Third Regiment: Memoirs of an Iraqi Prisoner of War Doctor – 21

By Mojtaba al-Hosseini
Translated into Farsi by: Mohammad Hossein Zavar Kabeh
Translated into English by: M.B. Khoshnevisan

2026-3-15

Third Regiment: Memoirs of an Iraqi Prisoner of War Doctor – 21

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.

***

On the evening of January 15, 1981, I arrived in Joffeir and, as usual, was greeted with the mission orders that had been prepared for me. The next day, I packed my things and headed to the “P” Brigade headquarters. I decided to arrive there at noon prayer time, when the shelling of Iranian forces usually stopped. At the appointed hour, I entered the brigade camp. “Hejam,” the medical deputy, welcomed me with his usual smile. This time, everything had changed—Staff Colonel “Maz’al” had taken command of the brigade, replacing Staff Colonel “Javad Asad Shitneh,” who had been promoted to the rank of brigadier general and appointed commander of the 12th Armored Division based in Mehran.

The 20th Brigade and Asad Shitneh himself—this Kurdish-origin officer—were praised in one of Saddam’s speeches delivered during the early days of the war. In recognition of his efforts to serve his masters, he was awarded a promotional rank and a Medal of Courage personally by Saddam. Shitneh had played a significant role in suppressing the Safar 1977 uprising. 

That year, on the Arbaeen of the martyrdom of Imam Hussein (peace be upon him), a large number of pilgrims were walking on foot from Najaf toward Karbala to visit the shrine of the revered Imam. However, the regime’s mercenary forces prevented them from completing the pilgrimage, sparking a wave of popular resistance. At that time, Asad Shitneh, who commanded a mechanized infantry regiment under the 6th Armored Brigade, set out from the city of Musayyib to suppress the uprising of the revolutionary pilgrims.

During a brief visit to the brigade’s positions, I witnessed the aftermath of the heavy shelling from the battle of January 5. I stood upon the wreckage of an ambulance destroyed by a Katyusha rocket hit. The ground was littered with countless fragments and stained dark with the color of gunpowder. I met with several officers and non‑commissioned men — their faces visibly showed signs of frustration and discontent.

The next day, I went to the position where the 57‑millimeter anti‑aircraft guns were stationed. Using binoculars, I looked toward the front lines and saw the wreckage of Iranian tanks that had been destroyed on January 5, 1981 near the village of Dob Hardan. Then I met First Lieutenant Adel, a young officer from Baghdad. He was well‑mannered and displayed an extraordinary enthusiasm for carrying out his military duties. He told me that Staff Lieutenant Colonel Maz’al had been defeated during the January 5 attack, and consequently Staff Major Abdulqader, the brigade’s intelligence officer, was forced to take command of the brigade and successfully repelled the Iranian assault on their positions.  I must say, this is typical of the Ba’athists — brave in normal circumstances, but cowardly and timid in times of crisis.

That same night, Staff Lieutenant Colonel Maz’al summoned me to his bunker. He was suffering severely from duodenal ulcers, shortness of breath, and insomnia. After several meetings, I felt that he was not qualified to command even a single company [1] of the army. He was unable to sleep without taking sedatives. 

A few days later, I met Colonel Abdulkarim Mushi‘an, commander of the 36th Heavy Artillery Battalion, who was troubled by high blood pressure. Each time I met him, he openly expressed his discomfort and dissatisfaction with the war and the prevailing situation. He was deeply upset about having to take orders from a staff lieutenant colonel, a practice that violated military protocol, yet was enforced by the Ba’athists for their own interests. Through my meetings with the brigade commander, staff officers, and senior officers, I sensed that they were all weary of the war and conflict. Although they understood the true nature of the war, they participated in it either against their will, or out of material ambition, or fear of the regime’s terror apparatus.

This time, the engineering company had built a very sturdy and resilient bunker for me. The tanks continued their shelling against our positions. It had been a while since the 175mm heavy artillery had fired. When I inquired about the reason, they said, "They've run out of ammunition." The Iranians positioned on the front lines were equipped with mortars and TOW anti‑tank missiles, which had instilled fear in our armored forces. I stood at the entrance of the bunker and asked myself, "What do these missiles do to a tank?" At that moment, a tank about 800 meters away was hit by a missile, and I saw a blue flame, which soon turned yellow. Following that, a thick cloud of fire and smoke, accompanied by the sound of an explosion, rose into the air. Soon after, the Iranians, through continuous artillery fire on this tank and its surroundings, created a situation where our forces were unable to extinguish its fire. A few moments later, this tank, rather than being mere scrap metal, had been reduced to something like a withered bush.

Ten minutes later, they brought this tank driver to me with a burned head and body and a severed leg. Right at that moment, the shelling extended to our positions. Inevitably, I threw him into an armored personnel carrier in front of the trench and hid in one of the tank positions myself. Unfortunately, the ambulance we had had gone to the rear to take the wounded. The conditions were dire. A person with a burned face and head and a severed leg was desperately asking for our help under relentless shelling. I was alone. What could I do for him? If I left the shelter? I would surely be killed. If I remained indifferent in the shelter? He would sometimes look to the right and sometimes to the left and say with a pathetic tone: 'Help me! I have a wife and children.'"

"In those conditions, the political officer's phone kept ringing. The man who prided himself on his patriotism and courage had taken refuge in the basement out of sheer fear. There was no one to answer the phone. I trusted in God and crawled towards the wounded man, asking for help as I went. No one came to my aid except for the conscript soldier 'Mati', the special orderly of the brigade commander. Under that intense shelling, with the help of that soldier, we treated the wounded man and transferred him under the armored personnel carrier. Half an hour later, the ambulance arrived and took the wounded man to Mobile Medical Unit 11.

Although the Khuzestan winter was not very severe, its nights were long. In those days, 'Hejam', the deputy medical officer, cooperated with me. His presence and a few books and magazines were considered my best companions during moments of loneliness. In the emergency trench, Sergeant 'Ali', the ambulance driver, rested. He was a simple-minded man from Ammarah. He couldn't get enough of drinking tea and smoking. He was always lost in his own thoughts. Since he ate several meals, I only received date syrup and tahini as a nighttime meal.

"On one of the winter nights, Captain Hazem, the commander of the engineering company, who had been wounded while laying mines on the front lines and in the prohibited zone, was brought to us. I examined him under the lantern light. I noticed that a bullet had penetrated his thick winter clothes and a wallet full of banknotes, hitting his left chest. Fortunately, the bullet had only split his skin and muscles. However, since he believed the bullet had hit his heart, he had completely lost morale. I tried to make him understand that the wound was superficial, but it was to no avail. His spirit was more damaged than his body. After reminding him of his immoral deeds, especially reading sexy magazines, I sent him to the military hospital in Basra.

[1] Each company is equivalent to 120 soldiers.