An Excerpt from the Memoirs of Mikail Ahmadzadeh

Selected by Fatemeh Beheshty
Translated by Kianoush Borzouei

2025-12-31

One night, while deploying a reconnaissance patrol, we detected enemy access routes advancing toward our own positions. Under the cover of darkness, they were moving forward to dig trenches. It appeared that the enemy was planning a limited operation against our forces—an action that could have posed a serious threat to the units stationed along the front line. Accordingly, in order to seize the initiative before the enemy could execute its scheme, the operations team and I decided that on the following night, at the arriving of darkness, we would set an ambush for Iraqi patrols in the desert. Our objective was to uncover the enemy’s intentions and, if possible, capture some of their personnel for intelligence extraction.

The following night, moving in proper military formation and with desert sentries deployed, we advanced toward the designated area. Given the mountainous terrain and the intense cold characteristic of that season, we wore green woodland uniforms that were virtually indistinguishable in the darkness, so that our mission would not be detected by the enemy. At approximately 03:00 o'clock, eleven Iraqi soldiers cautiously approached our positions. After covering some distance, each of them dispersed toward their assigned posts. The night was exceedingly dark, and our unit—positioned behind the line—was unaware of our exact situation up to that point, as the radios had been switched off to avoid detection. Nonetheless, they stood ready to support us with fire and reinforcements if necessary.

Using infrared binoculars, we surveyed the area in the depths of the night. It is worth noting that beside Antenna Hill flows a well-known, fast-moving river called Kangakush, which runs into Iranian territory. Due to the river’s high volume and swift current, laying mines or explosive traps within it was impossible. Even so, the enemy could not afford to disregard this sector. Every night, to prevent infiltration by Iranian patrols, they dispatched several guards to various points along the riverbanks to establish security and ambush positions, as the Kangakush River constituted the only viable route for penetrating Iraqi defenses.

After some time, just as we were preparing to move, we noticed two Iraqi soldiers. They were guarding the riverbank, and our commandos advanced slowly toward them with the intention of capturing—and if necessary killing—them. Two commandos moved toward the river guard, while four of us crawled prone toward the Iraqi listening post. The remaining members each assumed responsibility for mutual cover and protection. The plan was to approach the guard in a coordinated manner and neutralize him if required. Two others were tasked specifically with capturing the river sentry. Any moment of miscoordination or carelessness could have resulted in our deaths.

The cold was biting, and the combination of freezing temperatures and absolute darkness had driven the Iraqi soldiers into corners, where they had dozed off, making them less alert to any suspicious sounds. Eventually, after nearly an hour and a half, we positioned ourselves just a few steps away from their bunker. At that hour, the firing of illumination flares was relentless. We concealed our automatic and side arms beneath our bodies to prevent any shine or noise. We were within five meters of the enemy. The decisive moment had arrived. Both teams had reached their targets. Dawn was approaching, and with the approaching break of day, our task would become far more difficult.

There was a very narrow depression in the ground that could serve as cover in the event of Iraqi gunfire. I forced myself into it, though half my body remained exposed. The short mountain grasses growing in the area provided us with partial concealment. At that moment, a wildcat suddenly lunged toward us, emitting a terrifyingly loud scream. One of the Iraqi soldiers jolted awake and scanned the area with alarm. Owing to the darkness and our camouflage, he failed to spot us, and fortunately the animal fled.

By God’s grace, we did not open fire. The Iraqi soldier became suspicious and began carefully observing the area. He was positioned behind a machine gun, while we were only a few steps away. We watched his shadowy movements closely, prepared to engage if necessary. Our plan relied on surprise, so that the newly opened routes would remain undiscovered. The Iraqi soldiers were largely half-asleep. Our forces had closed to within a few paces of the guard, ready to capture or kill him in an instant. At that precise moment, one of the commandos attacked him from behind and pressed a knife against his throat. The Iraqi soldier tried to shout, but the brave commando applied greater pressure, making it unmistakably clear that resistance was useless and silence was crucial. The soldier trembled violently, rendered speechless by terror.

At that instant, disturbed by the rustling sounds, a nearby guard called out softly, “Jamil! Jamil!” Hearing this, the guard directly in front of us also sprang awake, grabbed his weapon, and turned toward the sound. Meanwhile, the commotion near the river—caused by the capture of the Iraqi soldier—intensified, when suddenly gunfire erupted from within the river itself, alerting the Iraqis to our presence. The guard in front of us raised his weapon to fire, but we brought him down with short, successive bursts. We then hurled several flashbangs and fragmentation grenades into the Iraqi trenches to terrify the guards and exploit the ensuing chaos. The explosions and shrapnel created the opportunity we needed to withdraw.

Gunfire erupted from all directions, and a veritable inferno broke loose. The dazed Iraqi guards fired indiscriminately from every side. Their shouts echoed through the night as they called for reinforcements. Dust and smoke engulfed the area. We withdrew rapidly, firing as we moved. Tracer rounds and flares whizzed past our heads, ears, and legs, yet by divine will none struck us. We still had a long distance to cover before reaching our own positions. The situation was extremely perilous. One of our soldiers was hit in the right shoulder, and amid the Iraqi mortar fire, one of our seasoned non-commissioned officers was wounded in the cheek and forehead.

According to our prearranged plan, in the event of detection or imminent danger, our group was to withdraw along a secondary route so that the patrol path would not be compromised and casualties minimized. The other group forcibly escorted the captured Iraqi soldier to a safe distance, taking cover behind a hill until we could regroup. The sky above the area was alight by fire and smoke. We switched on our radios and informed the unit on the front line—standing by in readiness—that the operation had been successfully completed and that we were withdrawing; they were instructed to place Iraqi positions under fire. Moments later, our artillery batteries pounded Iraqi bunkers and positions. We continued our withdrawal and, together with the captured prisoner, reached the defensive berms of our own forces.

It was around 04:30 when we quickly departed toward brigade headquarters in several military vehicles that had been prepared in advance. The prisoner was handed over to the military police to be interrogated and subjected to intelligence debriefing at the appropriate time.

The roar of various weapons of war did not subside for a moment. The Iraqis had realized that one of their soldiers had been captured and would likely reveal critical information—an outcome that could endanger and potentially annihilate their positions in the area. Undoubtedly, it was not a good night for them; one that would deprive them of sleep for a long time to come. After changing clothes and tending to our wounds, we retired briefly to our bunkers for rest. Following breakfast, I went to the operations room, where the Iraqi prisoner was to be brought for interrogation. Senior commanders and intelligence and operations officers were present and expressed great satisfaction with our performance. Morale was high, and there was a shared sense of pride that, despite such harsh conditions, we had achieved this success.^[1]