On the streets of Baghdad, people suddenly sensed something different. Along the main avenue, every few meters stood a smartly dressed soldier, ceremonial rifle in hand.
"What's going on? Are we holding some grand ceremony? A parade?" someone asked.
"You haven't heard? Our army scored a huge victory in some marsh. President Saddam's second son, Qusay, led it—wiped out an entire Persian armored division."
"Really? A full division—that's thousands. That's huge."
"Not just troops. They captured loads of tanks and APCs. Right now they're welcoming Qusay back in triumph."
Before they finished speaking, the sentries raised their steel rifles overhead in perfect, eye-pleasing unison.
In the distance, a convoy approached.
Leading it—two captured Chieftain Tanks. Using them as vanguard sent a clear message: in the Iran-Iraq War, Iraq would be victorious!
Behind the tanks came two security vehicles.
Then the unmistakable Number-One car: President Saddam's own German-made Mercedes armored saloon.
Inside must be the hero of the battle, the President's own son. Everyone gazed in admiration as the war hero returned.
Qusay would have preferred less fanfare. Sitting in the car, watching the cheering crowds, he felt uneasy—this was wartime. An Iranian spy wouldn't need to mingle; a single sniper on a rooftop would be enough.
But the invitation was impossible to refuse—especially when his father had arranged it, even lending his own car. How could he decline?
As Iraq's ruler, Saddam was a born warrior and shrewd politician. He clearly saw that the war's deadlock could breed discontent; a victory was needed to prove Iraq's strength.
And then—victory arrived, sudden and timely.
Proclaiming it far and wide would boost national morale, strengthen faith in victory, and rally the people's spirit.
There was another aim: the triumph's chief architect was his son Qusay. With so many soldiers fallen, Saddam wanted the nation to know his own son fought at the front, bleeding to defeat Iran.
He had personally led dozens of soldiers into the marshes, destroyed Iranian supply depots, and, to save wounded comrades, disguised himself as a downed pilot, lured a helicopter, and flew the injured to safety.
"Where's the helicopter? Isn't it up there? Look—that big twin-rotor bird, that's the Iranian Chinook!"
That Chinook had also returned to Baghdad to showcase Qusay's exploits.
Inside the Republican Palace, joy filled the air. At the end of a crimson carpet stood Iraq's supreme ruler, President Saddam, and his top officials.
They waited at the conference-hall door for Qusay's arrival.
That day, every Iraqi mouth repeated one name: Qusay Abdullah.
Uday stood far back, eyes bloodshot. He couldn't fathom why his father staged such a spectacle for a green teenager.
Qusay's radiance now eclipsed his—intolerable.
The convoy rolled right up to the palace. Qusay stepped out, dazzled. They're really going this far?
Seeing the freshly laid red carpet, he could barely bring himself to tread on it—what a waste. Trade it for ammo!
"Lord Qusay, this way," a guard said.
Qusay straightened his uniform and strode forward.
Father Saddam, uncle Adnan, uncles Wattban and Barzan—no, President Saddam, Secretary of Defense Adnan, Security Minister Wattban, Intelligence Chief Barzan, plus Chief of Staff Hazraji, Republican Guard Commander Rashid, and many officials he didn't even recognize—all stood waiting.
When had he ever received such treatment? Even if the President of the United States came visiting with a mountain of weapons aid, he probably wouldn't get this honor guard.
A surge of pride welled up spontaneously.
Qusay strode up to his father, snapped a salute: "Reporting! Special Staff Officer of the Thirty-Fifth Brigade, Southern Military Region, Lieutenant Qusay Abdullah, present as ordered!"
Saddam's face broke into a delighted smile. "Welcome, our hero—the hero of the Battle of Susangerd!"
At Saddam's words, everyone burst into applause.
"This victory belongs to every officer and soldier of the Thirty-Fifth Brigade, to every commander of the Southern Military Region, to the powerful support of our Air Force. It is the glory of the Thirty-Fifth Brigade, the glory of the Southern Military Region, the glory of our entire Iraqi Army, the glory of us Babylonian descendants. Long live mighty Iraq! Long live almighty allah!" Qusay declared at the top of his voice.
Emotional appeal was mandatory. Qusay knew that claiming credit bred only contempt; humility was the noble tradition of that great ancient nation.
Sure enough, some gasped as though their eyeballs might fall out, while others sighed in admiration. In an instant, everyone clapped even more thunderously.
Saddam's eyes glinted shrewdly at his second son; those words had delighted him—especially "we Babylonian descendants," which implied restoring the glory of ancient Babylon.
Pity he was too young; if Uday had such vision, Saddam would be even happier.
"Come, let's go inside," Saddam said, taking Qusay's hand and heading in.
Everyone else quickly stepped aside and followed them into the hall.
Seeing Saddam's reaction, Qusay knew his performance had satisfied the President; the next goal would be easy to reach.
When the presidential order came to return to Baghdad for commendation, Qusay had wanted to refuse—he knew time was running out.
In later history, at dawn on 26 September, five infantry regiments and large armored and artillery forces—one hundred thousand troops—massed on the eastern bank of the Bahamshahr River opposite Abadan. They forced a crossing and launched a surprise attack on the Iraqi units besieging Abadan. After three days of fierce fighting, Iran scored its first "major victory" of the war, driving Iraqi troops across the Karun River and back into Khorramshahr, lifting the siege of Abadan and opening the vital roads to Ahvaz, Masjed, and Daghwin, while wiping out an entire Iraqi division.
It was a turning point in the Iran-Iraq War; from that battle onward Iraq's aggressive offensive stalled, and the army slipped into defense and retreat until the flames of war scorched Iraqi soil.
Everything Qusay had done in the Southern Military Region was aimed at rewriting the history of the Battle of Abadan!
But he finally realized he faced many obstacles, the most maddening of which was the Air Force.
In modern war the Air Force is decisive. At Susangerd, without air support—even after he'd destroyed the enemy's fuel and ammo depot—helicopters would still have ferried in enough supplies and the Thirty-Fifth Brigade would have been annihilated.
Once the Air Force stepped in, the battle became a one-sided slaughter.
Yet that was only an exception, and even that exception had taken an afternoon and a whole night.
Though Basra had an airbase, every Air Force operation required presidential approval, making response sluggish; even the Army suffered constant direct interventions from the President—interventions that often backfired.
In this regard his dear old dad resembled the little mustached man of WWII and the fellow who loved shouting "mother-lover" during the War of Resistance: both meddled too much.
Warfare demands delegation; those on the battlefield know best.
So Qusay had no choice but to return to Baghdad with his own objective: cheer Dad up, keep him from micromanaging the military—especially hand over Southern Military Region airpower instead of clinging to every lever of control.
The ultimate goal was victory for Iraq; emotional appeal was mandatory!