A Selection from the Memoirs of Haj Hossein Yekta

Selected by: Faezeh Sassanikhah
Translated by: Fazel Shirzad

2025-3-23

The scorching cold breeze of the midnight made its way under my wet clothes and I shivered. The artillery fire did not stop. Ali Donyadideh and Hassan Moghimi were in front. The rest were behind us. So ruthlessly that it was as if we were on our own soil. Before we had even settled in at the three-way intersection of the Faw-Basra-Umm al-Qasr road, an Iraqi jeep appeared in front of us. It was accelerating and coming at us. One of the guys jumped into the middle of the road with an RPG. The jeep’s headlights fell on the RPG. He braked hard. It was as if he had just seen us. They couldn’t believe that so many Iranian forces were roaming their soil. They had no way back, no way forward. Two people opened the doors together to jump down when the RPG missile lit up the entire area. Our company passed the three-way intersection of the Faw-Basra-Umm al-Qasr road. The company behind stayed there to provide us with support. An anti-aircraft gun was left alone at this intersection. On the right side of the Faw-Umm al-Qasr road was one of the Iraqi command posts. A large square area with embankments around it. The corners of the square were also dug in. An Iraqi was lying in wait inside the trench on the right. He wouldn’t let anyone get close with his fire. We waited until his bullets ran out. Ali Dunyadideh sent one of the boys after him. The two of them came out of the trench together. The Baathist had become a mouse. His hands were on his head, thick and he was going to Tehran. I thought if they gave him a gun right now, he would fire at us all. He had fought until his last bullet and now he was oppressed. We weren’t going to be captured in that darkness and before we could stabilize ourselves. Ali Donyadideh also spent a bullet on him.

We started clearing the headquarters. Everything was left alone, like the station in the middle of the headquarters. In the holes of the barracks, I found an ownerless Kalashnikov. I picked it up with excitement. The empty space on my shoulder was filled with a gun. In the middle of the compound was a concrete trench with an entrance that went down a few steps. The steps were in the dark. I threw a grenade into the trench in case anyone took refuge there would come in. The comrades were running around and looking everywhere. My heart was weak with hunger. We had walked several kilometers through Iraqi soil. A person stood in the middle of the barracks and called out the call to prayer. His voice was familiar to me, but I didn't recognize him. How much I needed to hear these words:

- Is there a prayer on usurped land?

- do it, there is no problem.

The comrades were talking and laughing as if they were relieved to be leaving. After the prayer, I put my forehead on the soil. My heart was pounding. I might not find a station to get off at, like in previous operations.

- Oh God, a night had passed. I don't know if there's another operation or not.

My fear grew as time went by.

- Iraqi! Iraqi!

I jumped up with a scream. One of the guys ran up the steps of the trench in the middle of the headquarters. He was holding his fanny pack so that his pants wouldn't fall off. Everyone who heard him ran towards the steps. The servant of God enters the concrete trench to relieve himself. A shabby wooden bed was in the stone. He removes one of the boards, wants to sit on his homemade toilet, but he sees a pair of terrified eyes under it. He peeks under the bed and the bulky body of the Baathist officer shakes. He pulls his pants up halfway and runs out. I remembered the grenade I threw into the trench. The Baathist officer had survived the grenade by taking shelter under the bed. But he couldn't escape from us, who were now encircling the trench. We shouted so loudly and insistently that our throats were choked. Finally, the Baathist officer gave in and climbed the stairs. His large body forced its way out of the trench entrance. I was left wondering how he had slung himself under the bed. Like the rest of them, he was heading for Tehran. As soon as we saw him, we turned left and he ran into the darkness. Ali Donyadideh's barrage followed him. A scream scratched his chest and he burst out. He ran a few more steps. His body also wanted to run away. Suddenly he dried up and fell. There was no choice. We didn't know what would happen an hour later. There was water behind us and darkness in front of us. Being captured was like tying a broom to our tail. After the incident ended, I folded my hands under my head in the concrete trench. The stars were peeking out from behind the rain clouds. The sky was turning off and on in our lines at that time. A pounding sound filled my head. The cold made my body shiver.    

A vague sound pricked my ears. I thought it was the sound of a tank approaching. I grabbed my Kalashnikov from the ground and ran to the edge of the embankment. Since we had not had a chance to rest, we saw ten trucks with lights on, approaching in a column on the Faw-Basra road. They had loaded as many troops as they could to disembark in line and, for example, hold the line. The poor things did not know that we were cutting them off and were walking into the middle of a trap on their own feet. On their left side, on the Faw-Al-Bihar road, the comrades of the Ashura and Imam Hussein (pbuh) divisions had disembarked. We had also scattered on their right side. The sharp arrows were outpacing each other in reaching the trucks and illuminating their surroundings. We were firing from above and from below the forces of the Ashura and Imam Hussein (pbuh) divisions, Seyyed Jawad Khaki also reached the anti-aircraft gun that had been abandoned next to a three-way intersection. He took the end of the pipe and fell on their lives. It was the Baath that was spreading on the road. They were taking their lives and running so that they would not go empty-handed. Until the weather cleared, we were entertained by the trucks and their forces that were now scattered in the desert. The poor things were running everywhere, and we were turning green in front of them.[[1]]

When the chaos was over, we set off on the "Faw-Umm al-Qasr" road towards the Iraqi missile site. There was a half-finished embankment near the site. I looked at the top and bottom of the embankment. A mound of dirt that was not tied anywhere on either side. Nothing was left of it on the embankment. All we could do was lean back and catch our breath. We had come a long way to get there. The weak sun of February was clinging to the vault of the sky. It was rubbing its languid hand on our heads and faces and almost made us fall asleep. I was hungry. As I swallowed, a handful of damp dirt fell down. We pulled out our cameras and took a good look. The missiles had been taken away and the firing platforms were ours. We lay down at the foot of the embankment. After a night of walking and fighting until morning, nothing felt like sleep. I lay down on the slope of the embankment. A huge monster had awakened in the heart of the earth, roaring and wanting to come out. The sound of explosions, the sound of volleys and the whistle of mortars sang me a lullaby. The angry monster trembled under my body. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about my empty stomach that was straining itself. My eyelids were getting heavy when I felt the sound of an engine. I stood up excitedly. I looked around for the supply engine to get my food ration; but the sound was coming from the sky. An Iraqi helicopter was circling above us, a female voice calling out:

- You are surrounded. All the roads in front and behind are closed.

- A young woman was giving us a speech from above through a loudspeaker. Her Persian accent was shouting that she was from the People's Mujahedin. She listed many blessings. Blessings that Iraq would shower upon us if we surrendered!

- Just as she was about to mention the women they give to those who surrender, the comrades interrupted her by firing an RPG rocket. The rocket passed the helicopter at speed. The helicopter jerked and moved. An old man was in our battalion. He turned his head towards the helicopter and raised his voice in protest in a thick Qomi accent:

- Leave us alone, father. We got rid of our wives ourselves and came here.

- With that, laughter spread across the comrade's tired, dusty faces.

The neutral man lowered the RPG from his shoulder. He ran to the other side of the embankment and said again:

- Wheeze!

So many RPGs fired at the helicopter and we said Takbir [Arabic phrase "ʾAllāhu ʾakbar", meaning "God is the greatest] that the pilot and the speaker had to pack up and leave.

The half-and-half embankment was a point of departure and we had to hold it. I didn’t feel like moving forward. I thought the news was ahead of where I was standing. Haj Gholamreza arrived at the foot of our embankment in the afternoon. I wanted to give the order to move; but he insisted that we stay here and watch carfully the embankment until the Tehran forces came. The forces of the 27th Division were supposed to capture the site. The ground was in our hands and the sky was in Iraq’s hands. Our artillery positions were arranged in such a way that the Iraqi roads in the Faw were under control and under fire. They couldn’t reach the line of force. Instead, he sent as many planes as he could over our heads. His planes swerved in the sky. Every time we looked up, at least two or three planes were hurrying back and forth. It had been a day since the conquest of the Faw. Iraq was coming out of shock. The harsh sound of the planes shook our eardrums.

The helicopter incident had just ended when I saw a strange scene; everyone had gathered at the edge of the embankment and were looking at the Iraqi truck. We had either lost our way or had hit it head-on. Like sleepwalkers, he left the missile site headquarters and headed for the Umm al-Qasr-Faw road. A single-barrel anti-aircraft gun was behind him. He calmly passed us. The Iraqi soldier was about to sit behind the anti-aircraft gun when suddenly fire spread in all directions. The comrades' missile hit the target and the truck froze in place. Before anything new happened, I pressed my back to the embankment. Finally, I found the opportunity to sleep. I didn't even dig the soil under me a little to protect myself from stray bullets. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. The sound of gunfire and volleys was getting closer. Red arrows were passing over our heads in the darkness. I dragged myself, dazed from sleep, to the edge of the embankment on all fours. The Tehran forces had arrived. I don't remember if it was Maysam's battalion or Ammar's. The fire of their conflict drove me from sleep. The sound of explosions was deafening. The road was pounding. We were enjoying all this ahead of us. After the prayer, I wandered around the embankment for a while. There was still nothing to eat. Everywhere was filled with the sound of sharp arrows and the sound of explosions. Some of the comrades had returned to the headquarters behind us. It was easier to spend the night there. I remember the tiredness and hunger from that night.[2]