Third Regiment: Memoirs of an Iraqi Prisoner of War Doctor – 23
By Mojtaba al-Hosseini
Translated into Farsi by: Mohammad Hossein Zavar Kabeh
Translated into English by: M.B. Khoshnevisan
2026-04-01
Third Regiment: Memoirs of an Iraqi Prisoner of War Doctor – 23
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.
***
The calm that prevailed on the front often allowed me to spend most of my time studying beside my trench. It never crossed my mind that a bullet might pass right by my ear. One day, as usual, I was absorbed in reading when suddenly a bullet whizzed just a few centimeters from my nose. Startled, I jumped to my feet. I saw that one of the soldiers was holding a starling and was very pleased with his catch. He had fired at the bird, and had it not been for God’s mercy, he would almost have “caught” me as well. The poor bird had been standing on a hill parallel to my head, and I was sitting behind my shelter, out of the soldier’s sight. I shouted, “Idiot! What are you doing? You nearly killed me!”
He was frozen in place with fear. I went up to him, took his weapon, and said, “I’m taking you to the operations officer now.” The poor man was so frightened he was on the verge of fainting. He didn’t know what to say. Along the way, he pleaded and begged a lot, because according to our army’s regulations, a severe punishment awaited him. By the time I reached near the command post, I had regained control of myself. I told myself: he didn’t want to kill me on purpose—he had simply made a mistake. I stopped and said to him, “Go back—and be more careful from now on!”
He burst into tears out of happiness and showered my face with kisses. I entered the command post. Lieutenant Colonel of the General Staff, “Abd-al Karim,” welcomed me and asked, “Why are you so pale?” I told him what had happened. He insisted that I identify the soldier, but I refused. Instead, I asked him to issue an order banning shooting at birds. He agreed and issued such an order. To sum it up, a front line is a front line: as long as armed men are lined up against you, the battlefield will never truly see peace—even if you are living in relative comfort.
I was passing through monotonous days, without feeling any noticeable change. Only occasionally did incidents occur—among them, I can mention a verbal argument with Lieutenant Colonel of the General Staff, “Sardar.”
One afternoon, as usual, I was standing at the command post next to the operations bunker, talking with a Syrian-origin officer named “Naqib.” He had apparently been sent as a guest, but in reality as an inspector and observer of the front’s conditions from the Political Guidance Directorate in Baghdad. In our army, Syrian and Palestinian Ba'athist officers serve and are treated with respect and trust. The authorities usually dispatch Ba'athist officers to monitor the front, as they do not trust other commanders. That day, Lieutenant Colonel of the General Staff, “Sardar,” the commander of the 10th Tank Battalion, came to see us and spent a few hours with us. He was an officer of Kurdish origin who, after receiving a gifted handgun from Saddam, had become very proud of himself. As he was saying goodbye to those present, he turned to me and said, “Go over to that armored vehicle and tell its driver to come here!”
The armored vehicle was about 30 meters away from us. I thought to myself, maybe he doesn’t know I’m a doctor, since my rank made me look like an ordinary soldier. I said to him, “Excuse me, sir! I’m the brigade’s physician.”
He replied arrogantly, “Even if you’re the brigade doctor, here you’re just a soldier.”
In a harsh tone, I said, “I’m a soldier, not your servant. What does this arrogance mean? You can go and call the driver yourself.”
Angrily, he said, “I’m a lieutenant colonel of the General Staff, and I order you to go!”
I replied in turn, “I won’t go—and I don’t even know who you are!”
The argument between us escalated, and if that Syrian officer and Lieutenant Colonel of the General Staff, “Abd-al Kkarim,” had not come out of their bunker and intervened, a physical clash would have been inevitable. With a heart full of anger and resentment toward that ill-mannered man—who had no respect for knowledge or education—I left the place. There was nothing surprising about it. The laws of the Iraqi army, which had been drafted by the British, generally trained officers in hollow ambition.
The next morning, I didn’t go to have breakfast with the operations officers. The lieutenant colonel called me in a reproachful tone and insisted that I come see him. When I went to him, he reprimanded me over the incident from the previous day. After I explained what had happened, he told me he would settle the matter peacefully and keep it from spreading any further, because the other officer was insisting on putting me before a military court. I placed my trust in God and accepted his proposal. That same afternoon, Lieutenant Colonel “Sardar” came, and a reconciliation took place. God spared me from his harm.
When I visited the houses of the nearby village together with Warrant Officer “Hamel,” the ambulance driver, I was confronted with a scene that deeply saddened me. The condition of those homes was pitiful. Apart from mice, cats, and insects, no other living creature inhabited them. A layer of dust covered the furniture and stored food supplies such as wheat, barley, and dates. Seeing such scenes affected me profoundly. I didn’t even have the strength to step inside those houses. Various images and memories passed through my mind…My God, what sin had the owners of these homes committed? Why must such hardships and tragedies occur? They are Muslims just like us. Why should we shed each other’s blood? May God curse the colonialists and their agents like Saddam.
While I was lost in thought, a loud noise broke my train of thinking. I went toward the sound, which was coming from one of the houses. I saw that “Hamel” had emptied a barrel full of wheat onto the ground.
I asked, “What are you doing?”
He replied, “This barrel is suitable for storing water.”
I said, “But this barrel isn’t ours—it belongs to the Muslim residents of this house.”
He insisted on taking that barrel with him. I said, “Then take that water barrel instead!”
He replied, “That barrel is small and dirty, but this one is big and clean.”
I said, “I’m not using it. Don’t bring it near me!”
He laughed loudly and said, “It’s just a barrel, nothing else. Why are you so scared, doctor?”
A few moments later, together with “Hamel,” who was carrying the barrel on his shoulder, we returned to the clinic. He placed the barrel beside the bunker and, within an hour, filled it with water. At that moment, I was sitting inside the bunker. Not even ten minutes had passed since the barrel was filled when a cannonball landed near us. This was the first time we had been exposed to artillery fire. I stuck my head out of the bunker and saw water spurting from the barrel due to the impact of the shell’s shrapnel. Not a single drop of that water had been used. I called out to “Hamel.” He came out of his bunker, saw what had happened, turned to me, and said, “Doctor, apparently it wasn’t our time.”
I said, “By God, that’s exactly right.”
Then I spoke with him about what is halal and haram [lawful and unlawful in religious terms] and about God’s wrath. I realized that the fear of God had taken hold of his heart. Quickly, he picked up the barrel and returned it to its original place. Two days later, I took leave and left the area. When my leave was over, I returned to the 11th Field Medical Unit. As usual, before doing anything, I inquired about the unit and the front. They told me, “Nothing important has happened—only that Warrant Officer ‘Hamel’s’ ambulance overturned, and his back was broken. He is now admitted to the Basra Military Hospital.”
I thought to myself, “Glory be to God… this is worldly punishment. God knows what punishment he will deserve in the Hereafter. Isn’t this the fate of every sinful aggressor?!”
To be continued …
Number of Visits: 9
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