The 366th Night of Reminiscence – Part 2

Compiled by Leila rostamy
Translated by Kianoush Borzouei

2025-3-25

The 366th Night of Reminiscence, featuring accounts from the Hazrat Mahdi Battalion of the 10th Seyyed-al-Shohada Division, was held on February 20, 2025, at the Sura Hall of the Islamic Revolution Art Center. The event featured recollections by Alireza Moradkhani, Nabiollah Ahmadlou, Jalal Fakhra, and General Mohammad Hadi, with Javad Aini serving as the host.

The second narrator, Nabiollah Ahmadlou, was born on March 25, 1959, in Shazand, Markazi Province. He spent three months of his military service fighting in irregular warfare operations under Martyr Chamran, during which he sustained injuries that rendered him a disabled veteran. Merely three to four months after being discharged, he voluntarily returned to the frontlines as a Basiji, participating in Operation Fath-al-Mobin. In Operation Valfajr 1, he commanded the Hor-Ibn-Riyahi Battalion, while in Operations Valfajr 4 and Kheibar, he led the Ali Asghar Battalion. By Operation Karbala 5, he was appointed commander of the Hazrat Mahdi Battalion.

Ahmadlou began his account by recalling:

"In December 1986, when I was assigned command of the Hazrat Mahdi Battalion, Martyr Kashiha was appointed as my deputy. The battalion comprised three companies and was stationed in defensive positions in Shalamcheh, though it was not yet fully staffed. Additional forces were sent to us, completing our ranks, but there was a significant shortage of weapons—we had neither RPGs nor heavy machine guns. I went to the headquarters to obtain weapons for the new recruits, but they informed me that while AK-47 rifles were available, RPGs and machine guns were in short supply. These are among the least weapons one should have in the war.

I sought out General Fazli, who told me, ‘We have a commanders’ meeting tonight; bring up the issue there.’ That night, in the meeting, I explained our lack of weaponry. Other battalions voluntarily equipped us—each battalion provided three RPGs and machine guns, and we ultimately received more arms than we initially needed.

When we began organizing the new recruits, we realized that some had never thrown a grenade, and others had never fired an RPG before. As we were approaching Operation Karbala 4, I recalled that during my military service, I had visited a shooting range behind Hamidiyeh, where the 16th Armored Division trained. I knew the location well, so I personally arranged for access, explaining that I intended to bring my troops for training exercises. They agreed but required an official request. I sent our ammunition officer to collect ammo for training, but he was refused. The response was: ‘We are distributing combat rations for upcoming operations; now is not the time for target practice.’ I told him to return and say, ‘This is for the operation itself.’ He went back and secured war-issue RPGs and heavy machine guns.I then coordinated with Brother Teimouri, the logistics officer, and we transported all our men to the shooting range.

Each soldier who had never thrown a grenade was given two attempts. Every recruit who had never fired an RPG launched two rockets. Everyone practiced with machine guns. However, an unfortunate incident occurred: I received news that Brother Hadi had been injured. This deeply distressed me, as I feared the division would question why I had taken the troops to the shooting range. Additionally, we were now short a company commander. Fortunately, he was treated swiftly and returned to duty in time. We proceeded with Operation Karbala 4, but it did not go as planned, so we prepared for Operation Karbala 5 instead.

He continued:"The barrier system known as ‘solar obstacles’ consists of steel rods welded in an X-shape. In Operation Karbala 5, the Iraqi forces had constructed a deep trench inside their defensive bunkers—it was 1.7 meters in height and only 50 centimeters in width. This trench was lined with cement blocks, and the walls and floor were reinforced with concrete. Shalamcheh’s defensive line was heavily fortified, making penetration virtually impossible. I distinctly remember Saddam himself declaring multiple times that ‘If Iranian forces breach the Shalamcheh defenses and enter the city, I will hand them the keys to Basra.’ Every 75 to 100 meters, the Iraqis had built bunkers, with cement-reinforced walls and floors, featuring two narrow firing slits facing our forces."

The trench stretched for three to four kilometers directly in front of our forces. In front of it was an earthen berm, created by bulldozers that had excavated soil from the ground and piled it against the trench. Beyond this berm, the Iraqis had flooded the area, forming a water barrier that, in some places, reached a depth of two meters. Within this water, they had set up ambush positions, meaning enemy forces were concealed and virtually invisible, ready to strike the moment we advanced. Further inside the water, they had planted solar obstacles, barbed wire, and waterproof mines, reinforcing their defensive fortifications with yet another layer of ambush positions.

On the night of the operation, two battalions from the 10th Seyyed-al-Shohada Division, composed of elite combat divers, were tasked with breaching enemy lines. According to the mission plan, once our frontline forces had secured Shalamcheh’s defensive perimeter and broken through the first line of resistance, we were to continue the offensive along the Shalamcheh–Basra highway and repel any counterattacks. We were, in essence, the third battalion of the division’s brigade, positioned for reinforcement and continued engagement.

I was stationed at the radio command post, monitoring the transmissions. What I witnessed that night was heart-wrenching. The two combat diver battalions attempted their assault but failed to advance. One of these battalions was led by Commander Taqizadeh, a formidable leader, while another was commanded by Brother Ameli. They pushed forward but walked into a trap. Listening over the radio, I heard Ameli’s desperate final transmission:"We can’t move forward anymore. Our men have been martyred. We’ve been caught in an ambush. I’m switching radio frequencies so that the enemy doesn’t intercept our channel. Farewell…" No matter how much we pleaded, he responded, "I have no choice. Any moment now, I will be martyred, and I don’t want my radio signal to compromise your positions." It was an excruciating moment. Brother Ameli was martyred, and the line remained unbroken.

At around 4 a.m., we received orders to prepare for a renewed offensive. The 19th Fajr Division, advancing from northern Shalamcheh, had managed to secure a foothold. The Hazrat Sajjad Battalion had already moved in, pushing forward one kilometer before getting stalled. Orders came for us to advance. The cold was bone-chilling—imagine January 5th in Khuzestan, a bitter and piercing cold. I knew that if we didn’t reach enemy positions before daybreak, advancing in broad daylight in a place like Shalamcheh would be suicidal.We moved with speed, but enemy artillery was relentless, forcing us to board armored personnel carriers (APCs). The narrow strip of land that had been secured was barely ten meters wide, leaving no room for error. We pressed on.

During the advance, one of our soldiers fell off an APC due to the intensity of enemy shelling. His hand was crushed under the vehicle’s tracks, severing it completely. The pain was excruciating, and the sight of it shook the morale of our troops. But he survived—today, he’s alive, standing strong. At 7:30 a.m., we reached the forward positions where our men had broken through enemy lines. We had gained ground. Pushing forward with unwavering speed, our first company, led by Martyr Mohammad Movafeq and his deputy and Brother, Mahmoud Movfeaq, advanced one kilometer by 8:30 a.m. But by then, daylight had fully illuminated the battlefield.At 8:30 a.m., the enemy stood its ground with fierce resistance. The Shalamcheh defense line I described—the trench fortified with concrete and bunkers—lay directly in front of us. To our left, enemy ambush positions. To our right, a partial berm that provided enemy snipers a commanding vantage point. If our men lifted their heads even slightly above the trench, Saddam’s snipers picked them off from the berm. Many of our fighters were shot in the head—a direct consequence of their exposed position.

Now picture this: we were trapped in a single trench, enemy forces to our left, to our right, and directly in front of us. Fighting under these conditions was brutally exhausting. By 8:30 a.m., the enemy was holding firm, leading to an intense and deadly engagement, with heavy casualties on both sides. The enemy was only 5 to 7 meters away.They had meticulously constructed their defensive positions, providing them with complete dominance over the battlefield.

Gunfire erupted, followed by waves of grenade exchanges. Our forces, unable to advance, had to be extraordinarily careful not to expose their heads while throwing grenades. We couldn’t risk getting caught between the enemy forces ahead and the 300-meter gap behind us, which was also under fire. Grenades rained down relentlessly.There was a critical difference: for every five grenades we threw, the Iraqis hurled ten.From my position 50 meters away, I could see grenades colliding mid-air. Some exploded instantly, while others landed inside our trenches, detonating among our men and causing severe casualties. No matter how many enemy soldiers we hit, they didn’t fall—only later did we discover that they were wearing bulletproof vests.

These were Republican Guard units, clad in green uniforms, highly trained, and stronger than us in sheer force because they were defending their entrenched positions. They had fortifications, endless ammunition, and well-established bunkers, whereas we only had what we carried on our backs.In the midst of this intense battle, Brother Kashihah, our battalion’s deputy commander, arrived. I warned him, "Do not advance. We need to strategize first." But he pressed forward—and was martyred.

The next fifteen minutes felt like fifteen years. The fighting raged on, then suddenly, the Iraqis threw three or four smoke grenades, engulfing the entire 30-meter battlefield in thick smoke. Visibility was reduced to nothing—we couldn’t even see each other.As the smoke cleared, the Iraqis had closed in, standing directly above our men in the trench.

One by one, they executed our soldiers with machine-gun fire, advancing mercilessly. Wounded soldiers passed by me, desperately fleeing the carnage, but there was nowhere to go. If we retreated even a single step, Operation Karbala 5 would have suffered a catastrophic failure.Then, something extraordinary happened. I suddenly realized that the Iraqi munitions bunker was only five meters ahead of us. One of their soldiers grabbed an RPG and aimed at us. Our men yelled frantically, "Shoot him!"—but hesitation filled the air. "Don’t shoot!"—"Shoot now!"—"Hold fire!"—"Fire now!" Chaos erupted.

The Iraqi finally pulled the trigger.

The RPG slammed into their own munitions depot. A massive explosion ripped through the battlefield. The Iraqi forces that had advanced over our trench were obliterated, their bodies hurled into the air, torn apart by the sheer force of the blast. I could see them flipping mid-air, as if suspended in slow motion.

That single, unintended detonation turned the tide. The Iraqis, having gained the upper hand only moments earlier, were now annihilated, giving us the window of opportunity we desperately needed to regroup and press forward with the operation.

About half an hour later, as we had advanced further, the radio operator—who always accompanied the command unit and carried three or four radios along with a large antenna—arrived. I moved to the rear to report on the situation, but as I turned, I saw Ahmad Gholami, one of my colleagues from the Judicial Police, lying on the ground. A bullet had struck his head, and his brain was exposed. I thought he was dead. I told the men, “Use a scarf or anything clean—don’t pick anything up from the ground—to gather his brain matter and wrap it over his head.” They did as I instructed.But Ahmad Gholami survived for another 25 years. Though a part of his skull remained missing, he could recognize people, yet lost his ability to speak. Sometimes, in moments like this, God Almighty instills an intuition within you.

During this brief lull—when the Iraqis had suffered heavy casualties and were no longer advancing toward us—we noticed fourteen Iraqi soldiers emerging from the water, where they had been concealed in ambush positions, surrendering. This secured our flank, allowing us to focus on the greater challenge ahead.

I was deliberating on our next move while enduring relentless enemy pressure. The plan had been for Shalamcheh’s defensive line to be breached, allowing 23 divisions to advance. The enemy had been caught off guard, but daylight had now fully set in. Iraqi tanks and helicopters were gradually moving forward.Then, suddenly, I had an inspiration—perhaps there was no one stationed behind the enemy’s berm!I took a deliberate roll forward and peered past the water barricade. To my astonishment, there was nothing behind it. The enemy presence was concentrated solely along the trench in front of us, with a 5 to 10-meter gap occupied by Iraqi forces, but beyond that—on the flanks—there was no one.A strategy formed in my mind—if we could maneuver behind this line, their trench would lose visibility over us, allowing us to cut straight through their ranks and advance further into their defensive structure.

I turned to Brother Hadi, one of our most skilled company commanders, and ordered: “Send the strongest unit leader to the front.” But our casualties had been severe. Mahmoud Mo'afi, the brother of our company’s deputy commander, had already been killed, along with part of our special forces unit. The company was in confusion.At that moment, Brother Taimouri arrived. We assembled twelve men, equipping them with one machine gun, one RPG, and other necessary arms. I laid out the strategy: “Once you move forward, you’ll face heavy fire from their right flank—where their support trenches are located. When you receive the signal, drop down from the berm and advance forward. Five meters ahead, you’ll encounter Iraqi positions. Sprint 100 meters, emerge from the middle of their formation, and engage. The Iraqis inside the trench will be caught off guard. Hit them, and the rest of our forces will move in and secure the position.”

As Brother Taimouri and his men descended, I noticed they were moving cautiously.I rushed forward myself, yelling: “Move, move! The Iraqis are right next to you!” We sprinted the full 100 meters, emerging directly in the middle of the enemy ranks. Half of the Iraqi forces remained in the trench, while the other half was still positioned further ahead.At that moment, the real battle began again. We took revenge for the heavy losses we had suffered earlier that morning.

Among us, there was a young soldier, famous for being unruly and disorderly. Several comrades had previously complained about his behavior. But in that moment, I saw him lifting a heavy machine gun atop an Iraqi bunker, aiming directly at retreating enemy forces. As the Iraqis fled in disarray, he mowed them down with relentless fire. As we pressed forward, our spirits lifted. We were laughing and advancing at the same time, feeling the surge of victory. We pushed two kilometers forward until we reached the Pentagon-shaped defense complex. The Iraqis had constructed a secondary defensive system—two crescent-shaped earthworks designed as a contingency in case Shalamcheh’s defensive line collapsed. These 6-meter-high crescent-shaped barriers were meant to serve as fallback positions for Iraqi forces.

Our soldiers scaled the fortifications themselves.At that moment, Brother Kianpour was beside me. We embraced, overjoyed at the progress we had made. He then asked for my radio handset, so I stepped back to retrieve it. But just as Brother Kianpour stepped forward, the enemy opened fire with a barrage of machine gun rounds, cutting him down instantly.

I instinctively withdrew, scanning the enemy positions to locate where the gunfire had originated. As I was relaying this to Brother Qazi—the battalion’s deputy commander—he urged me, “Move the men forward quickly. If the Iraqis regain control of the high ground, we’ll be in deep trouble.” Just as I leaned to check the enemy’s location, an Iraqi sniper spotted my radio operator standing beside me.He took precise aim and fired at my chest. The bullet pierced through my body, pinning me to the ground where I had taken cover. My radio operator rushed to report that I had been wounded, but as he moved, the sniper fired again, hitting him as well. That radio operator was Rahimi—who is now Iran’s Minister of Justice. Both of us lay motionless, our bodies paralyzed from the gunfire. My breathing became labored, and no matter how hard I tried to speak or issue commands, I couldn’t utter a single word. The troops finally reached us and evacuated us to the rear. Because of severe internal bleeding in my lungs, they couldn’t stop the hemorrhaging. I slipped into a coma, and the men assumed I had been martyred.

This is why these memories, these acts of courage—of our fathers, brothers, and sons—must be recorded and preserved. Not one of those men retreated when grenades rained down upon them. Not one of them shrank away, saying, “This is too difficult. Each one stood his ground, gave his life, and fought with unwavering resistance. And today, our people remain the same. Our youth are the same.As the supreme Leader has said, our young generation today is even mightier, braver, and more devoted than before.