The 369th Night of Memoirs-2

Compiled by: Iranian Oral History Website
Translated by: Fazel Shirzad

2025-7-28

Note: The 369th Night of Memoir ceremony was held online on June 2 of 2025, in the remembrance of the martyrs of the Israeli attack. This event took place in the virtual space of the Islamic Revolution Arts Center. During the program, Seyyed Abbas Heydari Rabouki, Seyyed Amir Abdullahi, and Hajj Javad Aligoli shared their memories. The program was hosted by Davood Salehi.

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Seyyed Abbas Haidari, the first speaker at the ceremony, began his narration: When we arrived at the Suleiman Mosque, contrary to what we expected, there was no sign of an official military base or any special equipment. It was more like a large garden. On both sides of it, there were several tents. On the other side, there was a building. Later, we found out that all the officials and organized forces had been transferred to the same building and asked us to settle in the empty buildings around. We were trained there for a few days. They taught us how to shoot and use light weapons. Sometimes, to practice, we would climb walls that were almost flat and high; movements that were normal for us bikers but spectacular for others. On the fourth night, they brought several M1 rifles. Each of them was bigger than us and very heavy. They told us to take these weapons and use them as guards. We were also bikers and full-grown comrades...but in truth, none of us knew how to stand guard properly. None of us had any experience in this field. We said, “We can’t guard.” They said, “it’s okay, just stand there, like patrol.”

They gave me an M1 rifle, but I didn’t know how to shoot it at all. One of our local boys, whom we called “Hasan Greengrocer,” came to my aid. His brother, who was with us at the “Esmail lamp maker,” came to me and said, “Abbas, you’re here too, you don’t have any special work, let me teach you.” He loaded the rifle and showed me how to use it. When I tried, my hand accidentally touched the trigger, and the gun went off. The bullet hit a rock and ricocheted. We were lucky that it only missed his ankle and didn’t cause any serious damage. The commander said, “You’re right, you don’t know how to guard. Go and sleep in the tents.” The comrades said, "You're welcome, Abbas! You did something, we won't even give you a guard anymore!" We were so happy, it was as if nothing could bring us down—not even being tossed into a meat grinder! The next morning, they told us that an Iraqi plane had crashed in the mountain opposite; go there and come back. We said it was a three-minute drive. They said no, go on foot and come back. They took us around those mountains for three days, and then we learned that the shepherds of that area would go around the entire area in half a day. We were taught everything a fighter needed to survive in a war zone, such as reading maps and taking shelter to dealing with mortar attacks, in those few days.

They took us back, forgetting us, and transferred us to the irregular warfare headquarters. When we arrived, we found that Susangerd was under enemy attack and had taken it. We saw Dr. Chamran, who had been shot and wounded and was resting on a bed. We went and greeted him. The doctor said, “You guys really messed up the IRGC!” At that time, Mr. Khamenei was the representative of the Imam and Dr. Chamran was writing reports for him. They said that Mr. Khamenei had gone to Tehran. The comrades secretly opened the door to his room and started watching TV in his room! We had taken the Iraqi TV and were watching pictures of their dancing and celebrations. Suddenly we heard that Mr. Khamenei had returned. We said, “Oh my God! We secretly took the TV and put it in the hallway. We didn’t even bring it to ourselves when we took it. They saw that we were very evil, and they said, “Throw these guys out.” They told us: “We’re sending you to another camp; you have to do whatever they say.” We said: “Okay.”

We got on our motorbikes and went to a camp called “Rudabeh.” There was actually a very large school there; a girls’ high school on one side, a boys’ high school on the other. They had built a wall in the middle of the yard between the two buildings to separate the spaces.

When we arrived, we looked and saw that a corner of the school yard had been taken away from the tables and benches and the rooms were empty. I got to work, I put the tables against the wall. We also brought the blackboards and made a jumping area with them. We would jump from one yard to another and ride around on our motorbikes. Gradually, all the blackboards broke, the table bases came apart. We even used the metal sheets that had fallen to build a jumping track.

A hundred meters outside the school was a flat, level field, and we decided to build a motorcycle track there. We were riding our motorcycles when suddenly three or four mortar shells hit the area. Everyone was scared. The truth is that none of us had heard the sound of a mortar until that day. The comrades abandoned their motorcycles and fled on foot. They fired a few more mortars, until a temporary ceasefire was established.

At that moment, the head of the camp arrived. Then I realized that the head of the camp was also Mr. Ahmad Alam Dosh. He was also from our locality and a member of the deep-rooted clans. He had a certain look like an old-fashioned idiot. I had seen him in the gym before. I had seen him riding his motorcycles several times in the area.

When he saw us, he got upset and said, “What does this mean, Abbas?” He gathered us and took us inside. He gave us a class and said, “This is your class.” The next day, they announced readiness. They said, “We want two motorcycle riders.” Another boy named Mohammad Reza and I volunteered. We put on our clothes and stood waiting.

Many cars came to the camp to take the troops to the front line. Dr. Chamran had also defined a mission for an area. The Iraqis had embankments there. A group was to be sent to build embankments in front of them. We were to go with them as motorcyclists.

They picked us up and took us to the area. When we arrived, they dropped us off in a canal-like dirt road. The cars left. Ahmad called out to me and said, “Son, come and see.” He was big, weighing about a hundred kilos. He sat down and started the motorcycle. We walked slowly. Two or three kilometers ahead, there was a hill. He said, “Let’s go up the hill, see what’s going on.” I stopped the motorcycle, we went up the hill. He picked up the camera and looked. The Iraqi embankments were clear on the other side, but there was no news on this side. At the same time, I heard the sound of a truck. I sat down on the ground and saw a personnel carrier coming towards us about 500 meters away.

We had only seen this type of personnel carrier before in Khorasan Square or Martyrs' Square, not from this distance and not on the battlefield. I said to Ahmad: "That one doesn't fire!" He said: "Is it ours?" I said: "No." He looked, his face turned pale. He said: "This is an Iraqi personnel carrier"! He picked up the RPG and went down. There was a water canal that was used for farming. He went into it and hid. I started the engine, turned around to get him on. I said: "We have an RPG, why don't we use it?" He said: "Are you sure you know?" I said: "Yes, I know." (Of course, later I regretted saying that!)

I put the engine on the hill. I grabbed the RPG. The personnel carrier was about a hundred meters away. I fired. The RPG bullet passed half a meter above the personnel carrier. I said, "Oh, no, it didn't hit." I quickly prepared another one. I fired. This time it passed the personnel carrier from about 20 meters away. I said, "If I want to shoot a third one and don't hit it again, we're done!" I decided to put the RPG aside and start the engine to go back. I went around the hill. Suddenly I saw the personnel carrier coming very close to us, maybe 50 to 60 meters away. I saw that it was very close and there was no point in hitting it. I remembered that in the camp they had said that these types of personnel carriers only see in front of us, not around or behind, unless the passenger looks outside. I said, "Well, if the driver doesn't see us, we can escape. These personnel carriers have 8 wheels." I hit them between two of the personnel carrier's wheels. I passed the personnel carrier. I didn't even look to see if anyone was inside. I threw the RPG right there. I started the engine and went to Ahmad. I said, "Ahmad, I hit him!" He said, "Did you? Oh my! You're hot!" I said, "Sit down, there's no time to explain."

We got to our comrades. I had become very dear to Ahmad, and he would tell everyone: ‘This man saved my life!’

To be continued...