Third Regiment: Memoirs of an Iraqi Prisoner of War Doctor – 25
By Mojtaba al-Hosseini
Translated into Farsi by: Mohammad Hossein Zavar Kabeh
Translated into English by: M.B. Khoshnevisan
2026-04-12
Third Regiment: Memoirs of an Iraqi Prisoner of War Doctor – 25
By Mojtaba al-Hosseini
Translated into Farsi by: Mohammad Hossein Zavar Kabeh
Translated into English by: M.B. Khoshnevisan
***
Of course. Here is the translation from Persian to American English, rendered in a formal, analytical tone suitable for a historical or political context.
***
The unit commander assigned me a mission to go to the 103rd Artillery Battalion to bring back several empty wooden crates to the Susangerd region, for building special shelters for the doctors. I was very happy to receive this mission, because I wanted to see up close the situation of the battle of Susangerd, which had taken place on January 5, 1981. I set off for the destination with an Iraqi truck, along with the driver and another soldier. We traveled along the sandy road of Susangerd toward the village of Ahmadabad, located south of the city of Susangerd. Along the way, the driver pointed to several small hills near the road and around the field headquarters of the ninth Division, and said that these hills were the cemetery of the Iranian soldiers who had been killed during the battle of January 5.
After forty minutes, we arrived at the positions of the artillery battalion stationed in the conflict zone between Iraqi and Iranian forces. The area was littered with the wreckage of tanks and armored vehicles that had been set on fire. A large number of soldiers' shoes and uniforms were scattered all over the ground. The artillery commander ordered me to hurry, as the area was under threat of shelling. For this reason, we quickly loaded the truck with empty ammunition crates and returned. Observing the aftermath of the failed battle that Banisadr had commanded two months earlier left me deeply affected.
Anyway, after finishing the construction of the shelters, our unit was deployed to new positions.
On the front, a tense calm prevailed. After surface-to-air missiles were installed around us, Iranian aircraft no longer appeared in the area. Each of us became occupied with our own duties.
Captain "Ehsan Heydari," the medical unit commander, was an unsuccessful individual. He spent most of his time drinking wine and gambling. He had little inclination toward the Ba'ath Party, and would sometimes converse with Shia individuals.
"Naqib Zaidan" was one of the Ba'athist officers in our unit. He had completed special courses. He was a habitual drunkard and weak-willed. Finally, Captain "Sabah Al-Marayati," the dentist and political and intelligence indoctrination officer who outwardly supported the Iraqi regime—these three were the main operators of the nightly gambling circle, in which several doctors and Lieutenant "Ali," the pharmacist, also participated. The game would usually begin at ten o'clock at night and end at dawn. A number of other doctors and I would spend our time in our bunkers studying and engaging in scientific discussions. The unit commander and his friends persistently asked us to join their gambling games, but we minded our own business. Of course, sometimes we were forced to go to the command bunker to watch the games, but we refused to participate. This very issue created many problems and restrictions for me personally. I recall one time when Captain "Ehsan Heydari," the medical unit commander, had become hopeless about my attending the gambling and drinking session, he turned to me and said: "What kind of person are you? You seem no different from an idol—you neither gamble nor drink alcohol!"
One time, one of them lost all his cash. He knew that I had one hundred dinars at my disposal. He wanted to borrow from me, but I was not willing to give him my only savings. This very issue intensified their animosity toward me. From that day onward, I tried to distance myself from that environment under various pretexts, such as talking with religious soldiers and non-commissioned officers who complained about their own situation and the continuation of the war. My inclination toward non-medical personnel caused me, on one hand, to gain a certain popularity among them, and on the other hand, to provoke the anger and hatred of the Ba'athists toward me, to the extent that they placed all my movements and conversations under surveillance.
One day, Sabah Al-Marayati summoned me and asked me to take a walk with him around the unit. We left our bunkers and talked along the way about the situation at the medical college and working at the hospital. Gradually, our conversation turned to the topic of the war. He said to me: "You are always criticizing the regime, condemning the war, and making people pessimistic about the war."
I said to him: "This is nothing but slander."
He said: "I am telling you the very truth."
I said: "Very well, then provide proof!"
He pulled out some documents from his pocket and said: "Please listen..."
He read out points that made me feel these were reports from intelligence agents. They had precisely recorded my words and actions in various places. After pausing for a moment, I said: "The evidence you have presented is accurate, but where did you obtain it from?"
He laughed and said: "Through our own agents... Doctor! Watch yourself and guard your tongue, because our eyes and ears are everywhere."
I asked: "What exactly do you want from me?"
He smiled and said: "Nothing at all, I just want to advise you."
I was surprised and said: "So intelligence agencies also give advice to people?"
He said: "Sometimes, not always," and added, "I don't want to make a decision regarding you, provided that you do not repeat these actions from now on."
I said: "Apparently you are of honorable birth and do not wish to harass people."
He replied: "Doctor! I share your feelings toward Iran and Imam Khomeini. Although I am nominally a Ba'athist, I conceal my true feelings and thoughts. I am forced to operate in favor of the regime."
I thanked him greatly for what he had done for me and asked him to burn the documents so that they would not fall into the hands of the intelligence officer. He took out his blue lighter from his pocket and set them all on fire. We walked and talked together for a long time. I told him frankly that I could not remain silent about the war and politics. I asked him to identify the intelligence agents to me so that I could distance myself from them. He paused for a moment and said: "I cannot do that; it would create a liability for me."
I promised that I would not disclose this matter to anyone. After much insistence, he revealed to me the names of eleven intelligence agents, at the top of whom was Warrant Officer "Jasim."
We returned to the unit's headquarters. I immediately, with the help of a number of religious medics, set out to identify these agents. After becoming familiar with each one of them from a distance, I tried to avoid falling into the traps of the Ba'athist intelligence agents from then on. I was going through tiresome and monotonous days. Not only was there nothing to be happy about, but on the contrary, events were taking place that were painful for me. One day, I heard the heartbreaking news of the execution of Dr. "Abd Sulaiman," five months after his arrest. He was a friend I had met early in the war. He was executed on charges of belonging to an Islamic movement. The members of the unit were deeply affected by hearing this news.
From time to time, we would hear news from various media about internal disputes and conflicts in Iran, the economic siege against that country, and the issue of the American hostages—things that were distressing for us, especially since the course of events all turned out in favor of the Iraqi regime. My relationship with Dr. Ra’ad and Dr. Zar had soured due to differences in opinions and beliefs between us. These two viewed the Islamic Revolution and Imam Khomeini with hostility and often spoke to me in riddles and insinuations. For example, whenever it was time for the news broadcast from Tehran Radio, I would step out of the rest bunker. They would ask: "Where are you off to? Surely you're going to listen to Tehran Radio news!"
I restrained myself many times and tried to distance myself from them, but the verbal altercations between us continued. One day, I was sitting in the rest bunker, watching television programs while we discussed the war. I said: "Saddam said..."
Dr. Ra’ad replied angrily: "Why don't you say 'Mr. President' or 'Comrade Saddam'? Is Saddam your servant?"
I answered: "My tongue is not accustomed to saying 'Mr. President' or 'Comrade.' I always refer to him by the name Saddam Hussein."
To be continued …
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