The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 14

Diary of a Rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by M.B. Khoshnevisan

2025-7-13

The Embankment Wounded Shoulders – 14
Diary of a Rescuer

Sabah Piri
Translated to English by M.B. Khoshnevisan
Persian Version (1990)
Sooreh Mehr Publications

***

It was a very dangerous job, but there was no other choice. We left the wounded in the P.M.P. and prayed that they would pass safely. From there, it was a twenty-minute walk to the end of the three-way road. The P.M.P. left and disappeared from our sight at a bend in the road. I called Ghiyassi by portable transceiver to inform him that a P.M.P. full of wounded was coming. Half an hour later, he called back to say that it had not yet arrived. Smoke was rising from the direction of the three-way road, and my heart was moved. Under heavy fire, we moved towards the smoke with one or two of the children. When we arrived, we saw that the P.M.P. was stuck and had exploded after being hit by a tank cannon. There was ammunition in the P.M.P., and the explosion itself had caused the guys to be torn to pieces. We returned, sad and depressed, with tearful eyes.

Two days later, we arrived at P.M.P. and inspected its interior. All that was left were the guys’ skeletons with plaques around their necks.

Four days had passed since the operation of the battalion of Ansar al-Rasul (blessings of God upon him and his progeny) was exposed when one day we saw two people coming down from the Iraqi side of the fort towards us. At first, we thought it was an enemy force that had come to surrender, but then we realized that they were two teenagers, 16-17 years old, tired and hungry. After they had eaten food and drinks, they explained their situation.

"When the operation began, the Iraqis surrounded us at night. The guys withdrew and we started dressing the wounded, as we were the only relief forces. We stayed behind and the Iraqis reached us. We pretended to be dead. They shot every wounded person they reached. Only the two of us remained hidden from their sight. They would come and urinate on us. For two nights, we crawled here at night and pretended to be dead during the day until we got here."

Days passed, and every day we heard the news of the martyrdom of a beloved commander: "Haj Ramadan," in charge of the division's headquarters, and "Ebadian," in charge of the division's combat engineering. We were stationed at the same fort when the enemy launched multiple attacks, eventually growing tired and retreating. We were already in a defensive position, but the army medical department decided to construct a relief station with greater mobility. They began building a large trench capable of holding multiple beds, as well as several smaller trenches to shield the ambulances from heavy enemy fire. As the loader arrived to dig the trenches, we filled the walls with empty ammunition boxes. By evening, all the work was successfully completed. In the afternoon, Ghiyassi arrived and we began reinforcing the trenches with iron and timber. Throughout the night, we placed sacks filled with soil around the trench. The Iraqi tanks were so close that their searchlights illuminated the surrounding area. That night, the enemy's machine guns fired regularly, and we managed to wound one of them, although not severely.

Starting the next day, we were assigned guard duty. We were divided into groups, with each group taking turns standing guard for three days before rotating out for three days of rest. The following day, the division decided to construct a high embankment between our location and the intersection. During the night, several bulldozers arrived from the base and built a three-kilometer embankment while facing direct fire from the enemy tanks.

Two or three days later, the Iraqis launched a fierce attack from the left side of the fortress in the Fish Lake area and advanced as far as the Shahadat crossroads. However, the soldiers made them retreat with their strong resistance. We had a few wounded until a more intense operation was carried out. The Hamzeh and Meqdad battalions from the left and the 25th Karbala Division from the right began the attack towards the "Zwoji" canal. The intensity of the Iraqi fire was overwhelming, but the soldiers persevered with unwavering faith. They would bravely venture into enemy territory with RPGs to take down tanks. The number of wounded increased, and we worked tirelessly. The call to prayer in the morning would pass unnoticed, and suddenly darkness would approach. Most of the wounded who could stand would quickly dress and return to the front lines. When I bandaged one of the injured individuals, I instructed the ambulance to take him back, but he disappeared. Two hours later, he was brought back with a broken leg. As I bandaged his leg, he suddenly disappeared and I didn't understand what had happened until they brought his body in the morning. This time, the bullet had hit his neck and granted him his wish.

We were busy when Mehdi Givehchi, the radio operator at the aid post, announced that Ghiyassi had called from Aqaba and wanted to talk to me. When I picked up the radio, Ghiyassi told me the news of the martyrdom of "Yazdan Sharif" in a tearful voice. I knew Yazdan Sharif as the chief of the aid workers, whose presence was a source of inspiration for the rescuers and even the health officials. You could never see him on the front lines without a smile on his face.

We were busy treating the wounded when Askari's brother, who was one of the drivers in the motorcycle unit, wanted to turn back. The ambulance was full, so Askari was forced to hang onto the car. We were unable to fit even one of the injured journalists into the ambulance. His name was Mohammad Hossein Ghadami. The area was engulfed in smoke, with smoke and dust constantly rising into the air from one spot to another.

It was possible that the helicopter would return again. We returned to the aid post, where I bandaged his legs and sent him back. Before sending the wounded man back, I suddenly saw some of the guys from the 25th Division of Karbala retreating and entering the aid post trench, their faces filled with fear. They initially wanted to turn back, but upon seeing the wounded man, who had no legs and was praying with determination, their mood shifted and they returned to the front line with determined expressions. After sending some wounded back, I went to the aid post. Suddenly, a mortar exploded 5-6 meters away, right in the middle of a group of people. The blast wave threw me back. When I got up, I saw that the entire group of 4-5 people had been killed, while I had only suffered a small cut on my finger. Looking up at the sky, I realized that God is watching over us all and has determined each person's fate. The next day, the fire was so intense that it felt like a storm of bullets, fire, and shrapnel was raining down on us.

36 hours later, our shift was scheduled to change and I was supposed to return. I informed Haji Mojtaba Askari that I would walk back, hoping to gather some news from Givehchi. Givehchi was a fellow comrade who had been sent back in an ambulance after reporting Yazdan Sharif's martyrdom, but he never made it to his destination. The children had also failed to find any trace of him.

To be continued …