an aid post was set up. At the foot of this massive mountain, the guys established a sturdy aid post. This allowed us to send doctors to treat the troops, and the wounded could be transferred directly to the hospital from there.

Operation Nasr 7 was carried out on a rugged mountain. The wounded in this attack were swiftly taken to the aid post by the battalion's rescuers and medical assistants, provided with first aid, and then treated and cured under the supervision of a doctor. It was during this attack that the bloody body of "Din Sho’ari", the deputy commander of the division's demolition, was brought to the aid post. Despite his injuries, his face was smiling. He was known for always smiling and trying to keep the combatants happy. He was one of the most cheerful combatants in the division and he remained cheerful even in death. May God bless his soul.

The division's work was coming to a close. They decided to retreat for a rest, so we headed towards Bakhtaran. There was no significant news until Azar 1364 (November 1985). During this period, the news of the martyrdom of "Seyed Mehdi Lajevardi," the commander of the Belal Battalion, once again filled the hearts of the guys with sadness and grief. This kind-hearted general, along with his deputy, "Madani," was en route to the division's defense line in Shalamcheh when a mortar shell exploded on their vehicle, causing Madani to lose a leg.

I was busy with my exams when Basij Radio broadcasted news of the start of an attack. I made my way to Koozran and from there to the Shahid Chamran camp. There, the communications team informed me that the forces had been moving from here for a few days and had relocated to a new area. The next day, we set off and reached the same three-way intersection that we had previously named the waterfall location. We traveled about three kilometers of winding road and arrived at a large bridge, known as the bridge of Sahib al-Zaman (may God hasten his reappearance), where a sign greeted us with "Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Iraq." This marked the border, which we crossed. After 45 minutes, we arrived at a new location.

The hospital of the army was where the bitter and sweet moments of the past were found. A sign with the inscription "The location of Martyr Mehdi Givehchi" stirred up these memories.

Six kilometers ahead, near the city of Mavat, was the location of Martyr Ghiassi. We stayed in that area for about a month, during which we built a 6-meter shed until "Haj Mojtaba Askari" arrived after a few months of leave.

One cold night, Haji said, "Let me get dressed and go with him." I didn't know where we were going, but then I realized it was to reconnoiter the area and introduce the division commanders to the new deputy of Haj Mojtaba Askari. I became the deputy of Haji, and he began to describe the area as the city of Mavat lay ahead of us.

It was the last Saturday of summer when we started reading the book "The Embankment Wounded Shoulders: Memoirs of a Veteran Rescuer" by Sabah Piri together, and now, in the first days of Muharram, we are finishing the last page of the book. Three nights later, Haji took me and another guy to the city of Mavat. The operation was scheduled to take place that night, so we slept in a hut with our equipment. In the middle of the night, the sound of artillery fire erupted from the city - Operation Beit al-Moqaddas 2 had begun. The first stage of the operation was to capture Mount Qomish, followed by a series of other heights whose names I can't recall. After the prayer, Haji went to find a place to set up an aid post. I went to the hut and gazed at Mount Qomish, looming in front of me. Suddenly, there were mountains, children, and fire when a mortar shell landed on the ground not far from me. One of the children, named Taimoori, who was closer, was hit by shrapnel, and I was thrown from a height of 2 meters. I hobbled back to the hut, retrieved the backpack, and used its contents to bandage Taimoori's wounds. He had been injured on the buttocks and stomach. After dressing his wounds, I arranged for him to be taken back by car.

A few days later, when the operation was halted, Haji arrived with a group of troops and announced, "Another operation will begin on the right side." The right side presented a challenging and impassable route, requiring the construction of a bridge. The operation was set to commence from a mountain known as "Gardeh Rash," which featured 36 treacherous turns where even a slight misstep could result in a fall. Initially, the Ammar, Malek, and Moslem battalions were present, and later the Hamzeh and Meqdad battalions joined the operation. A new emergency room needed to be established. I was in the midst of the battle when I was suddenly transferred to the rear due to severe poisoning. I lost track of the progress of my comrades until the conclusion of the operation. Upon my return to Tehran, I discovered that I had successfully passed my exams and obtained my diploma.

It was the second half of Esfand of 1366 (March 1988) when I returned to the area. Operation Beit al-Moqaddas 3 had begun, and in the Halabcheh area, Operation Val-Fajr 10 was underway. Unfortunately, we had bad luck as the car broke down on the way, and it took us 48 hours to reach Bakhtaran.

On the first day of the Eid, we found ourselves in the city of Halabcheh. Those few hours in the city were the most heartbreaking days of my life. Blackened and chemically treated bodies were still visible next to the houses, with dried bloody vomit on the lips of the people of Halabcheh. The head of the household desperately wanted to evacuate his family from the city, but the poison had taken its toll; they lay piled up in the doorway. The guys of the Najaf Ashraf Division were helping to evacuate the remaining residents by car, taking them behind a hill before transferring them to Bakhtaran by helicopter.

A Kurdish man who was present was sleeping with a vengeful look deep inside him, as all his family members had been killed. The man's demeanor was filled with hatred and blood; despite their efforts, he refused to go to Bakhtaran and instead longed to return to Iraq. Through clenched teeth, he stated, "The fight continues there, why should I leave? I will remain. I must continue to fight until I exact my revenge on Saddam."

After some time, one morning, Haji drove me and two or three other individuals forward in a car. We arrived at a location that marked the end of the road. Just a hundred meters ahead lay the front line, offering a clear view of Halabcheh. Three towns stood across the water, with a minefield on the other side of the line. Below the minefield flowed the Darbandi Khan River, while on the opposite side stood the heights of the Soomer and Shemiran horns.

Haji had already leveled the area with a loader, and now we had to set up an aid post. With the guys' efforts, we were able to set up the aid post before nightfall. A few days later, medical supplies were brought in, and we also established a blood bank. The operation had not yet begun when we were taken back to rest. I don't know why it occurred to me that I would be martyred tomorrow under the horns of Shemiran! Operation Beit al-Moqaddas 4 was set to begin in two or three hours, and there was a large gathering behind the aid post. If a mortar had come, many would have been hit by shrapnel, with Habib's battalion in line. The medical officer, Dr. Hemmati, instructed me to go back and work under the supervision of the medical team, so I returned by ambulance and spent the night in the camp tent. That night, the operation began, and in the morning after breakfast, I headed towards the pier as we planned to go to the operational area by boat. The men of the Malek battalion had all become boatmen and each had their own boat. As we continued on, the fire became more intense. Whether it was the explosions in the water or the looming rock ahead of us, there was a strange echo. It would have been preferable if the bullets had exploded in the water, but when they hit the rock, small stones would shatter. Cannons had been set up on the rocks, but no shots were fired. It then became evident that the men had disabled the cannons. We finally arrived at the dock of the division of the Prophet (blessings of God upon him and his progeny), where we were quickly dispersed. The ground cracked one after another, sending smoke and dust billowing into the air. We made our way towards a hill with a steep slope. I wanted to instruct the children to lie down, but before I could fully recline, a splinter struck me on the right side of my face. I tried to speak, but I was unable to. Eventually, I had to go back to Bakhtaran. It was there that I found out Haj Mojtaba had also been injured and had been sent to Tehran. My wound was severe, so I was also transferred to Tehran. As I arrived at Baghiyatallah Hospital, I saw Haj Mojtaba leaving; he was headed to Kerman. I was placed in the same bed that the Haji had occupied.

After twenty days of rest, I returned to the front. Operation Beit al-Moqaddas 4 had ended, and we headed south for a few days. Despite the guys never mentioning the operation, there was no news about it in practice. Eventually, I went back to Tehran and got married while still receiving treatment for my facial injury. The shrapnel was causing me a lot of discomfort. As we were preparing for the wedding, the issue of accepting the UN resolution arose. The pain was more unbearable than the shrapnel near my jugular vein. Without the Imam's guidance, it would have been difficult for the children to process this news. The children of Khomeini (God bless his soul) felt a heavy burden, similar to a stone in their throats.

Some time later, Operation Mersad took place, which I was unable to attend in it and before that in Operation Beit al-Moqaddas 7 despite my deep interest in participating in them. But my brother Taleb participated in both of them. Operation Mersad was the last of these operations. In the final moments of the war, the Monafeghin [MKO] revealed another ugly aspect of their nature.

The war may have ended, but the epics live on. The battlegrounds still bear the scent of fresh blood. The echoes of men who faced death in their darkest hours can still be heard. The guns once held tightly by men's hands now lay empty... yet the revolution persists, carrying its burdens.

I have written all this to hold onto hope for tomorrow and to create a link between memories that may not fully capture the essence of the Karbala nature of our war.

The End