Medal and Leave - 11

11 notes from an Iraqi captive

Compiled by Hedayatollah Behboudi
Translated by: M.B. Khoshnevisan

2025-10-12

Medal and Leave - 11

11 notes from an Iraqi captive

Compiled by Hedayatollah Behboudi

Translated by: M.B. Khoshnevisan

***

Episode 11: Destiny

The snow was falling gently, adding to the stillness and tranquility of the area. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but snow. On the mountains, on the hills, and even on my shoulders and head, the white snowflakes danced their way down and settled on the ground.

I was cold. The air was biting. The cold pierced through my skin and seeped into my bones. I was shivering. My clothes were threadbare, and my pants and boots were soaked and muddy.

It was three in the afternoon. I shifted the sack of sardines on my shoulder. I was terribly hungry. I sat down, opened one of the sardine tins, and ate. Gradually, the snow began to fall faster. Soon after, the weather grew so bad that I could no longer even see in front of me.

From nearby, a sound reached my ears. I listened. Someone with a Tikriti accent was shouting, "You bastards, I want that hill!" I moved closer. The officer who was shouting pointed to the medals on his chest and said, "Only capturing this hill can pin the third medal on my chest."

On his chest, two medals were visible. As I carried the sardine can on my shoulder, I made my way to my unit. The area smelled of danger. I went up to a high point that overlooked the hill that officer had mentioned. The moments were critical and tense. I said to myself: "What will happen? What fate will destiny write for this Tikriti?"

Fear had taken root in me. A deadly silence had fallen over the valley. A short time later, the sound of our own artillery broke the silence and turned the hill into a hell of fire and smoke. This barrage continued for half an hour. The Iranians only responded with a few rifle shots.

This hill was of particular strategic importance, and with its fall, the Ahmad Rumi Heights would be captured by our forces.

Finally, the advance began. Our troops had worn white to avoid being seen. The hill was snowy and slippery. The men kept slipping and couldn't climb up. At that very moment, a sudden voice echoed through the mountains and shook the peaks:

- Allaho Akbar!

The Iranian forces had begun to retaliate with full intensity. Dozens of grenades were being launched at our forces every second, shaking the ground beneath our feet. The troops were scattered. I remembered the words spoken before the attack, and the certainty that that Takriti had about the hill falling. We took a look at the battlefield. It was covered everywhere with corpses and scrap metal. Fear and anxiety filled my being. I broke down and cried involuntarily, not knowing whether I was crying for myself or for those unfathered Takritis.

Night was slowly falling, and darkness spread its veil over the mountains, plains, and valleys. Everything had become terrifying to me.

Silence, sleep, wakefulness, and death.

Several days passed in this manner, and all the while, I kept wondering: Who am I fighting for, and against whom?

Finally, along with four other soldiers, we decided to save ourselves from this miserable situation and head towards that impregnable hill. Dawn was breaking as we took the white flags and set out, and we reached the hilltop safe and sound. The Iranians hugged and kissed us. Then we talked. It turned out they had known about our attack. They said your artillery fire had been very heavy, but none of us were hurt. When we looked more closely, we realized there were only twenty Basij members, with four mules for carrying supplies and ammunition and a few light weapons. It was unbelievable. Had all that resistance come from just this small group?

As I pondered this strange matter, the sun appeared in the sky of Iran with all its brilliance. For the first time, I enjoyed its warmth, which was accompanied by the warmth of faith. It was our destiny to have such an outcome.

The End

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